Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (26 page)

To try to sleep was useless. Euphemia put on her dressing gown
and curled up in the windowseat. It was very cold, and she wondered
absently if it would snow tomorrow. After such an incredibly crowded
day it was astonishing that she was not exhausted, but there was so
much to think on. The fiasco with Sampson, Leith…
dear
Leith, Stephanie's sweet face, the formidable, yet lovable Admiral
Wetherby—and Simon's preoccupation. The kind, patient boy was longing
to be gone from here. She was torn between the desire to please him and
the dread of leaving Dominer. Above all, to know that Hawk stood in
danger was terrifying. If she lost him, so soon after finding him… She
shivered.

Perhaps she could speak with Maximilian Gains. The man had
ample reason for seeking vengeance, but she found it impossible to
picture him so mercilessly tormenting an enemy. Unhappily, there were
other men who probably had reason to hate Hawkhurst: irate husbands,
men who still cherished fond memories of the lovely Blanche, men who—

She stiffened and peered incredulously at a closed chaise that
loomed into view like some macabre ghost vehicle, with no clatter of
hooves or grating of wheels to accompany its progress. A chill
whispered down her spine, and then she saw that the chaise was not on
the drive but was being driven across the lawns! She stared, petrified.
There was something horribly sinister about the inexorable progress of
that silent, slow-moving chaise, creeping upon Dominer in the wee hours
of the morning. And, even as she watched, it vanished from the field of
her vision.

Staying for neither candle nor slippers, she ran to the door,
wrenched it open, and sped wildly along the corridor. A lamp set on a
teakwood chest lit her way, and she ran on to the next window. The
draperies were closed. Grasping them with hands that trembled, she
opened them a crack and peeped out.

The ghost chaise had halted at the far end of the North Wing,
and two figures—a tall man and a woman muffled to the ears in cloak and
hood—had alighted and were struggling to drag something from inside the
vehicle. That they could barely manage their large burden was apparent,
and, having at last succeeded in removing it, they bore it with
difficulty to the unoccupied section of the great mansion, where Hawk
was wont to entertain his "personal friends." Not once during their
efforts did the conspirators appear to converse. Their movements were
sly and furtive, and it was very apparent that they went in dread of
making the slightest sound. At the last instant, as though he sensed
that they were watched, the man darted a look up at the windows. The
moonlight, pale though it was, struck his face. Euphemia's heart sank.
It was the very person she had suspected, yet so hoped it would not be.
For the moonlight revealed the tense features of Lord Coleridge Bryce.

Dominer was early astir the following morning, as preparations
for the afternoon's Musicale got under way. At nine o'clock, Hawkhurst
stood before the window in his aunt's bedchamber, a hand in his pocket,
and one shoulder propped against the wall. He frowned into the gardens
below him, then turned to meet Carlotta's bland smile and said, "Go to
her head? Why should it, ma'am? Stephie's no different now than ever
she was."

Carlotta settled back more comfortably against her pillows
and, having sipped her chocolate daintily, agreed, "Why, of course she
is not, love. And so I said to Dora. 'Then why,' says she in her clever
way, 'why do the beaux all cluster round her now? And why was she gone
from the party for half the evening (though where I cannot guess) and
come back looking downright moonstruck?' Not that
I
would listen to such stuff, you know, Garret. Any more than my dear
Colley would listen to those who said such dreadful things about… you."

He put up his brows at her mockingly and knew he should pay no
heed to her prattling. But Stephie
had
seemed
rather jumpy last evening, now that he came to think about it. And
there
was
a difference about her of late—an inner
light and yet a hint of sorrow, withal. By heaven! If some
wet-behind-the-ears young Buck was daring to attempt to fix his
interest with her…

Carlotta, sorting through her morning pile of correspondence,
fluttered a sly glance up at him and, seeing his eyes darkened and his
jaw set into that horrid hard look so often turned upon poor Colley,
knew she had him and returned smugly to the letter in her hand.

"Was that all you wished to say to me, Aunt?"

"What, dear? Did I ask you to come, then? I do not seem to
recall… Oh! How clever of you to remind me, for I had quite forgot.
Guess! Only
guess
who I met at the rectory last
night!" She paused breathlessly and, his eyes holding only that
familiar look of polite boredom, did not wait for his response but
divulged triumphantly, "
Mrs. Hughes-Dering
!"

