Deirdre and Desire (7 page)

She hurriedly ended the conversation with the earl and edged cautiously in her father’s direction. He saw her coming and beamed on her.

‘You’re a sensible girl,’ he said fondly. ‘I always knew you had a shrewd head on your shoulders. When Desire told me this idea of yours that he should travel with us to
Hopeworth on the morrow and stay with us until you both get better acquainted, I was fair flummoxed. I didn’t expect you to be so sensible about the whole thing and that’s a fact.

‘“Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry,”’ quoted the vicar gleefully, reaching past Deirdre to grab a plate.
‘I was that worrit, I been fair starving myself. But today I shall break my fast.’

Deirdre turned away to hide the blind fury of her face. ‘The great fool!’ she raged inwardly, cursing Lord Harry.

‘But at least I shall be back home, and Guy will only need to see this idiot once to know that he must rescue me.

‘Why, this Lord Harry is such a great ox, such a lumpkin, that he doesn’t even realize I
don’t
want to become better acquainted!

‘Was there
ever
such a fool!’

FOUR

The vicarage had never seemed so small before. The arrival of Lord Harry seemed to reduce it, although it was a pleasant building with dining-room, drawing-room, parlour and
study on the ground floor, six bedrooms on the first and the attics on the top. Deirdre and Daphne once more had to share a room to allow bedroom space for Lord Harry since the dressing-room which
had been the boys’ bedroom was allocated to him for his personal use. The servants had to double up in the attics to make room for his Swiss.

Then there was the supremely elegant Lord Harry in residence. It was rather like buying a splendid new piece of furniture and noticing that the curtains were faded and the carpet worn.

To Deirdre, he made her home seem shabby and dark and poky.

She had carefully avoided being alone with him. Sir Edwin and his wife, learning of his presence, and, ever-anxious to secure a suitable
parti
for one of their daughters, and hearing that
there had, as yet, been no mention of any official engagement to Miss Deirdre Armitage, had asked the whole family to a garden party by way of securing the attendance of Lord Harry. Deirdre had
been praying for rain. She did not like her uncle or his cold wife, or their silly, malicious daughters.

But then she overheard her father grumbling to his curate, Mr Pettifor, that Mr Wentwater was to be one of the guests, and, from that moment on, Deirdre could hardly wait for the Saturday of the
garden party to arrive.

They had arrived from London on Wednesday morning. Already, it was Friday evening, and so far Deirdre had heard or seen nothing of Guy Wentwater.

She had sat Wednesday and Thursday evening by the window, looking out over the vicarage garden in the hope of seeing him walking in the lane.

She did not know he had been in London at the same time as she, for that vision of him sitting in the library, dreaming of her, was fixed in her mind. Besides, she had prayed to God for
guidance, and although He had dealt her an unexpected blow by allowing Lord Harry to come on a visit, she was still sure He meant her to elope with Guy.

The vicarage was in a great bustle with preparations for the garden party. It was difficult to know what to wear. The Almanac promised a fine day. Should one freeze fashionably in muslin? Or be
comfortable in wool?

Daphne would, of course, freeze. No sacrifice was too great. Fashion was all.

Had Minerva still been substitute mother, then they would all have had to dress sensibly. But Minerva was married. Minerva was in Paris, and Mrs Armitage had discovered a new and delicate
complaint and had as little interest in what her daughters did, or did not do, as she always had evinced.

Deirdre heartily wished the elegant Lord Harry in hell.

He was too much of a favourite with her family for her comfort and they all seemed to see the marriage as good as arranged. In the parlour that evening, after supper, Lord Harry had been playing
a noisy game of spillikins with Deirdre and Diana, recklessly gambling away his whole fortune and threatening to go out in the garden and shoot himself, much to Frederica’s delight.

‘This is worse than Waterloo,’ he laughed, tugging Frederica’s hair.

‘How would
you
know?’ asked Deirdre rudely.

There was a shocked silence.

‘Deirdre!’ said her father. ‘I would see you in my study.’

