Give All to Love (28 page)

“They were in the basement, sir.” And with a flash of inspiration, he added, “Sanguinet helped us restore them.”

The King stiffened. “Sanguinet?”

Sir William Little said, “Never fear, Your Majesty. We're watching him.”

“Then we thank you for it. Come here, if you please,
Monsieur.
”

A few grim chuckles were heard. Guy struggled forward. The Earl of Harland, his face stern, accompanied him each step of the way, ignoring his son's frantic attempts to catch his eye.

Guy's bow was not very successful and he lost his balance for a second. Someone sniggered. The King, his face suddenly bleak, scanned the crowd. Silence fell. Returning his attention to the man who waited before him, George said in a very kind voice, “My dear fellow, how pleased we are to see you up and about again.”

The silence was absolute. Guy, who had not dreamed of being publicly addressed by the monarch, was overcome and powerless to respond. For once in his life taken completely by surprise, Geoffrey Harland's aristocratic jaw dropped ludicrously. Sir William Little, coming forward and staring as if he could not believe his eyes, quite forgot protocol and stammered, “But-but he's a traitor, sir. A scheming Frenchy who plotted against your life!”

The King frowned and, turning to Devenish, said testily, “Who is that silly fellow? We do not at all care for his manners!”

Sir William turned red as fire and backed away.

“He is my neighbour, sir,” said Devenish with a grin.

“And he is also the staunch patriot,” Guy put in shyly. “It is natural he should suspect me, Your Majesty. With my name…” He shrugged.

“Nonsense! We have heard something of the ugliness to which you've been subjected. Time it was stopped. We shall give you a new name. Should've done so long since. Remind me, Francis. Now, listen, all you people—this man is a Sanguinet, which is to be regretted. He is also, however, a very fine gentleman, and owes his disability to a gallant attempt to protect us. We'll thank you to treat him with kindness.” Here, the royal eye alighting upon a hovering footman with a well-laden tray, he said cheerily, “By Jove, but that looks pleasant! Run along, you people, and enjoy your dance. I say, this is frightfully good of you, Devenish.”

Devenish's response was lost in the sudden buzz of chatter. Wolfe appeared and led the royal retinue to the dining room. Guy started away, but Harland stepped up to him and bowed. “
Monsieur—en effet,
I have been under a misapprehension. I am sorry for it, and humbly beg your pardon.”

It was just the beginning. The emotions of the guests had come full circle. From a heady desire to lynch the Frenchman came the need to make amends for their treatment of him. It appeared that everyone present asked nothing more than to speak to him, to shake him by the hand, to tell him they were “jolly glad” to make his acquaintance.

Josie, overjoyed, rushed to hug the tearful Faith, and Sir William, looking miserable, hung back until at last, catching Guy's eye, he muttered, “It was very sporting of you to—to defend me, Sanguinet.”

His throat choked by emotion, his hazel eyes suspiciously bright, Guy put out his bruising hand. Sir William took it gratefully.

Lyon came up, beaming. “Congratulations, sir! You're cleared, at last! You're also looking rather tired and no wonder.”

“No,” Guy managed gruffly. “
Merci,
but I am very fine.”

“And will be the better for a short rest,” said Faith with an undeniably proprietary air.

Guy flushed, said happily that doubtless
Madame
was right, and went with her towards the hall.

The King waved a chicken wing and said merrily, “Come along now! On with the dance!”

His heart thudding into his shoes, Devenish smiled, bowed, and hurried off. His faint hopes proved unfounded. The musicians had salted away several bottles of the tainted champagne and, to a man, were prostrated. Tearing his hair with frustration, Devenish sought out Mrs. Robinson and threw that poor lady into a near-fainting condition by telling her all the accommodations must be changed so as to make room for the royal guests. He left her, white and shaking, and went back upstairs.

Crossing the Great Hall, he met Leith, who informed him that Viscount Fontaine had been loaded into his chaise and with his sister in attendance was being driven home. “You've made a dangerous enemy, Dev,” the tall man said gravely. “I wish to God you'd not hit the fellow.”

“Oh, pox on the wretched hound! Tris, the damned musicians are all sick as a sea lion! And there sits Prinny, waiting for music!”