"What, old Greg Hughes' sister? How very dull for you! The
woman was ever a rabid social climber as I—"

"Social… climber!" Carlotta fairly clutched for her
vinaigrette and, having revived herself, gasped out, "She is a Leader
of Society! A Power to be reckoned with in Town, Or in Bath! All
evening I catered to and smiled at and fawned upon the odious old hag.
And finally she agreed—yes, she actually
agreed
to come to my Musicale!"

"Good God!" he uttered, aghast.

"Yes," she nodded, misinterpreting his reaction. "I do not
doubt that she knows your dear Grandpapa will be there, and the
Buchanans also. Such a coup! Though I will admit I all but went down on
my knees to her!"

"You did?" he grinned. "A little too much wine, dear Aunt?"

She gave a small shriek and denied that alcohol had ever
touched her lips. "Which is more than could be said for my poor
sister-in-law! One glass of ratafia, and Dora is positively tipsy."

Hawkhurst's grin widened, for he was well aware of the fine
Madeira that filled Dora's pretty Chinese decanter. "You are the
essence of virtue," he acknowledged, sauntering towards the door. "And,
if your saintliness will stretch so far as to endure Monica
Hughes-Dering for above two minutes, you will have my admiration,
ma'am, if not my company. I shall see you when the affair is over, and
do trust all goes well."

"
Hawkhurst
!" Her scream brought his hand
from the doorlatch as though it had been red hot, and he spun about,
crouching slightly, eyes narrowed, and every inch of his frame poised
for combat. Nothing had changed in the luxurious bedchamber, however,
and, straightening, he said an irked, "Gad, madam! What ails you? I
fancied three assassins with drawn swords at my back!"

"What did you mean?" Carlotta whimpered. "You
do
intend to come? You must! It is vital! For, if Mrs. Hughes-Dering
receives you, perhaps others will."

"She is far more like to give me the cut direct. The old lady
loathes me, and well you know it. I've no objection to your
entertaining her, but I refuse to be set down in my own home!"

Carlotta sat straighter, leaning forward as she launched into
an impassioned plea that he oblige her in "this one teensy instance"
and, seeing the steel unyielding in his eyes, pointed out that he owed
it to his poor sister. "For years," she moaned, "we have lived here as
though stranded in a desert oasis. Oh, I know the local people have
taken pity on Stephie, but— consider, Hawk! If my Musicale is well
attended and a success, we might, we just
might
begin to be accepted again!"

He moved back to the bed and stood frowning down at her. She
looked so desperately anxious, her hands tightly gripped, her eyes
fixed imploringly on him, and his expression softened. "If it is this
important to you, my dear, I shall open the London House, and you can—"

"Oh, can I not! A grand reception we would receive in Town,
with every door closed to us! I would stand no more chance of getting
Stephanie a voucher to Almack's than of being invited to Carlton House!"

"To the contrary." The familiar cynicism slipped back into his
eyes. "You would merely have to affect an abused manner, and the
ton
would fairly crush you to its bosom! More victims of my savage infamy!
Lord! You'd be so smothered with solicitude, you'd likely become
reigning Toasts."

It was a possibility, and she considered it carefully. But,
"It will not serve," she wailed. "Stephanie would die before she'd
permit any criticism of you! Oh, Hawkhurst, this is our one
chance—don't you see?"

"If you believe that, believe also that you will fare a great
deal better
sans
my presence!"

"But, no! If you do not attend, Mrs. Hughes-Dering is sure to
put it about that you were ashamed to face her."

"Much I care for that. She may think what she chooses. Now,
resign yourself, I beg, dear lady. I shall gladly stand the huff, but
suffer through a combination of Monica Hughes-Dering
and
the Broadbent girl's cacophonous spasms… ?" He gave a snort of
repugnance, "Be dashed if I will!" and again trod towards the door.

