Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (20 page)

The rest of her words were lost upon Euphemia, who could
almost hear a sneering voice say, "How those military rattles dazzle
the ladies…" Why on earth would he make so contemptuous a remark if he
himself had worn a scarlet coat? Baffled, she said, "He was? Why, I'd
no idea. What was his regiment?"

"Oh, my… Now, was it the 52nd? Or was that poor Harry Redmond?
No, I think it was the 43rd. Or was that Colborne?"

"Redmond was a Light Bob, ma'am. And had Mr. Hawkhurst served
with John Colborne, I would have met him, I do believe—or heard tell of
him."

"Oh, but this was several years ago, child. Gary fought in a
battle, I know. Bustle or hustle, something or other. It was soon after
his wife and son were… er—And so he bought a pair of colours and went.
I was sure he would be killed, as he hoped to be, the poor soul."

A pang pierced Euphemia. "You must mean Bussaco," she said in
a shaken voice. "Goodness, but you are trapped. Allow me to help. Was
he wounded?"

"No. Is it not always the way? His friends said he was in the
very thickest of the fighting, but not so much as a scratch. Such a
disappointment it must have been! But then he was needed here, and the
Admiral demanded he come home. He has often spoken of how splendid his
comrades were, and I think that is why he wants Colley to join up. He
hopes it will make a man of him."

"Lord Bryce
is
a man," frowned Euphemia,
finally extricating the shawl. "We cannot all be the same type you
know, dear ma'am. Nor have the same interests. Your nephew should
really—"

"No more an accident than Prinny is a postulant! I tell you,
Buck, it was a deliberate attempt at murder!"

The familiar male voice held Euphemia rigid with astonishment.

Dora clapped her hands. "Thank goodness! We have more company.
Carlotta will be happy! Ah, you have freed me, my dear!" She flung her
shawl exuberantly about her, then, pulling down the end that had
whipped about her mouth, cried, " 'Free as nature first made man, ere
laws of…" Now how does that go? 'Ere laws of serving people'—or
something, 'began.' " And, with a whimsical giggle, she trotted and
tripped her way into the lounge.

Following, Euphemia saw two young men standing beside the
fire. One was Simon, and at the sight of the other her heart gave a
leap of joy. "Leith!" She moved swiftly to greet this good friend, and
with a glad cry he strode to take her out-stretched hands, press each
to his lips, and scan her, eyes bright with adoration. "What a
very
great pleasure to find you here, Mia!"

"A pleasure shared," she said warmly and, tugging at the
unfamiliar blue of his sleeve, asked, "A promotion? Are you now one of
the great man's 'family'?"

"He's deserted for a confounded staff officer!" laughed
Buchanan. "Dreadful!"

"I think it splendid! And indeed Wellington could have done no
better! But—how surprised I am to see you
here
.
Are you acquainted with Hawkhurst, Tris?"

"Scandalous, ain't it?" drawled a cynical voice.

Euphemia glanced to the side and could have sank, as
Hawkhurst, who had been sprawled in a wing chair by the window, stood
lazily.

Leith's shrewd eyes flashed from one to the other. Euphemia's
cheeks were scarlet. He had seldom seen her off-stride, but now her
customary poise, her ability to smooth over the most awkward of
moments, seemed to have deserted her. Inwardly troubled, he bowed in
his gallant way over Dora's hand, then dropped a kiss upon her cheek in
the manner of a very old friend, answering her eager questions with the
regretful news that he could stay a very short time. He'd come with
dispatches to the Horse Guards, must return to France in the morning,
and had detoured here for only a very brief visit.

"And will not tell us any news," fretted Buchanan, "until we
are all at luncheon!"

"Savage!" Euphemia chastised, making an outward recovery,
although her heart still pounded unevenly. "Tell us only this—have we
lost any good friends?"

She had expected that he would at once set her fears at rest,
but momentarily he looked grim, and she exchanged a swift glance with
her brother. More welcoming cries interrupted their discussion, as
Bryce and his mother entered. Leith seized the young man's hand in a
firm grip, pounded briefly at his shoulder, then whirled the Lady
Carlotta off her little feet and planted a healthy kiss on one warmly
blushing cheek. "Rogue!" she laughed happily. "Oh, how very glad I am
to see you again! And looking splendidly, as usual, though I think you
would do better to stay with your red uniform my dear, much more
dashing than that dull blue! Do you overnight?"

