Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (4 page)

Monteil's hands formed themselves into a church steeple. Over
them, his dark eyes remained unblinkingly upon his companion. "And
Montclair? You have again approached him about the cottage?"

"I thought it best to delay until we have resolved the present
rather unexpected development." Trent gestured apologetically. "His
music obsesses him, you know, and his mood is so unpredictable that one
is obliged to handle him carefully. Especially at present."

The Swiss pursed his lips. "Do you know, I question this
desire to become a composer.
Tiens
! It is not
good
ton
, I think."

"It most assuredly is not! A gentleman of his position?
Nonsense! You cannot think I would permit such a disgraceful thing."

"And—forgive,
mon cher
, but—will your
permission be asked? He is of age surely, and seems to be rather, shall
we say—stubborn?"

"Yes. Regrettably. And has a nasty temper. But—one must be
charitable. The poor lad's illness—" Trent tapped his temple
meaningfully.

Imre Monteil shook his head. "Such a pity. And in so young a
man. How fortunate that—" He glanced up, leaving the sentence
unfinished as a footman carried a golden salver into the room.

Sir Selby took the card and glanced at it. Up went the pale
brows. "Show the lady into the morning room and offer my apologies that
I must keep her waiting a minute or two." He handed the card to Monteil
as the footman made his stately departure. "The minx does not want for
impudence," he murmured.

Monteil read aloud, "Mrs. Burke Henley." He smiled and stood
with lazy grace. "Well, well. She carries her battle to the enemy's
gates. But how intriguing. I shall come and see what our intrepid
trespasser looks like."

Coming to his feet also, Trent shook his head. "No, Imre. I
think it better I should see the chit alone."

"Do you?" Monteil accompanied him to the door. "Even so—I
shall come," he said blandly.

Susan Henley had not paid much heed to the beauties of
Longhills as she drove through the muggy afternoon, all her anxiety
being with her brother. Thank heaven Bo'sun Dodman had always longed to
be a doctor and while serving aboard Grandpapa's East Indiaman had
learned so much from the apothecary that he might almost qualify as one
himself. The short, square, powerfully built man had come up from the
barge in a rush when Deemer had called him, and having pronounced
Andrew merely stunned, had thrown the young man's inanimate form over
one sturdy shoulder and carried him up to his bedchamber. Her brother
had come to his senses while the Bo'sun was bathing the cut on his
head, and ignoring his own injury had been full of concern for Susan.
To see his face so pale and his fine eyes narrowed with pain had put
her in a flame. Deemer had helped her to ready their solitary old
phaeton, and when Andy was between the sheets and the Bo'sun sitting
watchfully beside the bed, she had driven out alone, guiding Pennywise
and Pound Foolish by way of the public road so as to approach the manor
from the formal front entrance, and in such a rage she'd scarcely
noticed her surroundings.

Not until she rounded the curve in the drivepath and passed
through the wide-open lodge gates did she receive the full impact of
the great mansion, and for several seconds she let her eyes rove in
awed admiration around the sweep of the mellow stone buildings that
glowed like pale gold under the afternoon sun. "Lud," she whispered, "
'Tis a palace!"

Two gardeners looked up curiously, and a stableboy was
running, gawking his astonishment at the sight of a lady driving
herself, with neither groom nor abigail beside her. Squaring her slim
shoulders, Susan sent the team clopping their elderly and nondescript
hooves around the towering plumes of the fountain as brashly as though
they were high-spirited Thoroughbreds.

The icy, liveried, and powdered footman who swung open the
great door looked pointedly for her servant, and she wished with all
her heart that she had brought one of the men with her. But Deemer was
becoming rather frail and had looked white and shaken, and she'd
thought it imperative that the Bo'sun should stay with Andy, in case
any sort of relapse occurred.

She fully expected to be denied the master of the house, but
the footman asked her to wait in a quietly regal hall, then returned to
conduct her up a pair of stairs to a landing from which twin curving
staircases wound left and right to the galleried first floor. Up the
left-hand stairs they climbed, along a noble corridor, passing wider
stairs leading to the second floor. Susan caught a glimpse of a
stupendous and beautiful room leading off to the right, which could
only be the great hall; then the corridor jogged left again into a
smaller hall, on one side of which she saw a dining room with mahogany
furnishings that gleamed like dark rubies.

