Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (45 page)

"Well, we
have
got each other, dear,"
soothed Carlotta, nobly overlooking the fact that Dora's tea was
spilling into her lap.

" 'Course we do!" said the Admiral hearteningly. "Though," he
scowled, "I wish my little Stephie was—" He glanced at Euphemia,
coughed, and was silent while they all drank their tea and thought
their thoughts, and the moments ticked slowly away.

Hawk, thought Euphemia, come back! Oh, my love, come back to
me.

"
What
things?" growled Wetherby, fixing
Dora with an irritated frown.

"Th-things… Papa?" she stammered nervously, dropping her spoon.

"What the deuce d'ye mean, 'see things underground'? What kind
of nonsense is that? I've been scared in my time—am just now, I don't
mind admitting—but I never went snooping about under cabbages and
turnips! See things underground, indeed! What kind of slowtop would
make such a blasted idiotic remark?"

"I… I believe it was Cervantes," she gulped.

"Might've known it would be some hare-brained foreigner! Well,
I'll tell you what, Dora, anyone goes peeping about under roots and
such is liable to be put away, and so—" He checked, eyes flashing to
the door. "Did you hear—?"

Euphemia was already on her feet, her heart pounding madly as
a distant barking came nearer. The teacup she held began to jiggle on
the saucer.

A commotion in the hall erupted into a chorus of shouts, then
a cheer, and the door burst open. Sampson galloped into the room, leapt
across the table, sending the teapot flying, and jumped onto the
Admiral's lap, licking his face ecstatically. Wetherby's rageful howl
following her, Euphemia ran to the hall.

A battered, bloody, exhausted little cavalcade was staggering
into the house. Chilton Gains, hanging weakly on the arms of his
brother and a small man she had never before seen. Colley, Ponsonby
supporting him as he tottered along, his face very pale, but his eyes
alight with triumph. And behind them, the man for whom she sought so
frantically, borne along by Manners and a footman, the right leg of his
breeches crimson from knee to ankle, his eyes glazed, but beside him, a
bruised and very dirty small boy who left his side to rush and hug her,
then fly into the outstretched arms of the Admiral.

Weeping at last, Euphemia said and choked, "Hawk! Oh… my dear!"

He reached out and, as she ran forward, took her hand, while
Manners beamed upon them both. "We got… him back, Mia!" Hawkhurst
whispered radiantly. "Praise God! We got him… back!"

Euphemia settled herself against the squabs of the luxurious
carriage, and Manners tucked the fur rug solicitously about her, put up
the steps, and closed the door. Lord Wetherby, having assured himself
she was comfortable, pulled a rug over his own knees, for it was
freezing, and traces of fog again hung in the air on this Christmas
morning. Euphemia waved happily to the many loved ones gathered at the
windows of Meadow Abbey to bid her farewell. The carriage lurched and
then began to move up the drive. She tucked her hands back into her
ermine muff and turned to the Admiral. "Oh, sir! How very kind in you
to come and fetch me. It was lovely to be with my family, of course,
but I have been so very anxious! How is… everyone? And little Kent, I
mean Avery? And, oh, forgive me, but I've been away so long, and—"

"A week!" he laughed. "Only a week since your dragon of an
aunt came breathing her fire and fury and kidnapped you away from us!
She seemed more cordial today, I must say. Though I'd no notion as to
what kind of reception I'd meet, calling for you on Christmas morning!
Poor taste, I'll own."

"Oh, no, but they have all forgiven me," she said happily.
"When I told them the full story of Garret and—everything, my dear
sister was moved to tears, and even Aunt Lucasta was…" She blushed
prettily and lowered her eyes. "Was willing to let me visit Dominer, in
case someone should chance to invite me. Oh, dear sir! Do tell me! Hawk
was so very ill when I left!"

"But we sent messages every day," he said, his eyes twinkling
into her anxious ones. "Did you not—"

"Yes, yes. But all you said was that everyone was recovering
nicely, and I was afraid—He was so terribly weak, and if he did not
stay abed…"

"Now, now, never worry so. I'll confess when first I saw that
leg I was sure he must lose it, but thanks to That Qua—er, Hal Archer,
he's doing famously. He's up and about again, though on a very
restricted basis, and complains that we all watch him like so many
wardens, Avery in particular."