Deirdre folded her lips in a mutinous line. Lord Harry’s light husky voice was describing the typhoon which would surely strike the garden party tomorrow and even Daphne was giggling
helplessly at the mad descriptions he was drawing.

The whole vicarage seemed too full of Lord Harry Desire, thought Deirdre crossly, as she followed her father across the hall to his study.

She had secretly hoped her family would take a dislike to this indolent, silly lord.

‘Shut the door,’ snapped her father, breaking into her thoughts. ‘What was the meaning of that remark, miss?’

‘What remark, Papa?’ asked Deirdre sweetly.

‘About Lord Harry not knowin’ anything about Waterloo?’

‘I thought it a just observation, Papa. There are many fine and brave men who fought at Waterloo. He should not dare even to suggest in a joke that he was one of them.’

‘And why not? When he most certainly was.’

‘You must be . . .’

‘See here, my girl, I had it from Lord Brothers that Harry Desire was one of the most courageous officers on the field. Just because the man don’t preen and brag, don’t mean he
ain’t brave.’

‘I’m sorry, Papa,’ said Deirdre meekly, although privately she hated Lord Harry the more for having made her look like a fool.

‘I don’t know what you’ve got in that brain-box of yourn,’ went on the vicar. ‘If there was another fellow in your life, I could understand it. Desire is an amiable
chap. He’s not too bright, I’ll grant you that. He seems nearer Frederica’s age than your own half the time. He listened to the belling of my hounds and he said, “The bass
is a trifle flat. You should have that animal tuned, don’t you think?”

‘But intelligence ain’t fashionable and never was. He’s a gentleman, and your true gentleman is stupid.’

‘Would you describe yourself so?’ asked Deirdre maliciously.

‘Oh, I ain’t stupid,’ said the vicar seriously, ‘but I’ve got the wit to hide the fact. Now, I’ve had letters from Minerva and Annabelle. Seems they think
your come-out is to be next year. But we can’t afford to wait.’

Deirdre clasped her hands and looked at her father with her strange green eyes. ‘Papa, if I were to wed a man who had a great deal of money, you would surely not care what type of man he
was?’

She looked at her father anxiously, Guy’s name trembling on her lips.

‘Course I would,’ said the vicar stoutly. ‘Imagine if our Bella were to have married that Guy Wentwater. He’s to be at Edwin’s garden party. I told Edwin, I did,
“you ain’t got any standards”. Edwin says Wentwater ain’t slave trading and has a mort o’ money and he’s thinking of him for Josephine or Emily, but I says to
him, I’d rather we all starved than let that beast near the vicarage.’

All her new-found hate for her father burned twice as fiercely in Deirdre’s bosom.

‘I must write to Minerva and tell her of your plans, Papa,’ she said.

The vicar looked at her narrowly, then he realized he had remembered to bribe the postboy. ‘Very well,’ he said with deceptive mildness. ‘She’s a sensible girl and would
approve of my choice. I’ve been trying to leave you and Lord Harry alone together, but you always seem to make some excuse.

‘Now he was brought here, I was told, so that the pair of you should get better acquainted. And you
are
going to get better acquainted, Deirdre Armitage.

‘And that’s an order!’

‘Yes, Papa,’ sighed Deirdre.

‘It’s a stupid idea of Edwin’s, this here garden party. Whoever heard of a garden party nearly at the end of October? But the grounds of the Hall are pretty enough, and you make sure you and Lord Harry wander off somewhere.’

‘Common, disgusting,
vulgar
man,’ thought Deirdre, meaning the vicar.

Aloud she said, ‘Yes,’ now only wanting to escape.

‘So go back in there,’ said the vicar, ‘and let’s have no more rudeness from you, miss.’

There was no more rudeness from Deirdre because she did not address one remark to Lord Harry for the rest of the evening. At last, it was time for bed.

Once, again, Deirdre sat by the window, watching to see if Guy would walk in the lane, waiting impatiently for Daphne to complete her lengthy bedtime toilet and go to sleep.

Daphne was fortunately too self-absorbed to wonder why her sister spent so much time sitting by the window instead of preparing for bed.

