Pengarron Rivalry

by Pengarron Rivalry (retail) (epub)

  Sophie felt too breathless, her emotions too shocked and bruised to walk on. She had expected overtures from Luke Pengarron but instead had been shunned. Rejection from a man was a new experience. Well, the arrogant, immoral Luke Pengarron could rot in hell!

  She glanced over her shoulder, expecting him to be striding away in his most autocratic manner, and received another shock. He was plodding on, head down, dejected. So perhaps there really was another side to her friend’s brother. In her letter mentioning her intended stay at Chenhalls, Kelynen had tried to convince her that there was. Flashing over his words just now, she realized they had been delivered with the utmost respect, even a little shyly.

  Well, whatever the truth of his disposition, it was of no interest to her. Gathering her dignity, she went on her way. But… But what? What was her inner self trying to tell her?

  Luke Pengarron, she knew, had kept many a mistress. He was not as likely to make high-handed judgements over Adelaide’s disgrace as David Trenchard was. And he would have connections, and ways and means. Would he be willing to help her? It was a risk to ask him. He could become a pest again. But she could not let Adelaide down. Now was the time to be brave, to humble herself, to strike out boldly.

  She turned on her heel, and, while fighting to keep her decorum, hastened after him. Two steps behind, she called out softly, ‘Mr Pengarron. Mr Pengarron, pray stop a moment.’

  Luke whirled round the instant he heard her voice. He could not help smiling down on her. If he was in some wonderful fabulous dream, he prayed he would never wake up. Hope was renewed and burned in him like silver being purified; painful, yet utterly desirable. ‘Mrs Carew, this is…’ He stopped himself from saying ‘a pleasure’. Don’t ruin it now! He bowed in perfect civility. ‘Your humble servant, ma’am.’

  ‘Pray, forgive me for delaying you, Mr Pengarron. Could you… I mean, could I possibly ask you, as the brother of my dearest friend, for your help?’

  Ask me anything at all! Heaven be blessed for evermore!

  He willed his voice to be neutral and calm. ‘It will be an honour, Mrs Carew.’

  * * *

  Gabriel longed to be taken back to his room, but knowing Kelynen would leave him to rest and join her sister in the garden, and wanting to stay where she was, he pretended to be asleep.

  She reminded him, just a little, of Caterina. Caterina had inherited her looks from her English mother, and Kelynen had the same delicate feminine build, the same pretty fair hair and deep, dark eyes. But the resemblance ended there. Caterina’s whole being had blazed with extraordinary energy, and her gaze had been fierily decadent, her walk superior and seductive. Kelynen exuded a comforting peace, and moved with an unconscious innocence and at times had a beguiling awkwardness. Caterina had shouted or cried shrilly rather than simply talked. Kelynen spoke in soft or firm or considerate tones and was always open to reason. She had a sense of fun and was not easily offended. Caterina had taken even the smallest remark, when not issued in adulation of her or her dancing, as criticism, accusing the speaker of spite or jealousy.

  Kelynen had not questioned his self-neglect, showing the same care and understanding as if he suffered from a natural illness or the result of an accident. Caterina had tossed her head and screamed at him not to infect her if he’d suffered as much as a sniffle. ‘How can I dance for the Emperor if all my limbs are aching?’ she would have accused him, and would likely have slapped his face and stormed out of the apartment they had shared for twenty-one glorious, destructive months, and not return for days.

  Caterina, an ardent social butterfly, had never understood his need to be alone and had accused him of being mad or peculiar, as if she were threatened by it. Kelynen willingly granted him the space he desired. Caterina had stamped on other people’s feelings. Kelynen spoke glowingly of her friends and lovingly of her family. She expressed sorrow over tragedy. He had been touched when her eyes had filled with tears when Jacob Glynn, after her genuine queries, had explained how his uncle’s first wife had died of a ruptured stomach during an early pregnancy, how the second wife had drowned while swimming in a nearby cove, and how his daughters had all died of childhood illnesses. Kelynen was interested in everyone and everything, including the running of Chenhalls and the mines – unusual for a woman to be interested in business. He liked it when she asked about his music, and she’d said she was looking forward to the day she could accompany him on the spinet, while modestly adding he must overlook her lack of skill. He was very much looking forward to the duet.