"How is the dear little fellow? I have missed him so. Has
Garret told him yet?"

"The boy is happy as a lark, and a joy to everyone. Hawk was
so kind as to allow us all to be present when he told Avery the truth
of his birth. He stood there like a little soldier, but with tears
streaming down his cheeks, then fairly jumped into his father's arms.
Er… I'll confess…" he cleared his throat, "we were all rather overcome.
Bless him, he is the dearest, most warm-hearted little fellow." He
blinked, took up her gloved hand and, patting it, said gruffly, "How I
can ever thank you is quite beyond my imagination. You have restored
the sunlight to some very shadowed lives, Mia. I—"

Euphemia leaned suddenly to plant a kiss on his cheek. The old
gentleman became red as fire and, to cover his confusion, launched into
an account of the recent events at Dominer. The Gains brothers were
still their honoured guests, he said, since Archer had requested that
Chilton remain under Mrs. Henderson's care until he was improved. "Poor
lad, he should have stayed with the horses, as Max instructed him. But
he's a high-couraged boy, and I collect there was no holding him once
he heard the uproar. However, he goes along well enough, and I believe
has enjoyed all the festivities. Oh, there have been some changes, my
dear. The truth has leaked out about Hawk and Blanche. Lord knows how,
unless the servants got hold of the details in some way. At all events,
we've been fairly inundated with callers. Folks who had conveniently
forgotten that Dominer ever existed are suddenly beating a path to the
door and falling over themselves with affability. Disgusting! But
Carlotta is in seventh heaven, of course."

Delighted by this news, Euphemia said that very likely they
would soon have newspaper people posting out from London. "Then you
shall be in all the papers, and Hawk will be furious, but will be truly
forgiven so that… he…" Her words trailed off. "Good gracious, sir! Have
I offended you? Or have the newspapers already printed something?"

He nodded, eyebrows jutting. "They have. Blasted long-noses!
But not about Hawk… exactly."

She stared, then said a small, "Oh, dear. Simon?"

"Yes. They don't mention names, but—Egad, how that scurrilous
crew loves a bit of gossip to chew over! The
ton
,
they said, was agog to hear of the elopement of a certain wounded
officer, newly returned from the Peninsula to join his wife and family,
and a young lady of gentle birth, whose brother, Mr. G—H—was himself a
few years back involved in a shocking scandal. Faugh!"

"And—and did they mention the duel, sir?"

"Hinted at it. Hawk wasn't pleased, as you may guess, and vows
to go into Town and twist the writer's nose for him, so soon as he's
able."

Euphemia sighed, hoping that this would not cost Simon his
commission, but drawing solace from the thought that the wise Colonel
John Colborne knew his General and would await the most opportune
moment before approaching Wellington in the matter.

They chattered on as the miles were eaten up by the steady
plodding of the horses. The air was frigid, and a scattering of
snowflakes began to fall from the dark skies, but the Admiral wore a
warm scarf tied over his head beneath his beaver, and Euphemia's
knitted cap, edged with ermine, flattered her bright colouring and rosy
cheeks, so that he thought her truly the loveliest girl he had ever
known. Save one… perhaps.

At last they were clear of the Home Wood, and there below them
lay the great house, so beautiful, and yet so warm and welcoming that
Euphemia's heart constricted at the sight of it. Smoke curled from the
chimneys, candlelight brightened the windows, and on the terrace a
bundled-up small boy and a very large hound clad in a blanket-coat,
waited. Down the hill they went, and, starting up the rise, the groom
blew up a blast on the yard of tin. The dog sprang up, and boy and
hound advanced towards the carriage so exuberantly that it would have
been difficult to determine which of them did the most jumping.
Euphemia desired his lordship to instruct Manners to halt. Wetherby
pulled on the check string, and the carriage slowed and stopped. The
footman let down the steps, and she was outside, embracing the ecstatic
child, while the dog gave every indication of total insanity.

They walked towards the house together, and a familiar figure
came onto the terrace to meet them. A man who limped and leaned upon a
cane, but whose dark head was held very erect. Euphemia's heart turned
over. Vaguely, she heard Wetherby call Avery, and then Hawkhurst stood
before her. Pulse racing, she waited to be seized and kissed and
worshipped. Instead, scanning her face intently, he took her hand, then
bent and pressed it to his lips and, straightening, merely whispered,
"Mia…"

"Hawk…" she said tenderly.

