Midsummer Eve at Rookery End (10 page)

But perhaps something could be salvaged from this crisis. The Viscount could be left in no doubt after tonight that his daughter was in earnest about marrying Mr Devaynes. If Verity could induce Amelia to return home, although the Viscount would be furious at first, she believed he must eventually give his consent. But as Verity fretted about how on earth she was going to catch the truants before they got too far, it occurred to her that there was someone equally to blame as Amelia’s father for this disastrous state of affairs – Sir Tristan Millforte.

If Sir Tristan had not entered into the ridiculous arrangement with the Viscount, Amelia would not have been goaded into eloping.

If Sir Tristan had taken the trouble to get to know Amelia, he would have seen that she loved another and realised that forcing a young, spirited girl into a
mariage de convenance
must lead to unhappiness.

The more she considered it, the more her anger towards him grew. Sir Tristan was an arrogant, insensitive brute and as culpable as Viscount Radnor.

It was the outside of enough.

Despite her lowly position, Verity determined to confront Sir Tristan about his behaviour and demand his help in overtaking the runaways – he was partly to blame after all.

Wrath sparkling in her eyes, Verity rose to her feet, eager to find Sir Tristan.

“Excuse me, we are not acquainted, but I have been informed that you are Sir Tristan Millforte. Are you indeed Sir Tristan?”

It was a very pleasant voice, decided Sir Tristan, who had escaped into the relative quiet of the green drawing room to study the paintings – female, low-pitched and musical, but it held a fierce note of censure. He wondered vaguely what crime he had committed to deserve that condemnatory tone and if the lady’s appearance matched her voice. Her words appeared to have been uttered through gritted teeth.

He turned around and heard her gasp.

“There has been a mistake,” she said, gazing up at him in genuine astonishment. “You cannot be Sir Tristan Millforte!”

Sir Tristan smiled, bowed and allowed his lazy gaze to dwell on the lady appreciatively. She was not dressed in the height of fashion yet her demure lilac-coloured gown was tastefully done. A pair of dazzling grey-green eyes regarded him reproachfully, but a retroussé nose, luscious lips that promised sensual pleasure, and a provocative little dimple completed a charming ensemble of features.

Hair the colour of ripe chestnuts had been swept into a neat coil on the top of her head, and Sir Tristan immediately found himself wondering what it would be like to run his fingers through those burnished silken tresses. His response gave no hint of this sudden compulsion.

“I am devastated to have to correct you: I
am
Sir Tristan Millforte, although I gather from your tone and manner that you are not pleased by the fact.”

“B-But Amelia told me that you were—” Blushing furiously, Verity cut short the sentence.

“Whatever Amelia has said,” mused Sir Tristan, regarding her confusion with amusement, “it is obvious that I don’t meet with your expectations.”

“I-Indeed, no, sir. Y-You are not at all what I anticipated!” stammered Verity, still gaping at him.

It was an understatement to say Sir Tristan was not what she expected. This tall, exceedingly handsome man with pleasant grey eyes could not be a day over thirty-five and bore no resemblance to the bucolic middle-aged despot in her mind’s eye.

“Then I apologise for disappointing you, Miss—?”

“Brook.”

“Miss Brook,” he echoed. “An agreeable name, but it does not do you justice. Do you have any other? Venus, perhaps?”

Another flush crept into her cheeks. “Verity.”

“Delightful,” murmured Sir Tristan. “Well, Miss Verity Brook, how can I be of service?”

Verity, thrown off balance by Sir Tristan’s appearance and urbane manner, recollected her mission and went on the attack. “You can help me to find Amelia! Because of you, and her father, she has slipped away from the ball to elope with George Devaynes – I received a note informing me of her intention a short while ago. With her parents absent, Amelia was my responsibility tonight—”

“Why?” he interjected. “What connection do you have to Amelia?”

“I am her governess.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“My accomplishments are perfectly satisfactory, sir,” replied Verity tartly.

“I don’t doubt it, but you are too young and far too lovely to fit my notion of a governess. Pray continue, Miss Brook.”

