Lord Deverill's Heir (37 page)

Lady Crewe mistook her response. “Now, Arabella, you are a married lady.

I have marveled at the fact that your mother survived these nineteen years and has still retained her youthful bloom. Perhaps God, in his infinite wisdom, does reward the innocent.” She caught Arabella’s attention fully. She turned to Lady Crewe and in her eyes was an understanding that she would not have had, had Justin not spoken frankly to her about her father. She looked searchingly at Lady Crewe, noting the traces of beauty still evident on her proud face. She knew then that Lady Crewe and her father had been lovers. She felt no anger, only a mildly detached acceptance of the fact. She finally accepted that her father had been a man, an adult, and she had been a child, blindly believing him to be perfect. But she was no longer a child.

Lady Crewe had, of course, observed the new maturity on the young countess’s face, seen the understanding then the acceptance in her eyes—her father’s eyes. She said kindly, “Do come and call on me, Arabella. I believe that we would have many interesting things to discuss. I have stories to tell you about your papa, stories, perhaps, that you don’t know. He was an amazing man.”

“I shall, ma’am,” Arabella said. She realized that she did indeed wish to further her acquaintance with Lady Crewe. She left the older woman’s side to join the dancing with Sir Darien Snow, a long-time crony of her father’s. He smelled faintly of musk and brandy, a pleasing combination.

She saw somewhat sadly that the years were gaining inexorably upon Sir Darien, deep lines etched about his thin lips and eyes, knots of veins on the backs of his hands. He was as gentle and unassuming as her father had been loud and boisterous. Undemanding as always, he led her through the steps with the practiced grace of long years in society. He didn’t speak, which relieved her. She had to keep her eye on the comte. She saw him dancing with Elsbeth. Damn, if only there were some way to get Elsbeth suddenly on the other side of the ballroom. She tugged on Sir Darien’s arm, taking the lead from him, to draw closer to Elsbeth and Gervaise. At least she wanted to hear what they were saying. As they drew near, she heard Gervaise say in his lilting caressing voice, “How lovely you are this evening, ma petite. These English parties seem to agree with you.” Then they were swept away in the crush of other dancers, and she was unable to hear any more. If only she could have heard more.

At that moment, Elsbeth was saying to the comte, “Thank you, Gervaise. I do much enjoy dancing and parties. My aunt was rather retiring and did very little entertaining.” Elsbeth paused a moment before continuing, a hint of guilt in her voice, “I really should write to my aunt Caroline.

She has shown me only kindness, you know. She will of course wish to visit us after we are married.” How odd that sounded to her ears, somehow unnatural, somehow forced.

He said nothing, but there was a quiver in his hands. “Yes,” he managed to say finally. He gazed down at his half-sister, her dark eyes bright and almond-shaped, as were his. He knew her simple innocence, her unquestioned trust of those about her. If only that wretched old servant Josette had told him sooner that he was not the natural son of Thomas de Trécassis, indeed, that he and Elsbeth were born of the same mother.

Thank God he hadn’t made love to her that last time, after Josette had screamed at him that Elsbeth was his half-sister.

He would be gone soon, gone with what was rightfully his. Yet, somehow, he wanted to lessen the pain Elsbeth would feel upon his leaving. He missed a step in the dance and trod upon her foot. He was instantly contrite. “How very clumsy of me, Elsbeth, do forgive me, petite. You see, there are many things I do not do well.” She smiled up at him, but her smile faltered. She sensed a sadness in him, and replied quickly, “It is nothing, Gervaise. Do not speak like that, I beg you. You do yourself an injustice.”

“No, Elsbeth, it is true. I—I am really quite unworthy of you.” He paused, realizing they were dancing in the middle of the dance floor.

“Come,” he said, taking her hand. “I wish to speak to you. Let us go out on the balcony.”

Elsbeth followed the comte without hesitation, unaware that every member of her family was watching them closely.

It was chilly outside this evening, but Elsbeth didn’t feel it at all.

She turned to look at him, lifting her face for a kiss, but he took a step away from her. “No, Elsbeth, you must listen to me. I have done much thinking, little cousin. Our plan to go away together, it is impossible.

