Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (45 page)

"You'd best wait until I pull up a chair, ma'am," said
Montclair dryly, "so that you may accomplish it with grace."

Her eyes opened wide, then narrowed. She crouched, glaring at
him so balefully that for a moment he thought she meant to claw him.
"Always, you hated Junius," she hissed. "Only because he was everything
you are not! You have caused him to be crippled, and broken a poor
mother's heart! And you may think you've won! But you'll not interfere
in my daughter's life and so I tell you! She will wed Pollinger. And if
you
dare
attempt to—"

"The Comtesse de Bruinet, m'lud," announced Prospect from the
east door.

Lady Trent gave a horrified little scream and her arrogance
crumpled. She threw a glance of stark despair at Valentine. "You won't—"

With a flood of rapid-fire French, Madame la Comtesse swept
into the room. She had been in Italy, and had but now heard of
très
cher
Valentine's tragic loss. She was
accablée de
douleur, affligée
to learn that he had been seriously
injured, and now was so cruelly bereaved. She threw her arms wide and,
flushing but grateful, he bent to her embrace and thanked her for her
kindness in having come to console him.

But what else should she do? she demanded. Was he not her very
dear young friend? And did one not go to one's friends were they in
trouble?

Apparently becoming aware at this point that others were in
the room, she permitted the Trents to welcome her, but the warmth faded
markedly from her manner, and a bleak look came into her eyes. She
advised Barbara that she looked unhappy and—with a stern look at Sir
Selby—that young people should never be made unhappy.

"But I assure you, Madame la Comtesse," cooed Lady Trent, "our
daughter is very joyful indeed. Or as joyful as one might properly be
under our sad circumstances," she amended hurriedly. "After the proper
period of mourning for my dearest Geoffrey, she will be married to a
splendid gentleman."

"Ah," said the Comtesse shrewdly. "Is that the problem then,
mon
petit chou
? Have you not the affection for this allegedly
'splendid' gentleman?"

"W-well, I—" Barbara's shy voice died away, and her eyes
dilated as the French doors opened to admit another caller.

"Mices fren!" declared Angelo, beaming at Montclair. He saw
his beloved then, and advanced, his eager eyes encompassing only her.

"The deuce!" exclaimed Sir Selby, starting from his chair,
outraged.

"How
dare
you come in here?" shrilled my
lady, equally outraged. "Trent, have this person put—" She broke off,
her jaw dropping.

The mighty Comtesse de Bruinet had started up from her chair
when the Spaniard entered. Now she sank into a deep and graceful curtsy
before him. "Your Highness," she murmured.

"Your…
what.
. . ?" whispered my lady,
stunned.

"Good… God!" quavered Sir Selby, staring.

"I'll be damned," muttered Valentine, grinning.

With superb grace Angelo raised the Comtesse and kissed her
hand. "My charming Danielle," he said in fluent French. "You are a
rascal, and have brought my finest adventure to a close.
Vraisemblablement
it is time. You will be so kind, madame, as to present me to these
people." And noting her puzzled look, he explained, "They know me, you
comprehend, by a different name."

A twinkle came into her eyes. "So you have been up to your
tricks again, have you, sir? As you wish.
Mesdames et
messieurs
, it is my honour to present you to Angelo
Francisco Luis Lagunes de Ferdinand, Duke of Alberini and Passero, and
a fugitive from oppression, even as I."

Montclair's brows lifted. The Duke of Alberini and Passero
might be a fugitive from oppression, but if report spoke truly, his
royal father had fled his Duchy with a vast fortune, and his palaces in
Switzerland and Italy were said to be breathtaking.

From the corner of his eye he saw Lady Trent and Barbara sink
into low curtsies, while Sir Selby's hair all but swept the floor.
Angelo's amused eyes were on him, and Montclair bowed politely.

The Spaniard winked at him, then crossed to stand beside
Barbara. She looked up at him, startled, but adoring. He turned to Sir
Selby and said, still in French, and with coldly punctilious good
manners, "You would do me great honour, sir, if you would grant me the
hand of your daughter in marriage."

"Er— I—" gulped Sir Selby.

"Oh, your
Highness
!" squeaked Lady
Trent, in a transport of delight. "We are
honoured
.
Truly—
honoured
! Trent… !"

Valentine murmured irrepressibly, "But—what about the
'splendid' Pollinger?"

Ignoring him completely, Sir Selby Trent took his daughter's
hand and bestowed it upon the Duke of Alberini and Passero.

The morning was hot and sultry, and by noon Montclair was glad
to retreat into the cool house for luncheon. He ate in the smaller
dining room, alone as always, now that Dev and Joss were gone, the vast
table stretching off before him, the silence seeming to press in. As
soon as the Trents left, he thought, he would get some dogs. He'd have
done so when their old collie, MacPherson, died, save that Soldier
would make short work of any pup he'd brought here. He smiled cynically
as he considered the imminent departure of his family. Lady Trent was
all benevolence now that her plain daughter had made so incredibly
illustrious a match, and Barbara had been allowed to visit her cousin
several times this past week. Montclair looked forward to these
occasions, for aside from his delight at having a little company,
sometimes Barbara would speak of Highperch, and he snatched at each
crumb of news from his cottage. There had not been much more than
crumbs, however. Susan and her brother had been in Town, searching for
a suitable house. Priscilla, said Barbara, was quiet and subdued. "But
she always asks about you, Val. I think she must love you very much."