“Oh!” said Verity, momentarily disarmed. “W-Well, much as it pains me to do so, I am forced to ask for your assistance. You see, I have no way of reaching Amelia quickly and I must convince her of the impropriety of a clandestine marriage. It may seem strange to approach you for help – indeed, it is an exceedingly awkward situation – but I didn’t think it prudent to involve anyone else. I’m sure you will be as eager as I am to avoid a scandal. As you are aware, Amelia is under age, which means they must be heading for Gretna Green. Such a shocking affair!” Then, after a pause for breath, she flung at him contemptuously, “I do not scruple to tell you, Sir Tristan, that you are partly responsible for this elopement; if you possess any honourable principles, you will therefore help to prevent it! You and Amelia’s father have frightened the child half out of her wits – she would not have been driven to these desperate measures otherwise.”

“I see,” he murmured, after a long pause. “And who is Amelia’s father?”

“Why, Viscount Radnor, of course!”

“Of course. Forgive my confusion.”

Verity began to wonder if he was foxed. “By constraining Amelia to marriage, you have goaded her into this madness,” she said severely.

Sir Tristan, now engaged in polishing his quizzing glass, paused briefly, then said, “Tell me, is Amelia also known as Miss Gardiner?”

Verity blinked in astonishment. “Certainly she is. You cannot be ignorant of that!”

“Everything is becoming clearer now.” Noting the sheen of angry, indignant tears in her eyes, Sir Tristan let his quizzing glass fall and said in a softer tone, “What do you suggest?

“Have your horses put-to immediately. They cannot have got far yet and we may still be able to overtake them.”

“Very well—”

Verity heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you! I will get my cloak.”

“—but have you considered which direction we should take, Miss Brook?”

Nonplussed, she stared at him in silence.

“My dear girl, they can hardly be proposing to race to the border in Devaynes’ curricle,” he explained.

“I suppose not,” said Verity, biting her lip.

“Let us think for a moment before we waste time embarking on a wild goose chase,” said Sir Tristan. “It is logical to assume they will make for the nearest village which is Rookery Cross, some three miles distant. Rookery Cross has only one coaching inn – The Angel – and if Devaynes has a particle of sense, he will have ordered a post chaise and four to be waiting there. I propose we take my curricle, travel to Rookery Cross and find out if the runaways are still at The Angel.”

Nodding, she exclaimed in an anguished tone, “Oh, I pray that they will be! I don’t know what I shall do if they are not.”

“That can be addressed as and when necessary. I will do my best to reach Rookery Cross before Miss Gardiner and her beau depart. From what you have said, my role in this elopement is indisputable; I therefore feel obliged to make some amends. However, I cannot admit to a guilty conscience regarding Amelia.”

“You have no conscience, Sir Tristan!” she cried.

“Oh, I have a conscience,” he drawled, “and a very good memory. I have never made Miss Amelia Gardiner an offer of marriage.”

“But—” Verity began, frowning at him in bewilderment.

He smiled. “Get your cloak, Miss Brook. I’ll arrange for my curricle to be brought to the front of the house and meet you there shortly.”

Moonlight reflected off the gleaming coats of Sir Tristan’s matched greys as the curricle bowled down the lanes towards Rookery Cross.

His carriage, as befitted a sporting man of fashion, was light and well-sprung and Verity was a little reassured by the speed at which his thoroughbreds covered the ground – at this pace, there was reason to believe they could overtake the runaways.

Sir Tristan’s skill was astonishing and in spite of her disapproval of his character, Verity had to admit that he could drive to an inch. Narrow country lanes were difficult enough to negotiate in daylight, and it was a testament to Sir Tristan’s ability that he could urge his lively team to full speed along the moonlit roads without checking. They had passed a chaise travelling in the opposite direction with only inches to spare, but while Verity had held her breath, Sir Tristan had not slackened his pace for an instant as his curricle swept past the carriage.

She sat alongside him with her hands clasped in her lap. They were alone, Sir Tristan having advised his tiger that his services were not required. She stole a glance at him from under her lashes: a many-caped greatcoat now covered his evening attire, further emphasising the breadth of his shoulders, and he had donned a pair of top boots and leather driving gloves. He held the reins loosely but a combination of strong hands and sensitive fingers controlled the magnificent greys as they surged ahead. Verity could see the crease of concentration between his brows.