You must see that, Elsbeth. I would be the most dishonorable of men to take you from your family, to expose you to a life full of uncertainties and that would be all that I could offer you.” She could but stare at him, her mouth agape. “No,” she whispered, “no.

Why are you saying this? Gervaise, no, you cannot mean it. How can you say there will be uncertainties? There will be no uncertainties. Have you forgotten my ten thousand pounds? As my husband, the money would belong to you. You are very wise, Gervaise. We would have no uncertainties.”

“Husband,” he repeated, his voice low and harsh. “Your husband? Come, Elsbeth, it is time that you learned more of the realities of life. It is time you became a woman. You can no longer behave as a child.”

“I don’t know what you mean. What is this? What is in your mind? If there are any problems, I can help you. I am a woman now, you made me into a woman. Did you not teach me what it was to be a grown woman?” Without thinking, she took a step toward him.

He held up his hand. “You are such a romantic child. Just listen to yourself.” He managed a fine sneer and forced his voice to mockery. “All I did, Elsbeth, was take your virginity, caress your girl’s breasts, and provide you with a romantic summer idyll, nothing more.” Her face paled with shock at his words. “But you said you loved me,” she whispered. She shivered, not from the chill of the air, but from the burgeoning fear deep inside her.

He shrugged, such a Gaelic gesture of indifference, of contempt, she didn’t know. “Of course I told you I loved you. If you were a woman and not a child, you would have known that passionate words of love make an affaire all the more exciting and pleasurable.” There was such darkness, such emptiness, she couldn’t bear it. No, he couldn’t be saying these things. She wetted her lips. “But you told me you loved me and you meant it, I know it, just as I know you.”

“Of a certainty I love you,” he said coldly, “as my . . . cousin. It would be unnatural were I not to care for you in that way.”

“Then why did you tell me we would elope together? Do you not recall your promises to me?”

He laughed unpleasantly, a sound that made her shrivel, made something die deep inside her. She didn’t move. She didn’t think she could move, no matter what. He shrugged again, dismissing her as anyone even deserving of love, “I said only those things you wished to be told, Elsbeth. A wife will never be a part of my plans. That you chose to believe otherwise must show you that you are naught but a romantic child. Come, my dear, it is time for you to emerge from your sweet cocoon of innocence. Thank me for telling you the truth now. It’s kinder than leaving you to uncertainty. You would never have heard from me again, you know.”

“Was I really such a child to give myself freely to you?” He hated the tears brimming in her eyes, hated them, but he held firm, his voice as cool as the evening breeze that was making gooseflesh rise on her bare arm. “Yes, you were. Listen to me, you desired substance and reality when there was naught but dreams and phantoms. You must learn to face life, Elsbeth, not cower and weep like a helpless child. You will thank me one day. Hearts do not break—another piece of foolish nonsense.

You will forget me, Elsbeth, you will forget me, and grow strong, become a woman. Do you begin to understand?” His eyes softened, yet she did not notice, for her head was bowed. He didn’t need to pull his watch from his pocket to see that it was getting late. He must leave soon. He said now, quickly, “You are English, Elsbeth. Your future belongs in England, wedded to an English gentleman. You have tasted a brief affaire de coeur.

It is over now. No, no more crying. Please, Elsbeth—” He lightly cupped her cheek with his palm. “Please, do not remember me with hatred.”

“Yes,” she said, looking at him now, “it is over.” She swallowed her tears. Her back straightened. “Please take me back to Lady Ann.” After Gervaise left Elsbeth, he gazed about the crowded room, his eyes resting finally upon the earl. He didn’t seem to be aware of anyone else in the room save the young lady he was speaking to. Soon Gervaise would never see him again, never have to feel his damning hatred of him, know that he wanted to kill him. Soon Gervaise would be the winner, the earl the loser, and it would be over and there would be nothing the earl could do about it. Indeed, the earl would never know. Damn, he wished he could know. He would leave him a sign, perhaps even a letter, so he would grind his teeth, knowing that he’d been beaten.

He watched him for a few minutes more, then turned to take the hand of Miss Rutherford. He saw Elsbeth being led onto the dance floor by Lord Graybourn, and his eyes darkened for an instant. No, he had to forget her. He whirled Miss Rutherford suddenly in his arms. She gasped and laughed in delight.