"Just a hasty drop-in, I'm afraid," he said fondly, flashing
an amused glance at Buchanan's hilarity as he set her down.

"And never," his dark eyes turned to Euphemia, "more pleased
than to find the lady I mean to make my wife visiting you also."

Bryce looked surprised. Euphemia blushed and felt a surge of
irritation. Dora shot a troubled look at Hawkhurst's still face, and
Carlotta, her eyes frankly dubious, scanned the tall girl without
appreciable rapture and murmured, "Dear me… another surprise."

"A magnificent one!" Coleridge said with real enthusiasm.

"Well, you crusty old misogynist?" grinned Leith. "What have
you to say to that?"

Hawkhurst had wandered over to the window and stood with his
back to them, but he turned with a bored smile and shrugged, "I wish
you happy, of course. And for myself, I wish my lunch. Can we go in? Or
are we all—? Ah, I see that my sister is not yet—" And he broke off,
staring at the girl who had come shyly through the door to pause on the
threshold.

Stephanie's pale hair that had been bland in those thick
braids had come to life, and the glow of the firelight danced among the
short curls clustering about her ears. The fullness of those curls
broke and softened the rather long line of her face. Her pale brows and
lashes had been very subtly darkened, and the eyes that had been so
nondescript as to elude notice had gained new depth and brilliance. She
would never be a Toast, but Euphemia had spoken truly: her light was no
longer hidden under a bushel. However shyly, Stephanie glowed, the
added colour in her cheeks, the pale golden gown, and the amber velvet
riband about her hair, transforming a somewhat insipid girl into a most
attractive young lady.

"Good… God… !" gasped Bryce.

"By Jove!" Leith exclaimed in delight. "Euphemia, my
beautiful, have a care! Do you not set the date, you're liable to find
me in the toils of this enchantress!"

Stephanie's dismayed glance at her new friend discovered such
an amused look that she relaxed again and laughed down at Leith who had
fallen to one knee to clasp her hand and kiss it. "Behold me at your
feet, you vision," he grinned and, standing, added, "Egad, Stephie, the
last time I came you were a shy schoolroom miss. Now, look at you! A
Beauty, no less!"

"Faithless wretch!" scolded Euphemia.

"He's right, though, dashed if he ain't!" Coleridge Bryce
crossed to give his cousin an impulsive and rare hug. "You look much
better, Stephie. Don't she, Mama?"

"Very pretty," Lady Bryce acknowledged. "Indeed, how even our
clever Miss Buchanan could achieve such miraculous—"

"Absolutely beautiful!" interposed her sister-in-law quickly.
"I shall embroider you a new shawl, Stephanie. I've a piece of silk
very close to that shade of amber. It will look delightfully."

Leith's eyes had returned to Euphemia, only to find her
watching Hawkhurst, a faintly challenging smile on her lips, but her
eyes anxious. And, noting how studiously that individual avoided her
gaze, his unease was heightened.

Stephanie, meanwhile, having thanked her aunt for the kind
offer and, being a little flustered by reason of all this attention,
turned to her brother. "Gary… ? You are not vexed?"

"I bow to our so adept modiste," he said, throwing Euphemia a
slight bow, though his glance barely flickered in her direction. "And
also, I claim the right to lead our Beauty in to luncheon."

Although he was longing to claim Euphemia, Leith's manners
would not allow it, and he escorted Lady Bryce. Buchanan was not loath
to escort Dora, whose gaiety and good nature he felt compensated for
her unfortunate taste in scent, and Coleridge offered Euphemia his arm
with so gallant a flourish that she was able to laugh despite a
heavy-heartedness that was as unusual as it was confusing.

When they were all seated around the table, Leith was at last
badgered into informing them that Wellington had scored again. Another
splendid victory, the Battle of St. Pierre had been won against
apparently hopeless odds. Cheers rang out at this, and everyone sprang
up, while Hawkhurst, his face flushed and boyish, proposed a toast: "To
Lord Wellington, and our magnificent fighting men who will soon drive
Boney back where he belongs!"

"Do tell us of it, Leith," Buchanan urged as they resumed
their places. "Has the rain stopped over there?"

"It rains like the Flood still. And old Soult caught us fairly
at the Nive, which was so blasted overflowing the Beau had to split us
into two sections. But he felt we would prevail, and we did, by God!"

