Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (9 page)

Buchanan had risen and now said formally, "We are deeply
indebted to you, sir. In behalf of my sister and the boy, I would like
to—"

"Oh, stubble it, for God's sake! I merely came to discover how
the child goes on and to tell you that we have retrieved your cattle,
relatively undamaged. We'll search for the rest of your luggage in the
morning."

Buchanan bowed and persisted with polite if cold hauteur. "I
am ever more in your debt, Mr. Hawkhurst. I owe you not only my own
life, but—"

"Are you always so winningly warm towards your rescuers?"
Hawkhurst laughed and with hands on hips asked, "Or is this charming
demeanour reserved for Foul Fiends such as I?"

Despite himself, Buchanan's lips twitched, but he retained his
aloof manner as he completed his proper expression of thanks.

Hawkhurst offered a slight, dismissing wave of the hand in
response to it all and, flashing an amused glance at Euphemia, met an
answering sparkle in her deep-blue eyes that banished his smile. For a
moment he stared at her rather blankly, then said, "Are you feeling
well enough to travel, ma'am?"

Shocked, she managed to ask calmly, "Tonight, sir?"

Buchanan's shoulder throbbed; he felt alarmingly weak and was
so weary he could scarcely make conversation, but he would have died
sooner than admit it, and snapped a frigid, "Does Mr. Hawkhurst prefer
that we leave tonight, my dear, then we shall, of course, do so."

Hawkhurst said mockingly, "Mr. Hawkhurst prefers that you
light the lamp."

There was a touch of steel under the lazy drawl, and reacting
instinctively, Buchanan started to obey, then flushed and stood very
still. Hawkhurst uttered a soft chuckle, and Buchanan's mortification
deepened. Well acquainted with that mulish look upon her brother's
face, Euphemia quickly lit the lamp. Hawkhurst strolled over to the
bed, placed a hand very lightly on Kent's forehead, and scanned the
child narrowly. Turning back to them, he murmured, "I wish you may
leave. But I confess myself a coward and shall not risk Archer's wrath."

Buchanan looked ready to explode with indignation, but
Euphemia, who had been absently contemplating Hawkhurst's thick, and
artfully tumbled hair, now asked a swift, "Not fever, surely?"

"He is very warm, ma'am, and I'd wager is in no condition to—"

The door again opened, and Lady Bryce drifted in. She also had
changed her dress and was elegant in a gown of rose-pink crepe with a
fine diamond choker about her throat. When she saw the group gathered
in the bedchamber, she gave a scandalized gasp. "Hawkhurst! Are you run
mad? And the girl in her nightrail!"

"No, is she?" He turned his quizzing glass interestedly upon
Euphemia as if seeing her for the first time. "So she is, by Jove! And
I, alas, thwarted by the presence of her admirable brother." He sighed
and, allowing the glass to swing from its black velvet riband, shook
his head reproachfully at Buchanan.

Euphemia's attempt to hold back a gurgle of laughter was not
quite successful, but her brother's face remained set and grim.
Infuriated by Hawkhurst's raillery, Lady Bryce drew herself up. "Most
amusing," she observed scathingly. "And I quite apprehend that Miss
Buchanan is accustomed to continental manners, but I do assure you that
such—"

"No, pray do not moralize at me, dear Aunt," he smiled. "You
will have me in a quake, and you know I am long past saving. Place your
confidence rather in this intrepid young officer, and draw comfort from
the fact the lady is known to be—ah—'Unattainable' and thus doubly
safe—for tonight, at least, since I've guests arriving momentarily."
Euphemia had again to stifle a smile, but my lady's face took on an
aghast expression. "Guests… ?" she said feebly. "But, Garret, you can
not
!"

"Put them off at the last minute, d'you mean, ma'am? You are
perfectly right, and I understand your reluctance since you so enjoy
company."

"You become," rasped Buchanan, rigid again, "offensive, Mr.
Hawkhurst."

"Do I? Then the more reason for this." Hawkhurst proffered the
weapon with a flourish. Pale with anger, Buchanan stood motionless.
Hawkhurst put up his brows and surveyed him with wicked enjoyment.
Euphemia stepped swiftly between them, took the weapon, and, holding
her breath, slipped her finger through the trigger guard and essayed
the spin that Harry Smith had taught her in Spain.

"By… God… !" breathed Hawkhurst, admiringly.

"Be warned, sir," she said with feigned severity and then,
laughter leaping into her eyes, asked, "Are you not terrified?"