At last Daphne fell asleep, her head full of curl papers gleaming in the darkness.

And then the faint red glow of a cheroot stabbed the darkness of the lane. Deirdre stifled a gasp as she rubbed the pane of the window and peered out. There was the tall figure, there was the
familiar gleam of his white stock in the darkness.

She pulled on her cloak and scampered out of the vicarage, too excited even to try to be quiet.

White frost was gleaming on the grass and bushes of the garden. From the kennels, a hound sent up a melancholy howl to the moon. Stars burned in the black night sky.

Deirdre tugged open the gate and darted out into the lane.

At first she thought he had gone, and then she saw that red firefly of the lit end of the cheroot dancing at the turn in the road.

She scampered breathlessly along the lane and turned the corner. Nothing in front of her except the moon shining on the frost-white pebbles of the road.

Beyond the stile to the right, the little, tantalizing firefly of light danced across the fields.

Frightened to call out in case anyone heard her, Deirdre hitched up her skirt and climbed over the stile and then sped across the frost-hard rutted earth of the field until the tall, dark figure
of a man loomed large at the edge of the woods. A cloud had crossed the moon, and she could only make out his silhouette.

‘Wait!’ she called breathlessly. ‘Oh, please wait.’

He threw away the cheroot and turned to face her.

Filled with love and longing, she hurtled towards him and cannoned against his chest.

Strong arms went about her and she sighed and closed her eyes and turned up her face.

The kiss was all she had dreamed it would be, searing, burning, passionate, leaving her shaking and breathless. He loved her!

When he finally drew back, she gazed adoringly up at him. The fickle moon swam out from behind a cloud.

The handsome features of Lord Harry Desire looked down at her.

‘You!’ said Deirdre, putting a hand to her mouth.

‘Who else?’ he replied, a note of laughter in his voice. His arms were still tightly about her. Deirdre struggled to escape. She could not tell him about Guy. For he might tell her
father.

‘You have a pleasant way of furthering our acquaintance, Miss Deirdre,’ said Lord Harry.

‘I did not mean . . . I was sleep-walking,’ said Deirdre desperately. ‘And I did not know who . . . what I was doing.’

‘Are you in the habit of kissing men when you sleep-walk? When we are married, I will need to keep you chained to the bedroom.’

‘No. I have never done such a thing before. My lord, you are a gentleman. Pray let us return to the vicarage and say no more on the matter.’

‘As you will,’ he replied carelessly.

‘But I cannot go
anywhere
,’ pointed out Deirdre crossly. ‘You are holding me so tightly.’

‘So I am.’ His eyes glinted down at her in the moonlight. ‘I am cold, you see, and you are keeping me very warm.’

‘Please let me go,’ begged Deirdre. She looked wildly about. Mad fears of rape chased through her head. He no longer seemed the silly, indolent lord of the previous days. His
masculinity was almost overwhelming and the hard strength of his arms about her made her feel helpless. He had all at once joined that mysterious world of men who told warm jokes, despised women,
but undressed them with their eyes. That world of men she now realized she had always feared.

‘Of course I will let you go,’ he said soothingly. ‘You must kiss me again, of course, for I cannot rest quietly tonight knowing I have been kissed by a beautiful young lady
who was merely walking in her sleep.’

‘No, I will
not
kiss you again!’

‘But you see I fear for your health. I feel sure your mother and father should be told of this dangerous malady of yours.’

‘No, you must not. They would worry. It happens very rarely. Do not tease me.’

‘Then kiss me.’

Deirdre’s fears fled before a burst of sheer irritation. Only a very stupid man would keep boring on and on about a kiss when the girl in his arms so obviously wanted to escape.

‘Very well,’ she said testily. ‘One kiss.’

She primped up her mouth and screwed her eyes shut. The next moment they flew open in surprise. For he had lifted her off her feet as if she weighed nothing at all. He had one arm behind her
shoulders and the other under her knees. The moon sailed behind a cloud again, plunging them into darkness as his mouth descended on her own.