“Lord save us all! He'll go off in a huff!”

“Yes. And I cannot have that…”

Devenish made his way through the crowd, waiting a little impatiently now for the dance to resume. He clambered onto the dais and pounded discordantly on the keys of the pianoforte. The chatter faded. He held up his hands and begged for quiet, and gradually it was achieved. From the corner of his eye he saw Josie watching him anxiously and, off to the side, his monarch, busily applying himself to the contents of the tray, but with his eyes fixed upon the dais.

“My friends,” Devenish called clearly. “I have a disaster to announce! My musicians found their way into my wine cellar…” There was a roar of laughter. The king grinned around a cheese tart. “They are quite unable to play,” he added. At once the grin faded from the fat countenance. The tart was lowered and so was the royal lower lip. Devenish raised his voice to be heard over the clamour of disappointment. “I know we have many fine musicians amongst us. It is unforgivably rude of me to ask it, but”—his brilliant grin swept the sea of upturned faces—“will you help me?”

The response was immediate. Viscount Stephen Whitthurst and several friends picked up Camille Damon bodily and carried him to the pianoforte. “Here's a volunteer!” yelled Whitthurst. Lady Carlotta Bryce, mother of the famous artist and an excellent harpist, needed little urging to take her place by that beautiful instrument. Lord Edward Ridgley, who played the violin well, said good-naturedly that he'd “give it a try,” and in no time an orchestra was assembled.

With the help of two of his gentlemen, King George regained his feet. “And I shall lead you, ladies and gentlemen,” he proclaimed, beaming. “By Jupiter, but this is a jolly party!”

A sturdy bench was carried forward, His Majesty was lowered onto it and, after a short consultation and some small disagreements among the musicians, Damon called something to the King, and George bellowed, “Take your partners for the waltz!”

Another guest chose that moment to put in an appearance. Lady Godiva trotted through the welter of skirts and pantaloons. Whether she supposed that the one individual seated alone must be her god, it would be difficult to guess. Suffice it to say that she made her way to the bench and sat beside it, facing the dais.

Comparison was inevitable. Scores of dainty fans fluttered up to hide convulsed faces; countless linen handkerchiefs smothered chortles of mirth. Cold with horror as Mitchell Redmond led her to the floor, Josie darted a frenzied glance at Devenish, who was preparing to return to the lower areas and assist his unfortunate housekeeper. He returned her look with some puzzlement, turned in the direction of her nod, and gave a gasp. The royal temperament was uncertain at best. If George decided he was being mocked, he could be merciless—as he'd been in the case of poor Brummell. Devenish started to run. Even as he reached for the pig, King George raised his arms to start the volunteer orchestra, saw Lady Bryce's horrified expression, and glanced down. He gave a startled yelp, and the baton Damon had passed him fell from his hand.

“S-sir,” stammered Devenish, seeking frantically for a logical explanation, “I cannot tell wh-why, but this animal is a pest and, whenever we have company, seems to delight in seeking out the most distinguished of our guests and attaching herself to him. I pray you will forgive this—er, intrusion.”

Through the following absolute hush, not a soul moved, and Devenish held his breath, waiting for the wrathful explosion.

Lady Godiva wriggled and uttered a tentative snort.

The King's staring eyes blinked. He looked narrowly at Devenish's pale, tense face. Suddenly, he chuckled. “No, no. Let her stay,” he said, reaching down to pat the pig's head. “What's her name?”

“Lady Godiva, Your Majesty.”

George laughed. The gentlemen-in-waiting laughed. The guests laughed. And Devenish could breathe again.

“You little varmint,” said the King, as Lady Godiva smiled up at him, “damme if you ain't fatter than I am!”

*   *   *

Peering at her brother's face, dimly illumined by the carriage lamps, Lady Isabella asked, “Is it stopped bleeding, love?”

“Yes,” replied the Viscount thickly. “But—by God, if that bastard has broke my nose…!”

“Never say so! Taine, you—you mean to call him out, of course?”

For a long moment there was no answer, the only sounds the plodding of the horses' hoofs and the rattle and squeak of the chaise as it followed the narrow, moonlit ribbon of the road.

Fontaine said in a thoughtful drawl, “No. It would interfere with my plans.”