  He had loved Caterina with a blind, dogged devotion, and had felt torn asunder at her sudden death. A quirk of fate, a heavy piece of staging at the Imperial Kärntnerthortheater, had snuffed out her scorching spirit and robbed the ballet world of one of its finest dancers. Robbed him of the only woman he would ever love. No one could ever raise in him the passions that Caterina had – and how grateful he was for that! He could never again bring himself to embark on such a tortuous love affair. If Caterina had not died when she did, she might well have driven him to throw himself off St Stephen’s Cathedral, so frenzied, so dazzling – and in the end so spirit-leeching – their relationship had been. His appetite for food had left him long before her death, and his gradual decline had seemed to please her. She had fought always to maintain control of him, and he, loving her so powerfully, had forsaken almost all his own desires to please her. His life with her, her terrible death and his grief had almost cost him his sanity. If Josiah had not come for him he would be dead by now. And now he owed his life to Kelynen.

  He tugged in Caterina’s shawl tighter, his one precious reminder of her, for her family had claimed her other things. Thoughts of her made his emotions splinter but as he strove to regroup them and clutch at peace they formed a riot inside his head. He was shivering. Cold. He was so cold without her. Then, as in a hundred times a day, his mind clouded over. He was back in Vienna, composing music for a solo ballet for Caterina. She had given him the theme of wild, devastating love ending in tragedy, which she was hoping to perform exclusively for Emperor Joseph and the Imperial Court. He must finish it soon. Caterina demanded it. She demanded it every day, not caring that he was in the middle of composing an opera under the Emperor’s personal command. And she complained about every note he wrote for her, wanting more drama, more excitement, something heart-rending, and hellish, it seemed to him. But he was so tired, so weak.

  Her beautiful face and flashing eyes were before him now. ‘Work Gabriel, darling, work, work! Then I shall come and make love to you. No music, no love.’ He continued to strive for her, struggling towards possessing her, needing her love – needing her, for even in the madness, it was all he lived for.

  Then his mind was recaptured by the present and he was working on the ballet in its new form. Caterina’s own story, her epitaph, loud and stirring and fierce, and yes, partly hellish. His muscles jerked, his face twitched, his eyes flickered under their closed lids as he mumbled an unearthly tune. His long, desperate fingers reached out for the pianoforte and score sheets.

  Nearby, with Rex snoozing at her feet, Kelynen was writing a letter to her mother, describing the beauties and charm of Chenhalls. The unnatural sounds of Gabriel’s tortured dreams troubled her. She reached for his hands and stilled them. ‘Hush, Gabriel. There’s nothing to worry about. You’re quite safe now. You are home.’

  She felt his hands grasping round hers. She held them for as long as it took to soothe away the spasms, until he fell into a silent, restorative sleep.

  * * *

  The portrait of Rafe was finally finished. Tomorrow it would be hung in the gallery over the main stairway. Livvy had left Chenhalls satisfied with the result, but she was leaving behind a wake of people concerned about her.

  ‘I’ve never seen her looking so downcast,’ Ruth said, pushing up the encrusted silver lace that Kelynen had lowered to reveal a little of her small, shapely bosom. ‘Whatever would her ladyship make of it? P’raps you should write to her?
Tell her Miss Livvy’s wasting away?’

  ‘I’m worried about Livvy too.’ Kelynen peered round Ruth to gain her reflection in the long mirrors in the dressing room. ‘But it’s hardly serious enough to spoil Mama’s stay in Bath.’

  However, Kelynen was more worried about her sister than she’d revealed. Livvy had disappointed Lady Portia, putting the elderly lady in high dudgeon by postponing the starting date of her portrait. Livvy had explained she had urgent things to attend to at home. Kelynen hoped her sister’s priority was to repair her marriage. Rafe, who was delighted with his portrait, had invited Livvy and Timothy to Chenhalls for an overnight stay at the end of the week, charging her to pass on a letter to Luke, inviting him to the same. Kelynen hoped they would all accept. She was looking forward to playing hostess here – Lady Portia was past that sort of thing and retired promptly at eight thirty.