When the servants had withdrawn, Hawkhurst murmured,
"Casualties… ? Or can you speak of it?"

"Unbelievable." Leigh's face darkened. "Worst I ever saw.
'Auld Grog Willie' had every member of his staff downed, one way or
another. Never fear, Hawk, Colborne's unhurt, and looks quite himself
again, though he carries that shoulder a trifle crooked these days." He
turned rather reluctantly to Euphemia, who was striving not to look
astonished yet again. "I'm sorry, lovely one, but… your admirer, Ian
McTavish of the 92nd. And Johnny Wentby of the Gloucesters—you'll
recall old John, Hawk? Bob Grimsby, who wrote that ode about your eyes,
Mia, and—"

She said on a choked sob, "Dead… ? All—dead?"

"McTavish, I'm afraid. And right gallantly. Wentby also.
Grimsby lost his leg, but might pull through. And indeed, war is no
game for children. You of all people know that, m'dear."

"But you play at it as though it were!" sniffed Lady Bryce,
who had also been fond of the dauntless Major McTavish. "All your
riding and hunting and careering about over there… as though you'd not
a… care in the world!" She wiped at her eyes, quite forgetting to be
dainty about it.

Euphemia was so shattered she was finding it difficult to
maintain her composure. Leith went on talking easily, turning the
conversation to lighter aspects of Wellington's brilliant advance and,
as he did so, unobtrusively placed one hand over Euphemia's small fist,
tight clenched on the tablecloth. Hawkhurst noted that kindly gesture,
the easy assurance with which it was accomplished, and the grateful, if
quivering, smile that was bestowed upon Leith in return. For a moment
he stared rather blankly at his good friend. Then he concentrated on
his plate and for the balance of the meal said very little.

The contribution he might have made to the conversation was
not missed. Leith, a superb raconteur, soon had them all in whoops with
his tales. Carlotta, who very obviously doted on him, was happier than
Euphemia had ever seen her, and Dora, her rich sense of humour easily
aroused, laughed until the tears slipped down her round cheeks.

Through it all, not once did Stephanie appear to glance in the
direction of Lieutenant Sir Simon Buchanan. And, through it all, the
troubled eyes of that young gentleman rarely left her face.

"So here you are! What luck! I feared I'd not find you alone."
Leith strode across the music room to join Euphemia, who was leafing
through a pile of music.

"I have promised to sing at the rectory party tonight," she
smiled as he pulled a chair close beside her. "You come with us, I
hope?"

"I wish I might, but I must be at the Horse Guards first thing
in the morning, and the weather looks a bit grim. Mia, I simply must
talk with you. Can I persuade you to join me for a gallop before I
leave?"

She would not have refused him under any circumstances, for
always the dread that she might never see him again haunted her. But
the thought of a ride today was doubly welcome, and she stood eagerly.
"Lovely! I will go and change. I promise to be very quick."

"Oh, I know that," he said cheerfully, accompanying her into
the hall. "You are famous for not keeping a gentleman waiting above
three hours whilst you change your bonnet."

"Wretch!" she laughed. "Own up, Leith. That very quality is
what won your heart, is it not?"

"But, of course. Above all else I demand promptitude in my
wife!" The words were as light as ever, but there was a wistful quality
to his smile, and Euphemia's eyes wavered. "You run along," he urged,
"and I'll ask Hawk for the loan of a couple of hacks. I wonder where
he's disappeared to. He was with the boy after luncheon, but—Oh, there
they are."

Curious, Euphemia followed him into the library where
Hawkhurst and Kent had their heads together over a fine old book of
wild animal engravings. Kent's small face was aglow with happiness. He
threw her a beaming smile and pointed to the book. She admired it
dutifully, her heart warming towards the man for his kindness. Leith
meantime had begged the loan of two horses, and Hawkhurst was already
crossing to the bellrope. "Had you to ask, bacon brain? I'll tell the
grooms to saddle them for you immediately. But you'll not ride
Sarabande, and so I warn you."

"Graceless villain," Leith chuckled.

"Dare I beg, sir," Euphemia asked teasingly, "for a mount with
a little more spirit than the gentle mare you allotted to me the last
time I rode?"

She had turned her most winning smile upon their host, in the
hope that this might constitute a start toward repairing the gulf
between them. Her effort was lost.