Give All to Love (26 page)

“Gad, I hope not! I've several reserve officers here tonight, sir, wearing regimentals.”

“Do you, by God! I must have a word with the Westhavens, and then I'll come back to Émile. Your doctor friend kindly offered to stay with him for a short while.” They started off along the hall, Harland continuing to apologize for the commotion. “Poor Émile has had a rotten life, one way and another, though Lord knows, he deserves the best. You will like him, I am very sure. Matter of fact, he has an Arab mare you'll not be able to resist.”

This, of course, awoke Devenish's immediate interest, and they were still chatting amiably when they entered the ballroom.

A waltz had just ended, and the guests were standing about in little groups. Harland was at once hailed by several friends. He started across the room towards Lord Westhaven, and by pure mischance, at that very moment Guy, with Mrs. Bliss beside him, made his difficult way from the terrace. The Earl came face to face with him, and froze, an expression of abhorrence on his lean features. Halting also, Guy stood as straight as he could, very pale, but with his head well up.

Geoffrey Harland had loathed Parnell Sanguinet, and had once told his friend, Vaille, that the only apparel fit for the noxious clan was tar and feathers followed by a hempen rope. Now, his back ramrod stiff, the Earl's icy gaze moved to Faith. “May I be of assistance, ma'am?” he said with a slight bow, and offered his arm.

The inference was so obvious that the hush deepened. Several standing near Guy drew back, their politely concealed hostility surfacing at this public dénouement.

Bravely, Faith laid her hand upon Guy's arm. “Thank you, my lord, but I am Monsieur Sanguinet's partner this evening.”

A look of contempt was slanted at her. His mouth tight, the Earl bowed again. For a searing moment he contemplated leaving, but he had Émile's well-being to consider, and, glancing to Devenish, who had hurried to his side, he saw the man's mute pleading, and relented. He had been the cause of sufficient of an uproar, he decided, and without another word crossed to join the Westhavens.

Devenish gestured sharply to the musicians. A quadrille was called, the squares began to form, and the music struck up. Devenish went over to Guy. “My dear fellow,” he murmured. “I am so sorry. What a damnable coil this is!”

Guy said quietly, “We should have anticipate it,
mon cher.
My sorrow is that this lady has been trapped in the er, coil, also.” He looked regretfully at Faith. “You should have been wiser,
Madame,
to have go with the Earl.”

She smiled at him. “I choose my own friends,
Monsieur.
”

“Is something the matter?” Coming to join them, Josie asked anxiously, “Dev—the poor Chevalier is not worse?”

“No, no. And how does it come about you are not dancing?”

“I will be delighted to remedy that defect.”

The smooth voice brought Devenish's brows twitching angrily together.

Josie cried, “Lord Elliot! And Lady Isabella—welcome!”

Devenish bowed over Isabella's hand. She caught a brief glimpse of rage in his eyes, then they were veiled and he was apologizing for not having greeted them at the door. He had little opportunity to say more. Those who knew my lady well knew of her waspish disposition, but she was a very beautiful woman, her rich figure clad tonight in a striking gown of blue-green brocade, cut so low as to attract every male eye. Within seconds, she was surrounded. She was a little vexed, because her passion for Devenish was genuine, but she was as vain as she was lovely, and to be blatantly adored by these distinguished gentlemen could not fail to please.

Keeping an eye on Fontaine and Josie, Devenish was buttonholed by the Duchess of Banbury, and by the time he escaped that garrulous lady, he was unable to discern his ward. A hand gripped his shoulder and he found Mitchell Redmond beside him.

“Dashed fine party, Dev.” The grey eyes scrutinized him keenly. “Nothing amiss, is there?”

“No, my Tulip. I was looking for Josie.”

“She was here a minute ago. Saw her with Fontaine, over—What the deuce? There
is
something wrong!”

Devenish forced a grin. “Stop being a nanny, damn you. How's that wooden head of yours?”

“Not so wooden as you think, my lad. Don't much care for our Viscount, do you?”

Through gritted teeth, Devenish replied, “No.”