  Kelynen worked the modesty lace down. Ruth pushed it up. ‘I’ll sew it in place, young lady!’

  ‘It’s not fashionable to have coverings up to one’s throat,’ Kelynen protested.

  ‘Her ladyship’ll expect me to protect your honour, Miss Kelynen.’ Ruth pursed her narrow mouth.

  Kelynen burst out laughing. ‘My honour is perfectly safe in this house, you goose. Mr Josiah is never here. Mr Gabriel is incapacitated. And Sir Rafe is, well, he’s old enough to be my father.’

  ‘As if that’d make any difference,’ Ruth snorted, intimating to Kelynen to sit at the dressing table for the application of her jewellery. ‘Sir Rafe’s good-looking and in fine fettle. He’s also a wicked pursuer of ladies and servant girls, from what I’ve heard. Don’t you think for a minute, young miss, that I’ve missed the way he looks at you.’ This last remark made Kelynen’s heart leap strangely and her hand shot to that region. The sensation had been far more intense than when her thoughts had been with Josiah Tremayne, and her tummy felt queerly agitated. She tried to keep her voice to a juvenile mocking tone. ‘Oh? In what manner does he look at me?’

  ‘In a way that he shouldn’t! Impiously. You don’t need me to impress it on you any stronger, do you? You’re in danger from that gentleman, or my soul doesn’t belong to the Almighty. Time he got himself decently married again, ’tis long overdue.’

  Kelynen held out her wrist for a diamond bracelet while chewing over Ruth’s words and liking every one of them. She felt a little afraid and that excited her. Rafe was handsome and captivating and enticing. He stirred her every feminine sense. She recognized that now and gloried in it. She liked the touch of his hand when he lifted hers to kiss it, and the way he tucked her arm through his to take her on a stroll round the gardens and grounds. She liked – and now her feelings grew alarmingly and deliciously keen – the feel of his lips on her cheeks and the persistence of his liberty of placing them briefly on her lips. A lady would be fortunate indeed to have him pay her court, to make him his wife. Being mistress of Chenhalls was a prospect to aspire to – one she found, with growing fright and delight, utterly agreeable.

  ‘Have you finished with me, Ruth?’ She was suddenly brisk. ‘I don’t want to be late going down.’

  When Ruth went downstairs, Kelynen once more fashioned a more interesting décolletage. Then she unlocked the connecting door to Gabriel’s room and slipped into him, to ensure he was settled for the night. He was deep in sleep – an exhausted, uneasy sleep, she thought. She sat at the bed, holding his hand. When he started up a mournful air she counteracted it by singing softly. ‘Sleep peacefully, Gabriel.’

  Rafe came in and closed the door gently. Kelynen smiled up at him, glad the room was darkened and he could not easily detect the flush now tingling her cheeks. Was she to feel awkward in his company from now on? She prayed she would not. She whispered, ‘He seems a little more settled each day.’

  Rafe moved up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the warm, firm pressure of them. ‘It’s all thanks to you, m’dear. I’m so grateful for all that you’ve done for Gabriel.’

  ‘You have a deep affection for him.’

  ‘Indeed I do.’ Rafe smoothed his fingers over Gabriel’s brow. ‘I failed him in his boyhood and in his youth. I want to make it up to him. He and Josiah and my sister are all I have.’

  Kelynen’s gaze, as always when in this room, crept to the dressing table. The only additions since her first look were grooming items. ‘Has Gabriel no belongings at all?’

  ‘There’s a trunk somewhere. Glynn took a quick look inside it when Gabriel first arrived but he said it was not worth unpacking.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about his grandmother’s house. Does he still own it?’

  ‘No. He sold it to fund him abroad.’

  ‘Then he has no one but you and Josiah and Lady Portia. I’m sure when he’s fully recovered he will come to realize how much he owes you.’

  ‘I want nothing from either of my nephews except for them to be content.’

  Kelynen studied the man in the bed and longed for the day when flesh would fill out his cheeks and eye sockets, when his skin would appear less brittle. ‘You’ve not seen Gabriel since he was a boy. What do you suppose he really looks like?’

  ‘I think he will be a handsome enough fellow.’

  Kelynen turned her head, but not before Rafe saw her frown of doubt.