"Do you know how to fire it?"

"I outshot Lord Jeremy Bolster in a match at Fuentes de Onoro."

He bowed low and straightening, one hand held over his heart,
admitted, "Ma'am, I acknowledge myself terrified." With a twinkle, he
added, "And here I'd fancied the shoe quite on the other foot."

"Oh, no," said Euphemia gravely. "I have three brothers, you
see, and am thus well accustomed to little boys who think it fun to be
naughty."

Buchanan, looking from one to the other, was rendered
speechless.

His stunned eyes never leaving her face, Hawkhurst murmured,
"Well, that properly drove me against the ropes!" and with a bow, left
them, closing the door softly behind him.

Sir Simon flung his good arm about his sister and whirled her
around. "
Romped
, by Jupiter!" he exulted. "You
properly vanquished our Bluebeard, Mia!"

Euphemia smiled. But she thought, I wonder…

Mrs. Graham came to Kent's room soon after Hawkhurst's
departure and offered to help with the "poor little page." Euphemia
took an immediate liking to the untidy lady and, promising her brother
she would now retire, sent him weaving off to his room, so exhausted he
could barely set one foot before the other. Mrs. Graham observed
happily that it was "just like dear Army" to have such delightful
children and launched into a vignette about the gallant Colonel that
left his daughter weak with laughter. She realized gratefully that this
aunt was a very different proposition to the other, and when she left
Kent's bedside, it was without a qualm.

In her room she was delighted to find that one of her valises
had been recovered, for her own nightgown was laid upon the bed, and a
middle-aged, buxom abigail was in the process of hanging her favourite
riding habit in the press. Her name, she said, was Piper, but would
Miss mind called her Ellie, for she felt "that embarrassed" to be
called Piper. However named, she was the soul of kindness, her concern
over Euphemia's stiff movements resulting in her insistence that she
massage her charge with a liniment that left Euphemia tingling all over
and her aches and pain so much lessened that she fell asleep before
Ellie could give her the powder Dr. Archer had prescribed. Her last
drowsy memory was of the abigail closing the curtains around the great
bed.

"W-won't-move a step! P'fer t'talk out here! Free blasted
country, ain't it?"

The words were slurred and had not been spoken very loudly,
but Euphemia was blessed with sharp hearing, and she was awake at once.
For an instant she could not think where she was, but then a deeper
voice said something she did not catch. Hawkhurst's cynical countenance
sprang into her mind's eye, and she sat up, listening.

"Know it," the first and decidedly drunken speaker proclaimed.
"M-mother told me all-l-l 'bout it. Prob'ly sound 'sleep by now, 'tall
events, so no reason you should get so up in th'boughs. You cannot
force me to go inside!"

So this must be Lady Bryce's "languishing offspring." Moved by
curiosity, Euphemia drew back the curtains and slipped from the bed.
The heavy drapes were wide, as she had requested, and she crept
cautiously towards the lighter square of the windows, shrugging into
her dressing gown.

"Do not dare use that tone to me, you wretched puppy! Were you
not well foxed, I'd show you what I can force you to! Get inside at
once! I'll not—"

" 'f you s'anxious to go inside—why was
you
standing 'bout, leering up at… her windows? Good fer goose, is—"

"Damn you!
Will
you keep your voice
down!"

Through the lace undercurtains, Euphemia saw a half moon
shining fitfully between racing clouds, revealing a wide terrace edged
by a low balustrade, and with shallow steps leading downward. She
caught a glimpse of tree-dotted lawns, flower beds, statuary, and the
gleam of ornamental water, but her attention held on the two men below
her. Hawkhurst and a tall, slender youth who gave no appearance of
being cowed as he swayed before his cousin's rage. She could not see
his features, but discerned that his hair was lighter than his mother's
and that he either had almost no neck at all, or wore a jacket with
grossly exaggerated shoulders. Grateful that she had required Ellie to
open the casements slightly, she leaned nearer. She did not quite hear
what the boy muttered, but the tone was defiant, and Hawkhurst, his
voice low and restrained, rasped, "While you are under my guardianship,
my lord, you'll do as I say! You were
not
with
the Fortescues, for I saw them in Reading, and—"

"Spying on me, coz?"

The slim figure swayed. Hawkhurst's hand shot out to grip the
cravat, and Bryce was wrenched forward. "Do I ever judge it necessary
to spy on you, bantling, I'll sooner kick you all the way to the Horse
Guards—where
they
may succeed in making a man of
you! Meanwhile, I've no need to resort to such means. I know damned
well you were with young Gains!"

