Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (10 page)

And fell asleep, wondering why he had been "leering" up at her
window…

The following morning dawned bitterly cold, but the skies were
clear, and pale winter sunshine flooded into Euphemia's bedchamber.
Never a late sleeper, she had been abed for almost twelve hours. Upon
awakening, she rang for an abigail, then arose and made her somewhat
stiff way to the windows. By daylight, the grounds of Dominer were even
more impressive, so that she gave a soft cry of admiration and stood
there, just drinking it all in.

Ellie arrived with a tray of hot chocolate and much concern
for her charge. Sir Simon, she imparted, had already gone downstairs.
The family would take breakfast at ten o'clock, but there was no one
expecting Miss to go down, and she would fetch up a tray. Euphemia
refused this kindness, but accepted the abigail's assistance with her
toilette and found her very obliging and with a real skill at hair
arrangement. Half an hour later, hurrying into the hall in her new
cream muslin, with a yellow shawl draped about her shoulders, she
slowed her steps involuntarily. Last evening she had been too tired to
notice very much, but this morning she could not but be charmed both by
the beautiful plan of the great house and the exquisite taste of the
appointments. Her feet sank into thick Aubusson carpets laid upon
floors that gleamed richly. Here and there, splendid porcelain and
crystal were displayed on old chests or tables that were, of
themselves, so beautifully wrought she could not refrain from
inspecting them more closely. The walls were hung with magnificent
oils, mostly landscapes or still lifes, but with an occasional family
portrait amongst them, and several proud suits of armour, in excellent
states of preservation, stood about impressively. So much beauty, she
thought. If only Simon and Kent had not been subjected to such danger,
she must be glad she had been able to see it all.

Proceeding to her destination, she found Kent's bedchamber and
slipped inside. A comely young maid was seated beside the window,
mending tablecloths. She stood and bobbed a curtsey as Euphemia
entered. The little boy was still sleeping, she said. Mrs. Graham had
gone to bed at six o'clock, but Mrs. Henderson, the housekeeper, would
come up shortly, being that she was a fine nurse.

Euphemia thanked her and trod softly over to the bed. The
child was deep in slumber, his thin cheeks flushed. His forehead felt
hot and dry, and, recalling what Hawkhurst had said, she left strict
instructions that she was to be called at once if Kent awoke. Returning
to the hall, she tried to convince herself that she was worrying
needlessly. He was probably simply recovering from exhaustion, on top
of which he may very well have caught a cold.

She closed the door gently and stood for a moment, her hand
still upon the latch, staring blindly at a splash of sunlight on the
carpet.

"Do not grieve, dear ma'am. He will soon be well again. Dr.
Archer is really superb, you know."

The gentle voice caused her to look up at once, and, like her
brother before her, she thought, What very kind eyes. Miss Stephanie
Hawkhurst was wearing a shapeless beige wool gown this morning, and a
shawl, beautifully embroidered in shades of cream, gold, and rust, was
fastened to her bodice with a handsome antique brooch. Smiling,
Euphemia put out her hand. "You must be Miss Hawkhurst I am very
beholden to you for your care of my brother. He has had an unpleasant
time of it since he was wounded."

"How do you do?" A soft hand clasped her own briefly, and an
unexpected twinkle danced into the hazel eyes, as Miss Hawkhurst
murmured, "Army Buck's daughter. Will you accompany me downstairs? I
had thought to have breakfast served to you in your room, for I am sure
you must be very tired still."

"Not at all. I slept like a log, in fact. And I see Mrs.
Graham has been telling you of my dear Papa."

Dismayed, Miss Hawkhurst said, "Oh, nothing to his discredit,
I do assure you!"

"Too late, my dear!" Euphemia slipped a hand in her arm and
said in her friendly way, "Your aunt already told me a tale about my
father, some of which I'd suspected, and all of which I found
delightful!"

Miss Hawkhurst breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness you
are not stuffy! I was afraid from what Hawk said—" She felt her
companion stiffen and added hurriedly, "Oh, dear! Only that you was a
fine figure of a girl, able to snare any— er—that is… Well, you know,"
she floundered, "I am not clever, or in the least fashionable, and I do
not know how to… to—"

"Go about catching a husband?" asked Euphemia, smiling, but
with a glitter in her fine eyes that would have at once alerted her
friends. "Well, if your brother told you I am still able to snare
offers, even at my age…"

"Oh, he did!" said Miss Hawkhurst, disastrously eager to make
amends.