“If you look at him like that, he'll be charred around the edges before the night is over. Best come with me. There's a gentleman wants a word with you.”

Chapter 12

Monsieur le Chevalier Émile de Galin was seated on a love seat in the east hall, talking with Lord Coleridge Bryce. The artist's fair young face wore an entranced expression and, amused, Devenish thought that he might have guessed Colley would soon be drawn to this man's side. Dropping a hand onto his lordship's shoulder, he asked with a smile “Well,
Monsieur,
has he yet bullied you into sitting for him?”

De Galin gestured deprecatingly. “I can but be flattered to have won the interest of an artist so notable. Lord Bryce is most kind.”

“And if you will kindly go away, Dev,” grumbled the “most kind” peer, “I may yet convince the Chevalier to allow me to paint him.”

“No, Colley, I cannot have you bullying my guests, you know. Are you aware that Lady Scott-Matthias has arrived?”

Bryce rose at once, for he was an ardent admirer of the beauty. “I am bribed into leaving you, sir. But do not be imagining yourself safe. I shall not be so easily vanquished.” With a dramatic bow and a grin, he went away.

Devenish took his place. “I believe you wished to see me, sir? I trust you are feeling yourself?”

The grave dark eyes fastened upon his face with an odd intensity. “It is my desire,
Monsieur,
to be with you very—how is it?—above the board. Since arriving at your house I have sustained a great shock. You will, I pray, forgive my inexcusable behaviour, and allow that I may call upon you within the few days.”

“It would be my pleasure, but we can have a talk tomorrow if you will consent to overnight with us.”

“
Merci beaucoup,
but that is, I regret, not possible. Would Thursday next be
convenable?
”

They agreed upon a time and then the Chevalier was captured by the Countess of Carden, and Devenish returned to the ballroom in search of his ward.

Josie, however, had been taken in to supper by John Drummond, who had noted the way both Cahill and Fontaine looked at her, and had decided to allow no grass to grow under his feet. Having shepherded his lady to a small corner table of the noisy dining room, he saw that she was comfortably seated, and hurried to gather two plates of delicacies. Returning with his spoils, he told her that this was far and away the jolliest ball he ever had attended.

Josie thanked him. “I hope Dev shares your opinion, John. I had thought he appeared a trifle harried a little while ago, had you?”

“I cannot say I'd noticed, but that was probably because I was looking at you, not at your father.”

She laughed. “Dev is not my father. You know very well we are not at all related.”

“Well, he has been like a father to you, and I must be eternally grateful to him for rescuing you and allowing you to bloom into the exquisite lady you— Heavens! Have I offended?”

She nibbled at a cheese puff, and lied, “No. Only you sound like Lord Elliot. Has he been instructing you as to how to captivate the ladies?”

“I am interested in only one lady,” he declared ardently. “Josie, I must—” Here his ardour got the better of him; the pastry he held shattered and shot over the table. Aghast, he gazed at a large piece that had taken up residence in his lady's champagne glass. Josie sternly suppressed a dimple and began to chat about the beauteous Lady Isabella.

“Yes. Very lovely, but—I want to talk about
you.
No—do not try to turn me aside, I beg of you. Devenish said you were upset and I should not speak, but—”

“Then I think you should heed him, Cousin John.”

“I dare not. You are beset on every side.” He reached across the table to grasp her hand and said desperately, “You must know how I feel. I love you, my dearest girl. Dev said I may pay you my addresses, and—”

She stiffened. “But I understood you to say he cautioned you against—”

“Only because he thought you were upset. You do not seem to be upset, so—”

“But I am,” she alleged, grasping at straws. “John dear, I am so grateful for your affection. Indeed, I could not wish to be held in such regard by a nicer boy, but—”

Frowning, he intervened, “I am almost five and twenty, and—”

“And kind and gentle and courteous. And will therefore exercise all three qualities, and not persist with—with—”

“With a declaration that would be unwelcome. Is that it?”

His face was a little flushed now, his eyes glinting with hurt and resentment. Josie saw several people glance their way, and she murmured, “Hush—you will be heard. And, John—you know very well that your papa would not approve your offering for someone of no family.”

