Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet (13 page)

Damon opened a cupboard stocked from floor to ceiling with vases,
urns, bowls, and figurines. "Should Millicent fall ill, it is a comfort
to know how"—he cast an ironic eye upon the littered
kitchen—"how—er—efficiently you can step into the breach. I cannot but
admire your stamina, but then you are from Kent, and country-bred girls
are always the strapping ones, are they not?"

Sophia's pretty mouth was quite literally hanging open by reason of
this revolting testimonial. He reached to a high shelf, thus concealing
his mirth, and went on. "I rather suspect Mrs. Hatters has merely gone
down into the catacombs to feed the fireboy."

"Oh, my heavens!" Sophia gasped, her own abuses for-gotten in the
face of this new infamy. "Do you force a child to labour in that
hideous place… at this hour?"

"Indeed not, ma'am. We feed him when his work is done. He has to
rise early so as to set the fires and stoke up the stove for Ariel. And
there is wood to be chopped for the day. But once he is finished with
the windows, he has only to scrub the kitchen, steps, and terraces,
haul the refuse for my gardeners, and clean out the stables. He is
usually returned to his cell by eight of the clock at night." Her
beautiful eyes were almost as round as her mouth, and struggling to
maintain his composure, he handed her a huge silver urn.

Sophia took it numbly and essayed a faltering "C-Cell?"

"Why, they run away, you see," he sighed. "Or was used to.
Ungrateful brats! But now I've had the chains installed, I've not lost
a fireboy since the last one got stuck in the chimneys somewhere…" This
last touch proved his undoing, and he failed hopelessly to keep the
quiver from the side of his wide mouth. Sophia, becoming aware of it,
fought to remain angry, but, despite herself, laughter leaped in her
heart and danced into her eyes. She thrust the urn back at him and,
endeavouring to sound stern, decreed that it was much too large and
that the amber crystal vase would serve.

The amber crystal vase was barely visible at the back of the top
shelf. Damon glanced with some resentment at the lady and surprised a
dimple that made the task well worthwhile. He went to work, removing
vases, bowls, and bric-a-brac; thinking the way clear at last, he
barely caught a valuable porcelain patch box after it bounced off his
head. He was a little out of breath when he handed her the desired
object, and beholding the sparkling look on her face, his breathing was
stopped altogether.

For a still moment, they gazed at one another. Their hands both
supporting the vase, were very close together. It seemed to Sophia that
she was caught in an amber haze, drifting helplessly toward Damon's
incredibly tender mouth.

She tore her eyes away and, scarcely knowing what she said,
stammered, "You have been teasing me, sir—and—I deserved it for
appearing to criticize. I am quite aware we impose upon you and you do
not care for company." And never dreaming how close she was to being
seized and crushed and kissed, she felt the tension between them still
and, panicky, chattered on. "My own home, of course, is open to our
friends at every season of the year, and always shall be." She realised
at once that she made Singlebirch sound more like Blenheim and with
sinking heart waited for him to ridicule such a fatuous remark, but he
only said gravely, "I trust that holds true also for—elderly relations,
ma'am?"

"Y-yes…" She took up a rose and staring at it, mumbled, "of course."

"Then I shall not need to bring my man, since you doubtless keep several 'gentleman at chambers'?"

She did not see the smile that accompanied these words and thinking
herself thoroughly (and deservedly) set down, retorted sharply, "No, we
do not. But neither do we keep a skeleton staff and make of
them
skeletons."

His eyes flashed to her in a narrowed appraisal. "My people, ma'am,"
he frowned, "are quite at liberty to leave my service if they are
unhappy."

"Were you a servant, my lord, could
you
be happy in a house such as this?"

His chin lifted at once. "It is the House of Branden." Pride was in
his face and the hauteur in his voice abrasive. Or was it that in her
heart she knew she was behaving badly? Spurred by vexation and angered
by the whisper of conscience, her reply snapped before she could stop
the words, "The House of Branden at one time boasted many great
warriors—or so I was taught in the nursery."

Damon tensed. A dark flush swept his features, but he made no
slightest attempt to evade her eyes until he murmured with a slight
bow, "Thank you."

Sophia turned away. That had been unforgivable, especially since she
was a guest in his home. She could imagine Stephen's anger. She could
apologize, but knowing she was too close to tears to speak, bent her
energies upon arranging the flowers, ignoring the Marquis as he rather
savagely replaced the items he had taken from the cupboard. Gradually,
her rioting emotions quieted, and when her task was completed she was
relatively calm again.