  Rafe smiled down on her. ‘Are we Tremayne men not an arresting breed? And we always take lovely brides. Gabriel’s mother was a beauty. Now, let us go down to dinner before we wake him.’ Rafe leaned over the bed and affectionately touched Gabriel’s cheek.

  After dinner, Kelynen found herself alone with Rafe in the banqueting hall. This was no different to many other evenings when Josiah was absent, but after Ruth’s remarks about Rafe, Kelynen felt strangely elated and tense and shy. While stroking the cats crowded on and around him, Rafe’s shameless eyes were on her often, but tonight she lacked the boldness to hold his gaze and resorted instead to bringing up her fan to hide her blushes.

  Relinquishing his pets, he got up from his chair to approach her and her heart thundered ever more wildly with his every closing step. He reached out his hand. ‘Walk with me through the house, Kelynen. You’ve not seen much of it yet and I know you are curious.’

  She felt special and important to be viewing his domain, and it was such a pleasure to be close to him. Not once while passing through doors and along passages did he surrender his hold on her arm. He peeped into the library, situated at the end of the south range. ‘This is where I see to matters of business, which I get through as quickly as possible. There are books on many subjects and languages. Read as many as you like.’ He made to lead her away.

  ‘Oh, please may I look around?’

  ‘Anything you wish, m’dear.’ Rafe carried in a three-light candelabrum.

  There were steps to climb down, an overriding smell of leather and old paper, and a feeling of hush. It was as if the long broad room had other presences, of disapproving, dark-clothed librarians, jealously guarding the literary collections and artefacts, and ghostly, long-bearded professors welcoming them as pupils to whom they could pass on their years and years of knowledge and wisdom. Kelynen gazed into every dark corner to be sure there really were no spectres, and was startled to see two moving, glowing orange orbs before realizing Octavia had slunk secretively in with them. She took little notice of the rows and rows of packed shelves cramming every wall and gallery. She would browse or climb the many ladders to the top shelves another day, make a search for anything that might interest Luke. Uncommon subjects as research for his plays might help heal his broken heart.

  There were many tables – some so long they appeared to be ludicrously stretched – with books, microscopes, maps and fossils laid out upon them. She went straight to the desk at the foot of the steps and ran her fingers over the polished mahogany. ‘My father allows me many duties on the estate at home. We often work long hours in his study.’

  ‘I hold rather more traditional views to Sir Oliv
er as to where a woman’s duties lie,’ Rafe said. ‘You’re devoted to your father, aren’t you? You’ve spoken of him many times.’

  ‘I do tend to believe there is nothing he cannot achieve or rectify. He was in France when I was born. My parents were temporarily estranged and he had no idea that I was expected. He’s always felt he must make it up to me and we are very close.’

  ‘It must be wonderful to be very close to you, Kelynen.’ In the light of the candles he saw the vibrancy that shot through her over his compliment. It added to his desire to take her into his arms and kiss her sweet, tender mouth. Rarely had he found someone so engaging. A man could easily grow very fond of this serious, caring, innocent bud, and he admired intelligence in a woman. It would be utterly delicious to exploit her virtue – always a powerful draw to him.

  He looked away. Her father would break his neck for merely thinking this way about her. There was a sizeable age gap between Sir Oliver and Lady Kerensa Pengarron, but the years dividing him and Kelynen were more marked. But perhaps Sir Oliver would not be against him making Kelynen his third wife. She would become mistress of Chenhalls, mother of his heir. Doubtless she would produce healthy babies; her generation of Pengarrons had proved themselves good breeders. Of course, young Lanyon’s wife would have made a better prospect. There was more vitality in Livvy, more spark and fire. Timothy had not the first notion how to tame or enhance her. Either option for him would have been a pleasure of thrilling proportions.

  Kelynen studied the desk. It was bare of paperwork and she was hungry to see inside the drawers. Were documents and ledgers securely stowed away in them? It seemed Rafe was as indifferent to his industry as Sophie had hinted. Sophie. It seemed an age since she had seen her. An age since she had been at home in the manor. Chenhalls and the nursing of Gabriel made everything else seem far away. Or was it Rafe’s overwhelming presence making her feel like this?