“I admire and respect my father, and would do all in my power not to hurt him, but in this I must retain the right to decide for myself. Josie, if that is your only objection…?”

He looked so eager now, and he was such a very nice young man. She pointed out gently, “It is a powerful objection, John. Your parents have been very good to me for all these years since Dev took me under his wing. I have been accepted by them as though I truly were one of the family. Do not now ask me to bring them distress.”

His attempt to remonstrate was interrupted as Jeremy Bolster, having noted the intensity of their conversation and guessed at its cause, wandered up and warned Drummond he was not going to have the belle of the ball all to himself. “I was obliged to l-leave Mandy at home,” he said dejectedly, “so I cl-claim the right of a lone and l-l- l-l- abandoned guest, Josie, and shall join you.”

Perfectly aware that Drummond could cheerfully have strangled him, he saw relief in Josie's dark eyes, and with a covert wink at her, drew up a chair.

*   *   *

“I simply never heard of such a thing, Wolfe,” said Devenish. “You've likely had far more experience than I.
Is
it possible for champagne to become tainted?”

The old man had a few ideas of his own, including a suspicion that some of the bottles he had opened had already been opened and cunningly re-sealed. However, to voice his thoughts would only bring more worry down on the head of a man he often wished to be visited by some dire peril so that he might charge to the rescue. Therefore, he said he believed this circumstance was fairly common and, blithely uttering falsehoods that would have curled the hair of any self-respecting vintner, asserted that if the bottles had been improperly cleansed or an error made in the ageing process, customers could be made ill upon imbibing the brew. Devenish left him, somewhat cheered, and went to look in on Cornish. The footman was looking rather owly-eyed and said he'd fair sniffed hisself boozy, but was not going to abandon his task. Devenish thanked him, assured him that his devotion to duty would not go unrewarded, and turned to find Mrs. Robinson at his elbow. The housekeeper warned that they had now run out of room, and if more unexpected guests arrived with the need to remain overnight, it would be necessary that some people share accommodations.

“Good Lord! Cannot do that,” he cried, appalled. “What about the servants' quarters?”

“Full as a squirrel's cheeks, sir. And I've had to put some of our people in the outside servants' quarters, at that.”

He shook his head worriedly, but told her it was unlikely that any more guests would arrive since it was already half-past eleven o'clock.

On that optimistic note, he repaired to the ballroom. He was unable to locate Josie, nor could he see Fontaine's glowing curls. Anxiety seizing him, he wandered along the hall. There was no sign of either of his quarries. He crossed the Great Hall rapidly and turned down the east wing. This corridor was quiet, most guests keeping to the other side of the house. From a small ante room he heard a sudden shriek, however, and a moment later the door flew open and Hortense Barrington, the pretty but rather foolish daughter of a widowed diplomat, made a decidedly precipitous exit. She was pale and agitated, and tugging at the strap of her gown. She blushed scarlet when she saw Devenish, gulped something in a tearful way, and all but ran off.

Lips tight, Devenish strode inside. He immediately located one of those he had sought, wherefore his concern for the other could be abandoned, but that a guest in his home should be embarrassed was galling. Swinging the door shut behind him, he said a clipped, “Miss Barrington seemed distressed.”

Elliot Fontaine chuckled and smoothed his rumpled curls. “She's a silly widgeon, but a pretty one. If her papa don't keep a tight rein on her, why, all's fair, eh?”

“Not,” said Devenish, “in my house.”

That strangely reptilian movement of the head brought Fontaine's eyes around to him. “Come on, Dev. Never be so stuffy. I'll warrant you've had your share of slaps and tickles. Josie certainly—”

“We will not discuss my ward, if you please. Save that I'll tell you to keep away from her. She's not for you, Fontaine.”

The Viscount was taller than Devenish but, oddly, he felt as though the other man regarded him from an immense height. It was an unfamiliar sensation and he was too proud to accept it with equanimity. “Perhaps you will be so good as to tell me for whom you are saving the chit.” His quizzing glass swung gently from one well-manicured hand. His lips curving into a sardonic smile, he added softly, “You are—er,
saving
her?”