My lady promptly burst into tears. Hawkhurst lengthened his
stride and cravenly wrenched the door open. Her sobs were heartrending.
He gritted his teeth and swore softly at the ceiling, but then turned
back again. Even the sound of the closing door did not shut off the
waterworks, as he'd fervently hoped. Scowling, he retraced his steps
until he stood reluctantly beside her. Still she wept, her slender
shoulders shaking.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" he growled. "Madam! Aunt… ? Devil
take it, you make me out the complete villain!" He sat on the bed,
pulled her into his arms and, patting her shoulder, pleaded, "Do not, I
beg of you! Do not. Oh, very well, blast it all! I'll pay court to the
preposterous woman!"

Dabbing at her eyes and sniffing in a most unladylike fashion,
Carlotta blinked up at him and choked, "You—you… will? And… will be
n-nice to her?"

"If you insist." His smile was rueful, but his eyes very kind.
She thought suddenly that he really was a charming young man when he
chose to be and, wrapping him in a hug, said joyously, "Oh, Garret,
thank you! Thank you! We shall see our little girl achieve a brilliant
match yet!"

Wiping teardrops from his new jacket as he walked down the
hall, Hawkhurst was undeceived. If Carlotta thought of Stephanie at
all, it was the least of her concerns. Her main hope was to fight her
own way back into the favour of the Society that had rejected them all.
His steps slowed. Poor soul, he'd never guessed she missed that life so
much. And with a pang he admitted at last that he missed it himself,
that to walk into White's and be looked upon without the total
revulsion that had greeted his final appearance in that venerable club
would be a heady triumph indeed—and, of course, utterly impossible. He
sighed. Still, if Carlotta so hungered for it, and if it would make
Stephanie happy, the Countess of Carden was loyal still and would help,
he was sure. And certainly Tristram's erratic but noble father, Lord
Kingston Leith, could be of assistance.

Walking on, his face became grim and hard. Carlotta was right.
Stephanie deserved a brilliant match, and would have one. But if some
slippery young Buck
was
courting her without
daring to have begged his leave… may God help him!

"I'd be very much obliged to you, Buck," murmured Coleridge,
his eyes upon Stephanie as she stood at the brink of the hill, looking
down upon Lord Gains' fine old home. "I shouldn't be above twenty
minutes at the outside, but I really must have a word with Chilton.
He's not quite up to the knocker since he came home, you know, and I'd…
er, there's something I've to discuss with him. Quite important."

"You do not really expect him to confess that his brother is
seeking to murder your cousin, do you?" asked Buchanan mildly.

Lord Coleridge swung to face him. "The deuce! You knew then?"

"Manners showed me the gun they found. It's a beautiful
weapon. Do you think it belongs to Gains?"

"Lord, no! Or I'd not go near them. But Chil is quite
fond—that is to say… to be honest, he dotes on his brother. And Hawk,
well, he's got such a temper, but they're both jolly good fellows,
Simon. They simply must not go out! Too well matched you see—suicidal!"

"I understand. Go along with you. I'll take care of Miss
Hawkhurst."

With a relieved grin and a murmur of thanks, Coleridge swung
into the saddle again. He was down the slope at a speed that made
Buchanan gasp, taking the tricky jump over the ditch in neck-or-nothing
fashion and galloping on towards the distant house.

Buchanan heard Stephanie move to his side, and her hand
slipped into his. "What a rare opportunity, dearest," she said tenderly.

He tightened his clasp on her fingers but without turning
muttered, "He trusted me with you. What a treacherous rogue I am
become."

Fear, her constant companion these days, chilled her more than
the breath of the wind. Buchanan detected her shudder and at once threw
her up into the saddle and rode beside her to a copse of trees beside
an old boundary wall. When he lifter her down, her arms slipped about
his neck. Her face was raised to his, her eyes very soft, but he put
her from him and turned away. "Stephie," he said wretchedly, "I… I must
tell you—"

"I know. Hal Archer says Kent may travel the day after
tomorrow. What did you think, my dear? That you would break it to me
gently? Oh, Simon! Can such news
ever
be broken
gently?"

He said nothing, and she came up behind him to stroke his
sleeve and ask with sad longing, "Why do we allow it? Why must we let…
her… ruin our every chance for happiness?" She ran quickly before him
and, placing her hands on his chest, said with sudden intensity, "Would
she give you a divorce, do you suppose? Hawk is very rich, and I know
he would help, for his own wife was much the same type. If we paid her…
lots…"