She was ushered into the opposite chamber, desired to wait "a
minute or two," and again abandoned.

Resisting the impulse to sink timidly onto the nearest
straight-backed chair, she wandered about. What a glorious house! Not
that she'd wish to live in such a gigantic place—Lud, but one might go
for days without meeting another soul. Still, it
was
a thing of beauty. Only look at the panelling in here; the ancient oak
had been painted pale blue, which she thought regrettable but was the
fashion, and the panels were ornamented with splendid carvings.

Before the windows a round fruitwood table was spread with a
delicate lace cloth on which stood a statuette; a mermaid again, of
translucent pink jade and exquisite design. She was admiring that work
of art when from the corner of her eye she saw a flutter of pale blue.
She crossed to the open casements and looked down on lush emerald lawns
studded with flower beds and great old trees. A girl, rather on the
plump side and weeping heartbrokenly, was running wildly down the
terrace steps. A slim dark-haired young man sprinted after her, and
swung her to face him, allowing Susan a view of mousy brown curls
hanging untidily about a pale unremarkable countenance, not improved by
reddened eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.

"I tell you I won't!" the girl sobbed hysterically. "I'd
sooner be dead! Does it mean nothing to you that I don't
want
to marry without love?"

"Don't be a little fool!" He shook her hard, and said
something in a low angry voice of which Susan only heard "… know very
well you'll do exactly what…"

"I won't! I
won't
! How can you expect—"

"Mrs. Henley?"

The cool, cultured enquiry came from behind her, and Susan
spun around, knowing her face was reddening, and vexed to have been
caught eavesdropping.

A short, rather stout gentleman stood in the doorway,
regarding her through an upheld quizzing glass. He was clad in shades
of brown and had wisely avoided the tight coats and snug breeches
favoured by younger men. His features were pallid and nondescript, his
thinning hair pale brown, and his manner coolly disdainful.

"Yes." Rebelliously, she made no attempt to return a curtsy
for his sketch of a bow. "Lord Montclair?"

Amusement danced very briefly in the brown eyes. "I am Sir
Selby Trent, ma'am. Allow me to present my friend, Mr. Imre Monteil."

Susan glanced at his tall companion and encountered black eyes
that glittered like two jet beads in the long white face. Unusually red
lips curved to a smile. As graceful as he was elegant, he bowed his
dark head, and said admiringly, "My
very
great
pleasure, ma'am."

Trent threw a sharp glance up at him.

Susan was suddenly put in mind of a fungus growing furtively
in the shade of a dark and twisted tree, and for a moment she was
afraid, but she speedily dismissed such nonsensicalities. "I am aware
that my visit is improper, but I have urgent business with Lord
Montclair."

A sudden outburst of sobs from the garden brought a frown to
Sir Selby's smooth forehead, and he moved quickly to close the
casements. "Lord Montclair is not available," he said rather sharply,
glaring at the pair on the steps below.

Monteil purred, "But Sir Selby administers the Longhills
estates and I am sure would much wish to be of assistance to so lovely
a lady." He crossed to pull out a graceful Hepplewhite chair and
gestured to it invitingly.

Susan ignored the offer. "In which case," she said, with her
firm chin elevated and her grey eyes flashing scorn, "you may care to
explain, Sir Selby, why his lordship should have sent two brutal men to
invade my home this morning, bully my servants, and—"

Monteil interposed an aghast "
Mon Dieu
!
Did Montclair authorize such an atrocity?"

"I most sincerely hope not, but…" Trent shook his head
dubiously. "Madam, I can only convey my regrets. My nephew has a—ah,
rather unpredictable disposition at best. He is besides extreme
concerned about your illegal occupancy of his house, and—"

"My occupancy is
not
illegal, sir! My
late husband's father purchased Highperch Cottage from Lady Digby
Montclair seven years ago and—"

"And sold it back again just before my dear sister-in-law's
death."

Susan responded hotly. "The purchase money was never returned
to Mr. Ezra Henley. Therefore the property now belongs to me!"