At the close of the dance, Arabella allowed Sir Darien to take her back to her mother. Lady Ann said complacently, “It appears that Elsbeth is quite popular tonight. I was worried when I saw her go onto the balcony with Gervaise, but he brought her back into the room soon enough so that I didn’t have to interfere. I trust she will be all right. She is laughing with Lord Graybourn. That is a good sign.” Arabella didn’t say a word, merely nodded.

“And as for you, my dear, I saw you speaking with Lady Crewe. That woman has always scared me witless. I remember once when she was visiting on a weekend, she told me that my gown was too girlish and that I was to go change it. I remember your father looking me over and then agreeing with her. As you can imagine, I fled to do her bidding. Whatever did you have to talk so long about with her?”

This could lead to a pit of snakes, Arabella thought. “She is charming and not at all scary, Mama. You should speak to her again. She was filled with your praise.” Where was Gervaise? Oh there he was, dancing with Miss Rutherford. Arabella said, “Sir Darien grows so frail, Mama.” Dr. Branyon said, “Nothing wrong with him, to speak of. It’s merely age, my dear, merely age.”

“From the stories your papa told me, Sir Darien was a wild young man—a wild man even when he wasn’t so young—and perhaps he deserves to be frail now.”

Dr. Branyon was aware that his future daughter-in-law wasn’t really with them. She was looking at the dance floor. He said with a smile, “I believe Justin is fetching a glass of punch for Miss Eldridge, Bella. If Miss Talgarth has her way, I fear you will have very few chances to dance this evening with your husband.”

“I promise I will survive without him tonight, sir.” She turned around, her eyes again searching out the comte. She heard Suzanne’s bright laughter from among the throng of young people. She didn’t see the comte.

Her heart speeded up. She looked again, searching, searching.

He was gone.

She didn’t waste time. She knew the Talgarth stables were on the east side of the mansion. She looked around for Justin, but didn’t see him either. Perhaps he was already following Gervaise, without telling her.

It would be just like him, curse him.

It took her several minutes to reach the long, narrow windows, pull the latch, and slip into the moonlit night. She drew a deep breath, looking immediately toward the east side of the hall where Lady Talgarth had most adamantly insisted upon designing a parterre larger and more ornate than the one at Evesham Abbey. Her result had not been happy. Just beyond it were the stables. Her eyes strained into the darkness. She saw nothing.

Then, suddenly, she saw a cloaked gentleman walking quickly to the side of the hall toward the stables. It was the comte, she knew it. No other man walked with such a cocky gait.

As the comte neared the east side of Talgarth Hall, he turned abruptly to look behind him. The moonlight fell directly onto his face, and Arabella felt her heart jump. It was indeed Gervaise. In that moment he turned again and disappeared around the side of the hall.

She had to hurry. She turned and rushed back through the open window. She searched the dance floor but did not see the earl. Well, there was no longer any time to wait. Besides, she was certain he was already outside, already waiting for the comte to appear.

She quickly realized that it would take her too long to make her way through the throng of guests. She slipped back onto the balcony, leaned over the side, and eyed the distance to the ground. It was much too great a risk jumping. Her eyes fell upon a knotty old elm tree whose wispy branches touched the far edge of the balcony. Without a thought, she ran to the end of the balcony, bundled her skirts above her knees, and reached out for the branch. She clasped it firmly in her gloved hands and swung out away from the balcony, dangling for a moment in the air before her feet connected with a knobby outgrowth on its trunk. She felt the branch groan under her weight. She paid it no heed, easing her hands along the branch until, without too much risk, she was able to drop to a lower branch. Her skirts tangled about her legs and she nearly lost her balance. She flailed the air, then managed to catch herself. Damnation, if only God had meted out justice to females, she would be wearing britches.

She looked down at the smooth grass below, took a deep breath, and kicked free of the tree. She fell lightly on her feet, then set off at a run toward the stables, clutching her bothersome skirts high above her ankles. She heard from a distance, from the other side of the hall, the loud laughter of the servants who had accompanied their masters and mistresses. Suddenly she heard the steady pounding of horse’s hooves.

She quickly lowered herself to her knees behind a yew bush and waited.

But a moment later, horse and rider passed her, and she saw Gervaise’s pale face in the moonlight.