Isabella closed her eyes briefly. Emboldened by this unhoped-for decision, she next asked, “Whatever did you do to cause him to knock you down?”

“I accused him of compromising his ward.” Fontaine chuckled faintly. “To say the least of it.”

She gave a despairing wail. “Then I am quite undone! He'll never come near me again!”

Unmoved, he continued to dab cautiously at his nose and pronounced it unbroken. Isabella began to weep and he snapped impatiently, “Oh, be still! Why you should
want
the block is past understanding! Aside from his looks, the fella's scarce a great matrimonial prize. He's as hot at hand as he can stare, and will likely be tumbling into disasters for as long as he draws breath. He cannot walk straight, which is enough to turn one's stomach. His fortune is not large. And as for that disgusting old pile of his— Egad, Bella! It would drive you distracted inside a month! Certainly, you'd have to turn off every single freak he calls a servant! A fine beau you've chosen! Take your noble lamebrain and be thankful!”

“My ‘noble lamebrain,'” she retaliated, wiping fiercely at her tearful eyes, “is six and sixty, has no hair, and Waterloo teeth!”

“Ah, but you would be a duchess, m'dear! And such a rich one!
Certainement,
you could find
l'amour
elsewhere.”

“Oh, but you are hateful!” she cried fiercely. “I
love
Dev! Can you not understand? I love him, and I want him!” And in response to his derisive snort, she said in a flame, “Laugh then! But consider, dear brother,
you've
a lust for his wretched foundling, and you may be sure she never will glance your way now. He is sure to tell her what you said.”

Amused, he murmured, “No, do you think so? I doubt it. Whatever his faults, the fool
is
a gentleman. Besides…” He paused, and in a little while went on with a slow smile, “There is, my beautiful, more than one way to skin a cat.”

Chapter 14

On Monday morning the east wind was keen, and Josie went shiveringly downstairs to find Lady Godiva huddling by the bottom step, trying to keep warm.

“Poor little thing,” she said, bending to caress the pig. “We shall have to make you a coat, my dear, to keep out the cold.”

She glanced up as the door opened and an icy gust swept across the Great Hall. Devenish came in, the collar of his long riding coat turned high, and his cheeks aglow. He snatched off his high-crowned hat and flourished it at her, two cats and a kitten rushing past him and racing for the kitchens.

“Slugabed! I suppose now the last of your guests is gone, you mean to rest on your laurels while the rest of the world labours.”

“But of course,” she said, dimpling a smile as she tripped over to take his hat and coat and hand them to the lackey who was perfectly capable of performing that small task, and knew better than to attempt it. “Where have you been? And have you eaten breakfast?”

“I've been out with Little. We had a look at the access road and I think are agreed on a just sharing of more permanent repairs.”

“Oh, splendid!” She clung to his arm and accompanied him to the breakfast parlour, where a bright fire sent flames licking up the chimney and the air was fragrant with the smells of coffee and toast. The table was set, a footman sprang forward to assist with chairs, Wolfe lurched in, followed by a maid bearing a laden tray, and Josie busied herself with coffee and cups. When the servants left them alone, Devenish said with a sigh, “Jove, but it's nice to have the old place to ourselves again.”

“Yes, I know. But—oh, it was a
wonderful
ball, wasn't it, Dev? Everything went so well, and—” She saw his stupefied expression and laughed merrily. “Well—all things considered … No, really, the King was so kind, and—”

“Kind! Do you realize, my girl,” he said, waving a crumpet at her, “what we went through, getting everyone's belongings moved, and rooms cleaned and ready for the royal crew, only to have Prinny say airily at the last moment that they ‘must be getting back to Berkeley now'? Good Gad!”

“Yes, dear, but the poor soul thoroughly enjoyed himself, and the musicians seemed fairly well recovered by the time they left. And only think how Guy was vindicated!”

Slicing some tender ham, Devenish grinned. “True. Our Guy became quite a
cause célèbre,
and well past due!”

“And Faith as proud as though they were already wed.”

He paused, slanting a quick glance at her, then went on carving.

She held out her plate and he deposited some fine slices upon it, then served himself, adding two eggs from the covered tureen.