"Ah. Why then he was right." Euphemia's teeth were a trifle
more noticeable than usual as she uttered that confirmation. "Did he
also tell you, perhaps, that I followed the drum with my father and
have a wide acquaintanceship among the military set?"

"Oh, is that what he meant by 'military rattles'? I thought…
Is something wrong?"

"By… no means." Euphemia's titter was uncharacteristically
shrill. "Only, I trust he does not think me too set up in my own
conceit."

"I am sure he does not. In fact, he admires you, for I heard
him tell Dr. Archer you did not want for sense and were probably
waiting until you found one who had come…" Her innocent brow puckered.
"Something about socks."

"Hose?" gasped Euphemia. "Hosed… and shod?"

"That's it! Someone who has come hosed and shod into the
world. Does that mean a soldier, Miss Buchanan?"

Fortunately, they had by now come to the head of the stairs,
and Euphemia's dazed expression and sudden clutch at the magnificently
carven railing were easily explained away. "Not… exactly…" she uttered.
So he took her for a fortune-hunter, the abominable wretch! "My, but
your lovely home quite… overwhelms me." And, by the time they had
reached the ground floor, she had regained her aplomb, outwardly, at
least.

Miss Hawkhurst led her across the splendour of the Great Hall
and into a cherry breakfast parlour, where were gathered Dr. Archer,
Buchanan, Lady Bryce, and a young exquisite who could only be Lord
Coleridge Bryce. Euphemia, who had gained no very clear picture of him
by moonlight, was astonished to find, instead of the sulky boy she had
expected, an open-faced youth with fair skin and hair, a chin faintly
reminiscent of his cousin's, and a wide, shyly smiling mouth. The
gentlemen stood as they entered. Dr. Archer drew out a chair for
Euphemia, Bryce performed that office for Miss Hawkhurst, and Buchanan
told his sister that she looked a bit more "The Thing" this morning.

"Dear Miss Buchanan," gushed Lady Bryce, "you have not met my
son."

Lord Coleridge's rather jerky bow and bashful response warmed
Euphemia towards him, though it also brought the fear he would cut his
cheek on his extremely high shirt points. However bosky he may have
been the previous evening, he gave little sign of it now, only a slight
puffiness under the eyes betraying him. He bore little resemblance to
his mother, and not until her gaze rested on Miss Hawkhurst, did
Euphemia see the family likeness. He had the same hazel eyes as the
girl and the same rather thin face and long beautiful hands. Lady Bryce
watched him with the clear hope he would say something clever. He slid
one finger under the fearsome convolutions of his neckcloth, fumbled
with one of the several fobs and seals at his waist, and observed that
the heavy rains of last month must have caused the landslide.

"That's what Garret said," Miss Hawkhurst agreed in her gentle
voice. "He went up there again this morning, with Manners and two of
the grooms."

Lady Bryce arched her brows. "Did he now? I am amazed the poor
fellow could manage it. He had such a time with his guests last night.
He don't like it when they over-indulge, Miss Buchanan. I'd not have
you think he condones such behaviour, for he
always
tells me afterwards that he is sorry they are so— er—rowdy."

Bryce, staring fixedly at his napkin, said, "I did not hear
any rowdiness last night, Mama."

"But how should you, dear boy? You were long abed. But
I
was disturbed. Not that it matters about me, of course, and I am
accustomed to it… But, to think of Miss Buchanan and Sir Simon, and
that poor, poor child! It was unforgiveable, and so I told your cousin
this morning. They were shouting under my windows at two of the clock,
and, had I not feared I might take a cold—you know how prone I am to
germs, dear Doctor Archer—I should have got up from my bed and opened
the window to quiet them."

Euphemia accepted a crumpet from the tray the butler offered,
and he poured her coffee. Inwardly amazed that such a conversation
should take place before the servants, she watched Bryce from under her
lashes. He had aspirations to dandyism, all right; those shirt points
and the grotesquely padded shoulders of his jacket attested to that.
His head sank a little lower, but he said nothing. Hawkhurst very
obviously had not betrayed him, and she could guess how that knowledge
must mortify the boy.

She found Dr. Archer observing her, a speculative expression
in his deep eyes. "You are early abroad, sir," she smiled.

"Stayed the night. My people know where to find me should the
need arise. I'd have to check your brother's shoulder this morning at
all events, and I want to look in on the boy. He's a frail little
fellow."

