Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (9 page)

"They ought to think jolly well of it, I'd say," Bolster put
in heartily. "Romped old Boney, didn't we? And a fine state the world
would b-be in had he prevailed. Cannot deny that, Mitch!"

"I can deny that our victories were accomplished by reason of
any inspired leadership from London. If we won in France and Spain it
was because Wellington out-generalled Napoleon. Nothing more, nothing
less."

Leith nodded, but said in his calm way, "However brilliant Old
Hookey may be, and however deeply the free world stands indebted to
him, he had to be appointed before he could fulfil his destiny, and—"

"And do you credit that appointment to the inspiration of the
idiots who bungle their way through Whitehall?" sneered Redmond. "Or to
the shrewd guidance of our exalted ruler, perhaps? Good God! If our
descendants look closely at poor Prinny, they must judge us a fine set
of knock-in-the-cradles!"

Deeply patriotic beneath his mild exterior, Lord Bolster sat
straighter in his chair and put down his wineglass. "I fancy there are
many worse m-men than Prinny, Mitch."

"Then let us pray they do not occupy a throne."

Also annoyed by these caustic remarks, Devenish said, "The man
has his faults, certainly, but he has been villified by a particularly
vicious Press, who chose to completely overlook his good points."

"Oh, do pray elucidate," said Redmond with his mocking smile.

Devenish flushed. "I have personally known him to be kind,
generous, knowledgeable on many subjects, a connoisseur of—"

"Of women?" sneered Redmond. "That certainly! Nor could anyone
deny his generosity, especially when applied to his table and his
architectural atrocities."

Devenish's eyes smouldered, noting which Leith intervened
lazily,"I fear Redmond knows our Prinny's faults too well for us to
effectively champion him. Shall we concede the royal gentleman to be
sometimes unwise, but—like the rest of us—not all bad?"

"You may concede what you wish," said Redmond. "I shall hold
to my belief that the man is a nincompoop! A womanizing, hedonistic
spendthrift who is so absurd as to have become a public laughing-stock
and thus disgrace his country throughout the world. England would do
very much better without the silly fellow!"

Pale with anger, Devenish rasped, "You go too far, sir!"
Alarmed, Charity glanced at her sister.

Rachel smiled serenely and laid down her napkin. "Gentlemen,"
she said, standing as Bolster sprang to pull back her chair, "I do
believe we shall leave you to your"—she smiled mischievously at
Redmond—"your patriotic discussions."

As his lordship ushered the two ladies to the door, Charity
heard Devenish declare hotly, "Mrs. Leith was right, by God! Far from
being a patriot, you speak treason, Redmond!"

"Gammon," sneered Mitchell Redmond.

The morning dawned bright, with a slight breeze ruffling the
treetops and an invigorating crispness to the air. Walking downstairs
shortly after eleven o'clock, Charity adjusted a crocheted shawl of
fine white wool about her thin shoulders, her thoughts turning
backwards. The gentlemen had seemed all amiability when they'd come
into the drawing room last evening, and if the treasonable debate had
continued after she and Rachel had left them, they'd been at pains to
give no hint of it. The balance of the evening had been without
incident. Tristram had asked her to favour the gathering with some
songs, and she had done so, very conscious of Redmond's polite
attention and of the inadequacies of her true but small voice. Alain
Devenish had made his excuses and retired before the arrival of the tea
tray. It was unlike that exuberant individual to go early to bed, and
she and Rachel had worried over such atypical behaviour. Between them,
they'd decided that Alain had spent most of the day travelling and had
then been exposed to Mitchell Redmond's abrasive personality, either of
which was sufficient to drive any man to his bed.

Lost in thought, Charity had not realized she was standing at
the foot of the stairs until, from behind her, the object of her
concern enquired, "Something wrong, m'dear?"

Without turning around, she smiled and reached up, and as
Devenish took her hand and stepped down to join her, she answered
quietly, "I don't know. Is there?"

The morning sunlight, streaming in through the front windows,
gleamed on her curls, and the simple bonnet framing her fine-boned
features seemed to emphasize the intrepid tilt to the small head.
Devenish thought, "How daintily feminine she is in that pretty blue
gown," and suddenly envied the man who would one day call her wife. He
answered lightly, "Do you mean—with me? Lord, no. You'd not credit the
changes my new steward has wrought at Devencourt. It is really a
charming old seat, Charity. You must come down and—" The quick pressure
of the fingers he still held stopped him.