Damon carried the vase into the Great Hall for her and she asked
that he place it on the large table before the fire. At once he
protested that no one would see the flowers in the dark room.

"It could be a charming room," she observed impulsively, "were you
to install large windows." And, remembering Clay, she said, "Oh! Your
pardon!"

"Not at all." He set the vase in the spot she indicated and asked eagerly, "Like those in Lucian St. Clair's Beechmead Hall?"

"Yes," she responded with enthusiasm. "
Exactly
what I had thought."

"What of the floors? Marble?"

"Oh, no! That would ruin it!"

"I agree. Pegged oak would be better, wouldn't you say?"

"Much. And the panelling is too dark, also. You could— Oh! Your grace!"

Vaille, looking extremely handsome in a blue jacket that emphasized
the blue of his eyes, came gracefully toward them. Sophia sensed an
immediate withdrawal in the Marquis as his father exclaimed, "What a
pleasant splash of colour in this gruesome hall. And so beautifully
arranged. Your work, my dear?"

She admitted such was the case, and he complimented her upon her
skill and, leaning closer to straighten an errant bloom, singled out a
bright pink rose. "What a delightful shade. Such a pity it is faulted.
The bud's contour is poor, don't you think?"

Damon removed the rose at once and tossed it into the fire. If
Vaille was startled by this cavalier behaviour, he hid it well, smiling
warmly at Sophia as he strolled toward the south wing.

As usual, indignation robbed her of diplomacy, and she crossed to
where the Marquis leaned with one hand upon the mantle, frowning down
at the scorching petals of the rose. "Why did you do that?" she
demanded in a low tone. "The bloom was lovely, and I don't think he
meant to be critical."

"Do you not?" Damon glanced cynically toward the Duke's retreating
figure. "It was imperfect. And my father finds imperfection in anything
quite offen—"

In full cry, Horatio trundled into the hall, wings spread, passing
Vaille who stepped back, lifting his quizzing glass and gazing after
the bird incredulously. Damon scowled at Thompson, who hurried
downstairs, anguished remorse written on his weathered countenance.
Vaille returned to Sophia's side, still watching Horatio, who was
making his second full-throated lap around the room. "Good gad!" quoth
the Duke.

Damon groaned, "Oh, no!"

"Poor chap," commiserated Vaille, with a grin and a wink to Sophia.

Thompson hurried to open the door, revealing a dignified, elegant
gentleman possessed of thickly waving grey hair, piercing grey eyes,
and a languid manner, who sauntered across the terrace with a flourish
of his cane.

"Lord Phineas Bodwin," announced Thompson.

"How very charming," the Duke smiled.

"Hell!" grated Damon under his breath, and, stepping forward, hand
outstretched, said, "Phinny! How kind in you to come and see us…"

Clay's eager search for the Marquis appeared destined for failure.
There was no sign of him in the Great Hall. The music room was occupied
by the Duke and Lord Bodwin, who sat politely conversing. The library
was empty. He was proceeding to the kitchen when he noticed Horatio
huddled against a closed door on the left of the north corridor. Clay
entered cautiously and was greeted by so fluent a stream of invective
that he closed the door hurriedly behind him

He was in what appeared to be a combined study and work room since
it held a fine old walnut desk in addition to bookcases, leather
chairs, and an ample table. At the far end, another long table was
piled with architects' drawings and plans. The flickering light of a
branch of candles revealed Damon standing before the fire, a half-full
wine glass sagging in one hand. Even as Clay watched, he launched into
a renewed spate of cursing, this time in French, and topped it off with
a growled "After all these years!" He despatched the remainder of the
wine, flung the glass savagely into the fire, and pounded his fist on
the mantle.

Impressed, Clay laughed and applauded. Damon spun around, revealing
a scowl that might well have daunted a lesser man. "What the hell do
you want?"

"By George, but you swear like a cavalryman, if I say so myself!"

The harsh glare relaxed very slightly. "Long association with the
breed. St. Clair and Vaughan and others of their ilk. Uncouth devils."

"Yes," said Clay. "Which should have told me something. Now don't
fly into the boughs again. I came to thank you. I trust you won't find
it necessary to shoot me for my pains."

"Don't count on it," said Damon, but meeting only a friendly grin in response, the remaining anger faded from his eyes.