She had encountered his type before, and the very quietness of
his manner alarmed her. "Yes. I thought him a trifle feverish just now."

No die-away airs here, he thought. And, gad, what a fine lass!
Far above mere prettiness! If he were only ten years younger… or
twenty… Those great blue eyes were questioning him. And she was the
type to want it straight out. "Inflammation of the lungs," he said
bluntly.

Miss Hawkhurst gave a little cry of dismay. Euphemia paled,
for, although she had guessed Kent was sick, she'd not expected this.
She reached out her hand instinctively, and Buchanan leaned to take it
firmly and ask a quiet, "Serious?"

"Of course, it is serious!" cried Lady Bryce. "It carried off
my poor sister in only six days, and—"

"Well, it will not carry off the boy," Archer interpolated,
his gaze still on Euphemia. "He became thoroughly chilled hanging onto
that branch, I don't doubt, but Hawk had the good sense to get him into
a hot tub at once, and I think we've caught it quickly enough."
Curiosity touched his eyes. "Fond of your little page, ain't you, Miss
Buchanan? Well, he'll get good care here, I do assure you. But you'll
not be able to move him for a week or two."

Euphemia exchanged a troubled glance with her brother.

"You must stay here," said Lady Bryce, her mind planning
busily. "The boy would pine away without you."

Buchanan thought that very likely, and his heart sank at the
prospect of being compelled to remain in this house of infamy. He was
too well bred, however, not to be shamed at once by such a graceless
reaction. Not only had Hawkhurst saved his life, it also was beyond
doubting that every hospitality would be extended to them. Irked with
himself, he smiled ruefully at Miss Hawkhurst. "I fear that would be a
dreadful imposition."

"No, but it would be our very great pleasure, Sir Simon." The
girl blushed as she spoke, and, thanking her, Euphemia thought
abstractedly that Stephanie Hawkhurst was more taking than she had at
first realized. That braided hair, however, which would be charming on
a vibrant beauty like Deirdre Breckenridge, was too severe for so pale
a countenance, and her lashes were a light gold that became invisible
save when the light chanced to touch them, giving her eyes a naked
look. A softer coiffure, a subtle use of cosmetics might—

"I will send Neeley to Meadow Abbey," said Buchanan. "Would
you wish me to write Great Aunt Lucasta a note, Mia?"

Euphemia said she would write directly after breakfast, since
she did not want Simon to use his right arm. She wondered what
Hawkhurst would think of his new development. Last evening he had said,
"I wish you may leave…" Well, if he became obnoxious, they would simply
have
to leave.

"Oh! What a lovely change it will be for us to have house
guests!" exclaimed Lady Bryce, clasping her hands theatrically.
"However reluctant they may be! Only think, Miss Buchanan!You will very
likely be here for my Musicale! It is only ten days distant. And
meanwhile, we shall do all we can to make your stay here, if not
exciting, at least not… unpleasant. I do trust my Fifi pleased you? I
can tell she arranged your hair, for it looks very well today."

From the corner of her eye, Euphemia saw a quirk tug at the
corners of Simon's lips. And she says it all with such an innocent
smile, she marvelled. "You are too kind, ma'am. I had expert assistance
indeed, but the abigail who waited on me is called Ellie."

"
Ellie
?" Lady Bryce turned a shocked gaze
upon her niece. "Oh, Stephie! How could you have blundered so? I
distinctly told you to send Fifi to Miss Buchanan, for our simple
country girls would never do for a lady who has travelled so much about
the world! Really, I cannot think what dear Miss Buchanan must think of
us!"

Blushing fierily, Miss Hawkhurst looked with dismay from her
aunt to their guest, and Euphemia interjected lightly. "No, no, please!
I cannot imagine anyone having been more perfect, for I ached so, and
she applied a lotion to my bruises that has made me feel like new."

"Only listen, Stephanie," purred my lady, patting her niece's
hand. "For your sake, Miss Buchanan is so good as to overcome her
natural reluctance to speak of so personal a matter. How much it will
help you to be exposed to such sophistication." She turned to Euphemia,
who was beginning to think herself quite a scarlet woman, and lamented
in a lower but all too audible voice. "Poor child, shut away here—what
chance has she to learn how to go on? I have so pleaded with Hawkhurst
to give her a London season, but he will not hear of it! No, do not
defend him, Stephanie! It is very naughty of him, for the years pass by
so quickly, and, before we know it, all your brilliant potential will
be suffocated until you become just another drab little country dowd!"