Watching from the carriage windows, the Admiral was less
restrained. "Stupid young gapeseed!" he snorted.

It was snowing steadily by the time the yule-log was borne in
by Max Gains, Coleridge (albeit he tugged at it with one hand since the
other was still carried in a sling), a radiant Avery, and the Admiral,
behaving as though he were seventeen rather than seventy. They were
escorted, of course, and Sampson chose to regard the log as a thing
alive and entertained himself by making short little rushes at it,
barking hysterically, and then galloping three times around the bearers.

The drawing room, decorated with holly and golden bells, was
warm of air and warmer with happiness when they gathered there in late
afternoon. Lady Carlotta played for them, and Euphemia sang, and then
they all sang together, Avery, resplendent in his best suit of brown
velvet, waving his arms happily in time with their music. Hal Archer
and his sister arrived, eyes bright, and cheeks rosy with cold, and
shortly thereafter Ponsonby carried in the wassail-bowl and all the
servants joined in the traditional toasting of the head of the house,
his son, grandfather, and company. The Christmas boxes were handed out,
and the golden moments slipped past, the great room ringing with talk
and laughter until day melted into early evening and gradually the
servants went their ways, some few remaining to close the curtains.

Euphemia was happy, her happiness shadowed only when she
thought of Simon and Stephanie. How they must be longing for home and
families, and how very much they were missed.

Dinner was served at six o'clock, a noble feast laid upon a
table bright with garlands. The first course was dealt with lightly,
and, when the remove was carried in, Hawkhurst carved roast suckling
pig, roast beef, and venison, then deferred the honour to his
grandfather, while he sat looking joyously around at the faces of his
love, his newly found son, family and friends, keeping his eyes
resolutely from the two chairs at the end of the table that were empty
tonight.

The second remove had been brought in when Sampson, who had
been lying in the Great Hall thoughtfully contemplating the legs of
Adonis, suddenly hove himself up and burst into full-throated warning.
Euphemia laid down her knife and fork and felt an odd shiver chase down
her spine. Ponsonby slipped quietly from the room, to return a moment
later, obviously agitated, and hasten to murmur in Hawkhurst's ear.
Euphemia saw the loved face pale, the smile vanish from the grey eyes,
the brows drawn into a thunderous scowl. And she trembled.

"Who the devil is it?" demanded the Admiral testily. "Tell 'em
we're eating our Christmas dinner, for lord's sake!"

Hawkhurst, however, had already put down his napkin and
reached for his cane. A lackey sprang to pull back his chair, and he
stood. "If you will all please excuse—" he began.

Euphemia gave a gasp. In the open doorway, tall and very
dashing in his regimentals, but with his wistful gaze fixed upon her,
stood her brother.

"By… God!" exploded Wetherby, his chair going over with a
crash as he leapt to his feet. "Of all the unmitigated gall!"

Euphemia ran to throw her arms around Simon. He stooped to
kiss her, then set her aside and faced Hawkhurst's flint-eyed fury.
"Sir," he said timidly, "I do most humbly beg your pardon for having
come. But, your sister—"

"Is Stephanie ill?"

"She grieves for you all," said Buchanan, and added in
hesitant fashion, "I would not have come. But… it is Christmas, and… I
hoped—"

"A trifle late to remember that!" barked the Admiral.

"I regret, Sir Simon," said Hawkhurst, his eyelids at their
haughtiest, "that I must ask you to leave. Indeed, your effrontery in
coming here passes all understanding."

Dora pressed her handkerchief to suddenly swimming eyes, and
Carlotta seized Colley's hand, her lips quivering.

"I am very aware of that," Buchanan admitted. "But I
had
to tell you, Hawkhurst. And—" his gaze flashed around that hitherto
merry table, "and the rest of those she loves, and the one I love." He
smiled down at Euphemia, but with sorrow lurking at the back of his
blue eyes. "The newspapers, as you know, had quite a field day with the
news of my elopement."

"And did that make you proud, sir?" snarled the Admiral.

"It did not make my
wife
proud, my lord.
She was, in fact, outraged. It would, it appears, have been perfectly
convenable for
her
to have acted in such a way.
But for
me
to have done so, caused her great
embarrassment."