"Your noble sire," Clay said levelly, "has just—as they say—saved my
bacon. And he tells me that it is thanks to your impassioned plea that
I am spared the gruesome spectre of Newgate."

"He never did! Well I assure you I'm quite incapable of—
er—impassioned pleas… in behalf of myself, let alone some fribbly Major
of hussars!" Clay's chuckle was accompanied by a look that caused the
Marquis to shrug and say hurriedly, "Do not refine overmuch on it,
Clay. My Papa probably took a closer look and decided you were not all
that worthless. I had very little to do with it."

"Lie like a cavalryman, as well," Clay smiled. "And there's not a
damned bit of good your glaring at me like that. I'm sorry, old boy,
but—" He moved closer and put out his hand. "You cannot possibly know
what these past few months have been like." Damon's long fingers closed
firmly around his own. "This will be"—Clay blinked, and gulped
hoarsely— "probably… the first night I'll get any sleep since—" He
checked, gasping.

"Oh!" Damon released his hand hurriedly. "Sorry, old boy."

Clay stared in astonishment at his bloodless fingers, looked up into
the amused eyes of the Marquis, and muttered an awed "Gad…!"

"I really do apologize," said Damon. "It's all the music, you see.
Tends to improve the grip." His whimsical grin brought a deepening of
Clay's instinctive liking. "And, I had to stop you somehow. Couldn't
have you falling on my neck. Too dashed hard on the cravat!"

"I cannot think where our Nancy have go," said Genevieve, busily
fastening the many tiny buttons down the back of Sophia's gown. "I have
think she is with Charlotte, and Charlotte have think she is with me.
Her family have the farm near at hand, so I heard, but that is a very
naughty cabbage if she have leave without the ask for permission!" She
peered at Sophia in the mirror. "How lovely you are, my new friend! If
only I might wear such a gown! But me—alas! Always I go so far out and
so far in! Such a gown on me would look"— she laughed roguishly—"not so
polite,
n'est-ce pas
?"

Amused by the girl's description of her rich little figure, Sophia
had to admit it was true to an extent. The pale-green silken sheath
that clung to her own body with soft and revealing sleekness would seem
improper if worn by the more voluptuous Genevieve. She lifted her arms
for the overskirt. The darker green net allowed the sheath to be seen,
but tantalizingly, sometimes revealing very little, sometimes allowing
her slender shape to be quite visible. With a jade pendant about her
throat and carven jade drops dangling from her ears, her beauty was
inescapable.

Genevieve, adjusting the back of the overskirt, was speaking of Lord
Bodwin's unexpected arrival. "He have come to fetch us back to his big
mansion. Poor Phinny is lonely, you know. He say the roads are
affreux
—er—how you say?"

"Horrid," Sophia translated. "Then how did he reach here?"

They started toward the hall together, and Genevieve answered, "He have the estate
magnifique
just this side of the Toll Road, so he can journey by the new road my
Camille have build for some of the ways. And whatever happen to be the
weather, when Phinny want something—" She shrugged expressively. "But
you will know him better than I, perhaps…?"

"I know only that he is one of the richest men in England.
But—wasn't there something not too long ago? Some sadness in his life?"

"Ah, yes—his nephew. Did you not know Irvin? Such a wild creature,
that one. He and Damon were fine friends and once come to see me in
Copenhagen. They take me out—oh! What a night was that! My cousin was
jolly then, Sophia." She grimaced fiercely. "Not like now he is! They
have behave very naughty." She paused as they came to the top of the
stairs and, catching Sophia's arm, said, "We go into a club, and you
know what they do, those bad boys? They have all the wineglasses put on
a shelf, and Irvin, he say Damon must give him the—how you say?
Arm-hat—something like these?"

Sophia knit her brows, then, starting down the stairs, laughed, "Oh, you mean handicap."

"
Bon
!" Laughing merrily at her own mistake, Genevieve
linked her arm through Sophia's. "How clever you are to unwound my so
bad language. So this 'handicap,' as you say it, was that Irvin will
shoot all the glasses through their fat tummies, while my Damon he must
shoot all the stems, and whoever reach the end of the line first have
to pay nothing for the evening. To make it, as they say, 'not so easy,'
they blow out all the lights but one candle! And then—oh,
horrifique
! The noise! Worse than my Damon's working peoples! But everyone they laugh, and make the big wagers, so I do this, also!"