"M'friends are my own!" the boy retaliated, struggling vainly
to free himself from his cousin's firm grip. "Y'ar'-not—"

"I cannot but marvel that Max Gains allows
my
cousin within a mile of his precious brother!" Hawkhurst released the
youth so abruptly that he staggered.

"Lord Gains, at least, d-don't int'fere with Chilton's
friends!"

"Does he not? Perhaps, since Chilton had sufficient gumption
to serve his country, he has some—"

"Y'think I'm 'fraid!" Bryce put in savagely. "Well—ain't! Not
'fraid of getting killed—which is what y'want."

Euphemia caught her breath. There was a moment's total
silence, through which Hawkhurst stood as if frozen.

"No! Hawk!" There was sudden anguish in the young voice. "I
d-din't mean—"

"Well, I
do
mean," Hawkhurst overrode
icily, "to ensure that Dominer shall never fall into the hands of a
dainty, effeminate milksop!"

Bryce swore. His fist clenched and swung upward, only to be
caught in a grip that made him gasp. "And, furthermore, Colley," his
cousin went on, "do you
ever
take my match bays
again, without my leave, I am liable to strangle you without waiting
for Boney to take you out of the line of succession!" He flung the
boy's arm down and started away, but Bryce caught at his sleeve and
said humbly, I… I did ask, Hawk. And you made no answer. I thought—"

"Devil, you did! Your question warranted no answer. God knows
I've told you often enough! I collect you took 'em to show off to
Chilton."

"Yes. And—Max was abs'lutely wild about 'em. Said they was
th'finest he ever saw."

"Max knows his cattle." Hawkhurst was silent a moment, then
asked, "How does Chilton go on? Do they mean to operate again?"

Bryce seemed to take heart from this enquiry, stern though it
was. "Well, they must, y'know. He cannot rejoin his regiment with that
stupid ball in his side. But… oh, Hawk, I do 'pologize. I
didn't
mean it. It's just—Well, Chilton don't dare come and ask you, but—he'd
dearly love to… to buy your bays."

Hawkhurst snorted and said drily, "I'll lay odds he would!"

"He's really a very good fellow, y'know. He don't—er— hold it
'gainst you… I mean—'cause of Max's face."

"Then he's a gutless fribble!" Hawkhurst exploded. "43rd, or
no! What's his line of reasoning? All's fair in love and acid? God! You
may tell your silly sainted Light Bob that, were my bays twenty years
old, sway-backed, half blind, and went with a shuffle, I'd not sell 'em
to him for thirty thousand! Furthermore, I've seen him drive, and he's
damnably cow-handed!"

"Cow-handed! Why, of all the—"

Hawkhurst shook one finger under his cousin's nose. "And you
may further advise your good friends at Chant House that, do I find
that flea-ridden hound of theirs in my drawing room again, I'll send
home his head
a la
John the Baptist!"

"Hawk! You never would! Sampson's a good old boy! Hawk…" Bryce
reached forth one appealing hand, but his cousin was stalking off. The
hand lowered. Once more Hawkhurst's name was spoken in a wistful
half-whisper. Then Bryce turned also, put both hands into his pockets
and, with shoulders slumped, made his unsteady way in the opposite
direction until he vanished into the shadows at the incurving end of
the great house that was called the North Wing.

Euphemia became aware that she was shivering and flew back to
snuggle under the blankets. She frowned into the darkness, thinking
over what she had heard. There were, she thought, faults on both sides.
Hawkhurst's, for attempting to force the boy into a career he did not
wish—not every man was suited for military life. On the other hand,
Bryce had been very drunk, and she could well imagine Simon's reaction
if Gerald had commandeered his horses without a by-your-leave. She
decided, however, that the balance of guilt lay with Hawkhurst. It was
obvious that Bryce admired him. Even in the dark she had seen that the
careless and oddly attractive style Hawkhurst's man achieved, with his
thick locks had been copied by his cousin. A little understanding, a
grain of tact, and the boy would be butter in his hands.

She closed her eyes. The man was arrogant and autocratic.
Worse, although he had rendered them a service for which she must
always be grateful, to the list of his crimes had been added another.
He was cruel to animals, and that he would make good his threat against
the unfortunate Sampson she had not the slightest doubt. Not that it
was any of her affair. Resolutely, she put Garret Thorndyke Hawkhurst
out of her mind.