"Coming to you as a bequest from your—ah, late husband?"

She flushed. How softly the baronet had spoken those words,
yet the faint mockery in his eyes told her as clearly as though he had
shouted it that he was fully aware of Burke's disgrace and eventual
suicide. "Just so," she said defiantly.

"I would think the matter easy of proof," said Monteil in his
slightly accented voice. "Surely there must be legal papers? A
receipt—et cetera?"

Susan nodded. "We have filed our proofs with the court. But
there appears to have been some confusion at the time of Lady Digby
Montclair's death, and the case has been delayed and delayed by one
legal manoeuvre after another."

"Come, come, Mrs. Henley." Sir Selby looked bored. "Is it not
true that your late father-in-law was—er, ill and mentally confused for
some years prior to his death? Further, I hope you will pardon my
saying that it seems remarkable that your husband made no move to claim
any ownership of Highperch during his lifetime."

Susan stood very straight and tall in the quiet room, her head
well up, her cheeks flushed, the light of battle in her eyes. "You
imply, I think, sir, that
I
am the one making a
claim, and that I know it to be fraudulent?"

His usually dull eyes brighter than ever, Monteil watched the
sunbeam which slanted through the window to flirt with the toe of one
of Mrs. Henley's rather scuffed riding boots. "Harsh words, dear ma'am.
Say rather—an honest mistake, eh, Trent?"

"We may say whatever we wish, Imre," replied the baronet. "The
fact remains that Montclair is adamant and will do exactly as he
chooses. He intends that you be evicted, Mrs. Henley, and I most
strongly recommend that to avoid any possibility of more such
regrettable incidents, you should remove as soon as possible."

Quivering with wrath, Susan said, "That sounds remarkably like
a threat, sir."

"Then I am being clumsy, ma'am, for I had meant it purely as a
warning."

"I do not frighten easily, Sir Selby. Especially since I know
my claim to be an honest one! You may inform Lord Montclair that his
methods are cowardly and despicable, and that I have no least intention
of removing from the home my husband left to me. You may further inform
his lordship that we intend to bring suit for assault, battery, and—and
intimidation, against Lord Montclair and Longhills! And that if he
takes one more step against us prior to the court hearing, the entire
matter will be well publicized in the newspapers! I am very sure Lord
Montclair will be proud to have his fine old name flaunted throughout
England as the type of ruffian who would evict a helpless widow and her
little daughter from the only home they possess! Good day to you,
gentlemen!"

And with a toss of her long black hair and a swirl of her
habit, she was gone, marching through the door a most titillated lackey
swung open, and traversing the hall like a ship of the line with all
her flags flying.

As the door closed behind her, Sir Selby tugged at his lower
lip. "Dear me," he muttered. "What a very pushing creature. One might
think she could have sent a gentleman to handle matters for her."

Imre Monteil, who very seldom betrayed the slightest interest
in the joys or griefs of any lady or gentleman of his acquaintance,
chuckled softly. "How fortunate for us that she did not," he argued. "A
truly glorious young woman. This becomes interesting."

The 'truly glorious young woman,' meanwhile, had reached the
lower landing just as two ladies climbed from the ground floor. One of
these was the girl she had seen in the garden. A closer view revealed
her to be about nineteeen, with the most tragic pale blue eyes Susan
had ever seen. The second lady was tall, middle-aged, and angular, with
tightly crimped brown curls rather suspiciously untouched by silver.
She was impeccably gowned in a rose velvet tunic over a paler rose
sarsenet gown having the new high neckline. Her cheekbones were
prominent, her mouth small and tight under the thin nose that swooped
down towards her pointed chin. She paused when she saw Susan, and
narrowing a pair of hard blue eyes, scanned her up and down critically.

"If you are the applicant for the position of upstairs maid,"
she said in a harsh, high-pitched voice, "you should have used the
servants' stairs."

"Mama!" whispered the girl, embarrassed.

"If you are the housekeeper," riposted Susan coldly, "I would
not wish to work here!"

"How
dare
you!" shrilled the woman. "I
am Lady Selby Trent!"