Her eyes had always been her best feature, but they also were
her most betraying. The searching anxiety they now revealed touched
Devenish's susceptible heart. "Dev, you know very well what I mean,"
she said, faintly scolding. "Had you a—a special problem to discuss
with my brother? I know your visit was not planned, but why would you
have expected to find Justin here?"

Contrary to what he had told Leith, Devenish had come to
Strand Hall because of a nagging premonition of trouble. If it hadn't
been for the fact that his blasted leg had been jabbing at him like
fury all day yesterday, he would have snabbled old Tris at some point
after dinner, to see what he could learn. Now, however, he opened his
blue eyes very wide and said, all innocence, "Oh, gad! Never say I've
intruded upon an invitational?"

"Dev!" Charity began, then laughed suddenly. "Oh dear. I did
make it sound so, didn't I? It is not, of course. And even if it were,
you are always welcome. But I want to know what you are about, if you
please."

How like her, he thought, vastly amused, to make so
rag-mannered a demand of a guest. But he was pleased that she felt him
to be sufficiently one of the family to do so. She was worried, bless
her heart; fretting perhaps because her sister looked a trifle out of
curl. He'd heard that Rachel was experiencing more than her share of
problems with this babe. Heaven forbid he should say anything to cause
her more grief, or to add to Charity's concern. He did not want Charity
worried. In fact— His earlier thought returned. She would make some
lucky man a very nice little wife… With typical impetuosity he
answered, "If you must know, miss—to ask for your hand."

Staring at him, her lips a little parted with shock, Charity
was both bewildered by this sudden proposal and amused by the faint
dismay that now crept into his eyes. She reached out for the hand she
had relinquished. It was quite steady and gripped her own with firm
assurance. "Why, how very dear," she said softly. "Thank you, Alain.
But, you see—I cannot accept."

Devenish was conscious of a deep relief but then, perversely,
a rush of disappointment. He was very fond of Charity. He had seen her
in suffering and in a nightmare of peril, and she had met both
challenges with quiet intrepidity. He thought her a serene and
sweet-souled lady who would never serve her mate with selfishness or
bad temper. And his own hopes and dreams were dead, after all… His
adored Yolande had been wed for almost six months now. To be precise,
five months, twelve days, and about an hour…

Charity saw his eyes become remote and, guessing where his
thoughts wandered, said with feigned indignation,"Well, you might at
least protest a
little
, Dev!"

"Oh! Deuce take me!" he gasped. "What a moment to be
wool-gathering! No, Charity"—he moved to possess himself of both
herhands—"really, I think it might serve us very well. Only look at it,
m'dear. I love and admire you. And you love me." He grinned at her.
"How could you help it?"

With a little chuckle she admitted to this strange failing.
"Well, then," he said, triumphant, "there you are! Your heart is not
given, I think? And—and you lead a rather, er, nomadic kind of life,
Charity. Oh, I don't say you're not sincerely welcomed wherever you go,
but it ain't like having a home of your own, after all. Devencourt's
not too dreadful. And you know, of course, that you could make whatever
changes you would wish. Josie could have a—a mother, and I would be,
er, well, it
is
a trifle lonely. Just now and
then, you understand, sort of rattling around the old place. I know
that I'm no catch for you. Got this blasted habit of—well, you know how
it is with me. Everyone says I'm hot at hand and I think I am. Just a
little. Sometimes. Very rarely, nowadays, because I'm getting older.
More, er, mature, d'you see, and—"

But the bubble of mirth that Charity had been firmly
restraining, burst, and she laughed merrily. Devenish looked taken
aback, and repentant, she squeezed the hands she still held, before
releasing them. "You are, in fact, entering your dotage," she declared.

He grinned at her. "No, but I'm serious about this, you
madcap! I promise I'd, er, cherish and—and protect you. And you must
know I'd not be setting up a peculiar a mile or so away and neglecting
you, for I've never been much in the petticoat line. And—-"

So he really was in earnest. Touched, she placed her hand over
his lips. "You love me, my dear," she interposed gently, "but you are
not—
in
love with me."