He was undeniably handsome and a shiver of awareness run through her as she studied his profile – how could Amelia have described Sir Tristan as old? He was in his early thirties at most!

Having had time to reflect on their conversation, she admitted to feeling perplexed and uncomfortable. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to involve him, but it had seemed the best option. Keeping the matter between those concerned was the only way to avoid gossip and Viscount Radnor would wish for that above all things.

Verity hoped that her absence, and Amelia’s, would not be remarked on. If the worst happened and she could not dissuade Amelia from eloping, Verity would have to return to Rookery End and make an excuse for her charge’s sudden departure. It would only be staving off the inevitable, of course – word of the elopement would soon emerge.

Far from being annoyed that his intended had eloped with another man, Sir Tristan seemed remarkably calm. Even if he had no affection for Amelia, Verity had at least expected him to be angry, but in this way, as in every other, Sir Tristan had overturned her preconceptions. Verity puzzled over his admission that he had not made Amelia an offer of marriage and was wondering how to broach this delicate subject when he said:

“You are silent, Miss Brook. I hope the pace is not too fast?”

“No, no! I am anxious to reach Amelia as soon as possible. I was admiring your driving skill. My brother, who is of a sporting turn of mind, would give a great deal to equal it, I think.”

“Indeed? Is your brother young and impressionable then?”

“No, he is older than me. I-I do not see him often.”

He glanced down at her. “A pity. My brother is also my best friend and I cannot imagine it otherwise. Are you and your sibling estranged?”

“Only since his marriage.”

“Ah,” he observed, imbuing the word with a wealth of meaning. “I take it your sister-in-law does not approve of you.”

She gave slight, rueful smile. “Something of that nature. When my father died, we discovered he was deep in debt. My brother’s inheritance was a fraction of what he was expecting and his new wife did not want it to be used in supporting me. My brother agreed with her.”

“Is that why you became a governess?”

“Yes – I was not willing to live on their charity.”

Sir Tristan, who sensed that this simple statement concealed a great deal of heartache and upheaval, felt a surge of anger towards Verity’s spineless brother and his wife. “Then your post with Amelia was your first as a governess?”

“For a short time I was employed in Lord Quinn’s household,” replied Verity in a quiet voice, “but I was obliged to leave there.”

Seeing her expression, his brows drew together in a frown. “There is no need to expatiate further, Miss Brook. I am acquainted with Lord Quinn and can well imagine the attentions you were subjected to while under his roof.”

Verity blushed and, sitting very erect and staring straight ahead, she put up her chin. “It was deeply unpleasant. Lady Quinn accused me of enticing her husband, but nothing could have been further from the truth.”

“As I said before, you are young and attractive and being a governess unfortunately leaves you vulnerable to such approaches.”

“I suppose I was naïve not to consider that at the outset, but there was no other way to support myself when my father died. Luckily, after I left Lord Quinn’s household without a reference, Viscountess Radnor was kind enough to offer me the position of Amelia’s governess. She wanted her daughter to have a companion near her own age. I have been happy at Radnor Court; Amelia is the dearest girl and I have done what I can to make things easier for her in difficult circumstances.” Verity wondered why she was telling Sir Tristan all this – he had an uncanny ability to draw out information and she felt surprisingly willing to confide in him. His slow smile sent warmth rushing through her.

“And now Amelia has re-paid you by eloping,” he observed.

Verity turned to him, eyes flashing with indignation. “Don’t you dare judge her! If you only knew how unhappy she has been … how shamefully her father has tried to browbeat her into marrying you when she loves George Devaynes! I can’t condone the elopement, but I admire her spirit. And you would too – if you had a heart!”

“I do admire it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said I admire her spirit. Viscount Radnor must be mad to treat his daughter in this fashion; she is heiress to a considerable fortune and I see no reason why she should not marry whom she wishes. Devaynes, whom I know of only by reputation, may be purse-pinched but he’s a good man with an exceptional future in the military.