He turned his head almost at once, but for an instant the look
of desolation had been so intense that she cried a dismayed, "Oh, Dev,
I am so
sorry
!"

For a taut instant he was silent, then he said in a low and
uneven voice, "Pray do not be. I am perfectly resigned, you know. It's
only that… I suppose I had rather got into the way of—of thinking of
Yolande as… as…" The words shredded into silence.

Longing to take him in her arms and comfort him, Charity said
softly, "Yes, of course. But that is another reason, Dev. You have paid
me the greatest compliment a man may offer a lady, and I am—oh, so very
grateful. Only—my dear, dear friend, do you see? I could not endure
such fierce competition."

He did see. And she was quite right, for, as usual, he had
been thinking only of Alain Devenish. The yearning ache in his breast
was fierce again, which served him right. Smiling brightly, he said,
"In that event, m'dear, I appoint myself chairman of the Charity Strand
Matrimonial Committee. We must find you some splendid young Duke to
husband!"

"Oh no!" she cried, laughing but aghast. "Dev! You wouldn't!"
Her eyes slipped past him. "Rachel, you'll not believe the machinations
of this rogue."

"I'll own I heard his last remark," said Rachel, pulling on
her gloves as she came down the stairs. She was relieved to see that
the faint look of strain had left Dev's eyes. He looked cheerful and
rested, and if she suspected the former to be a pose, she was pleased
by the latter. "Have you been bludgeoned into accompanying us on our
walk to the village? Charity sets a relentless pace, and so I warn you."

He smiled. "It would be a joy, lovely one. But to be truthful
I've already had my morning exercise in trying to come up with your
wandering spouse."

"Oh, what a pity you missed them. Tristram and Jeremy went
over to Lord Rickaby's Home Farm. A long-standing invitation for an
early breakfast and a look at some new kind of hedge they are hoping to
use as boundary markers."

"In that case, I shall beat a path to the kitchens and see if
some kindly soul will feed this starving rogue. Fair ladies— adieu."
And with a grin, a bow, and a flourish, he strolled kitchenwards.

The sisters crossed the hall, the footman swung open the door,
and at once the breeze set their skirts to fluttering.

"Did you mean to take Brutus?'' asked Rachel as they trod down
the steps and into the brisk freshness of the morning.

"I had thought we might invite him, but you're right, it would
not do, poor fellow. My, how the breeze has come up."

The dog, so apparently indomitable, harboured a craven and
selective dread of shaking aspen leaves, and although there were few
aspens on the Strand preserves, the route to the village was not
without such horrors. The sisters therefore set out alone, arms linked,
as they walked across the park.

Charity was unusually silent and in a little while Rachel said
musingly, "So Alain means to find you a husband…"

"Rachel, I have never been more shocked. The dear boy made me
an
offer
! In the foyer!''

"I know. I'm afraid I was somewhat less than truthful when I
told you I'd overheard his last sentence. I was at the top of the
stairs when he promised to cherish and protect you. I stopped, for fear
of embarrassing him, though goodness knows he picked a very public
place for it."

They looked at each other, and then burst into laughter.

"Wretched boy," said Charity, wiping tears from her eyes. "I
think he spoke in such haste he frightened himself to death! At first,
I could not believe he was serious."

"But he was. And you handled it very nicely, I thought."
Rachel sighed. "Dear Dev. What a wonderful husband he would make if
only—'' She asked in sudden dismay,"Charity? You told him that he does
not love you, but do
you
love him?"

"Of course I do, you goose. Only not just in that very special
way."

Rachel thought with regret that this dear sister had been
granted little opportunity to meet eligible gentlemen, when so much of
her adult life had been spent in a wheelchair. She said, teasing,"And
what, dare I ask, do you know of 'special ways'?"

Charity answered with a faint smile, "I know what I have seen
in Justin's eyes when he looks at Lisette. And I have watched you and
Tristram and seen how your faces light up if you have been apart a
little while and suddenly find one another. And I watched all the joy
and hope fade from dear Dev when Yolande married Major Tyndale."