Montclair sighed, then stood, impatient with himself. He was
allowing himself time to think, and that was disastrous. He must get to
work again. He strode across the dining room and into the hall, and
caught a glimpse of Yates's blue coat disappearing at speed around the
corner into the Great Hall. His call was unavailing. Irked, he started
after the man. He passed several footmen and lackeys, all of whom
sprang to attention at his approach, but there was no further sign of
Yates. The steward must have been fairly flying to have navigated the
length of the big room so speedily. He was not to be seen in the south
hall, nor in the conservatory. Montclair thought he heard hurried
footsteps in the Gallery, but with a faint smile he took pity on his
steward and turned towards his music room.

Jimson (now promoted to be his lordship's personal footman)
appeared from somewhere and swung open the door, and Montclair smiled
his thanks and wandered to the harpsichord. He let his fingers drift
over the keys. Did they really plan to move back into Town? Perhaps it
would be as well. The country probably held unhappy memories for her.
She was so lovely she'd soon have a score of admirers clamouring for
her hand. It was only right that she should marry again and settle down
with some lucky fellow… His aimless music ended in a crashing discord,
and he hurried outside.

The air was scorching. Deep in thought, he strolled down the
terrace steps, hands in his pockets and head down.

"I wish you hadn't of taked so long to come out," said a small
wilting voice. "I waited an' waited an' it's so drefful hot, an' I'm
thirsty!"

"Priscilla!" he cried, and dropping to one knee held out his
arms.

The child ran to hug him, and Wolfgang came panting over to
utter a few desultory yelps of greeting.

"Why ever did you not come and knock at the door?" asked
Montclair.

Her big eyes slid past him to scan the house with awe.

"It's so grand," she said simply. "We was 'fraid to 'sturb it."

He chuckled, and suggested that they all go inside for a glass
of lemonade. This lure was very well received, and a smiling maid
conducted the small caller to a room where she might wash her heated
face and refresh herself. Jimson was sent hurrying to the kitchen, and
when Priscilla returned she was seated at the dining room table where
cold lemonade, fresh fruits, dainty finger sandwiches, and a selection
of pastries awaited her. A mat was laid down, and much to the amusement
of the servants, a bowl of water and a beef bone were offered to
Wolfgang.

"Oooh, scrumptious!" exclaimed Priscilla, her eyes lighting
up. She wasted no more time on words, but gave her full attention to
the meal until she noticed that Mr. Val was watching her instead of
eating, whereupon he was pressed to join her. He helped her dispose of
the pastries while they chattered merrily.

Jimson went off with a grin and told the chef it was the first
time he'd seen the master enjoy a meal since his friends had left.

"What a hugeous big house," said Priscilla, looking about with
interest. "Do you wish it was yours, Mr. Val?"

"It is, now. Do you like it?"

"Not if it makes you sad."

He smiled at her. "Why do you say that, Lady Priscilla?"

"'Cause your eyes got painy when I asked if you wanted it. But
it's drefful lovely to hear you call me Lady P'scilla 'gain." She
tucked a very sticky hand in his, and said intensely, "I've missed and
missed you, Mr. Val, an' I telled Wolfgang, an' he said"—she lowered
her tone to one suitable for the 'Fierce and Invincible Guard Dog'—"
'If Mr. Val won't kindly come an' see us, we must go an' see him,' so
here we are."

He took up her small hand and kissed it, stickiness and all.
"I'm very glad you're here. I've—missed you, too. And… everyone. Is
your mama well?"

She considered this while attending to a cheese tart.
"Sometimes," she said, muffled. "When she comed home with Uncle Andy, I
thinked she'd been crying, but she says she's just tired. Are you
tired, Mr. Val?"

"Me? No! Never! Why do you ask?"

"All the grown-ups seem to be tired. Mama's tired. An' the
Bosun's tired 'cause he's been painting so much. An' Starry said
she
was tired of always giving him the same answer to his question, so he
said, 'Then why don't you give me a yes instead?' So she did. An"—her
eyes grew very round and she said in a dramatic whisper—"D'you know
what
,
Mr. Val? He
kissed
her! Right in the Still Room!
I saw him! An' Starry put her arms
all the way
round him! An' he's so
old
! Older than
you
!"

He laughed and ruffled her hair. "Love doesn't stop because we
get old, my lady. If you'd care to come and see some more of my house,
I'll show you a picture of my grandmama and grandfather who were deeply
in love 'til the day they died. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes please, Mr. Val!" She nodded so vehemently that the
cheese tart in her hand shattered, and he helped her remove a piece of
pastry from her hair, sending her into whoops of mirth when he said it
was the first time he'd ever gone on a pastry hunt. One of the maids
took her off for repairs again, and he was standing at the window
musing on how much brighter the afternoon seemed because she was here,
when she came running eagerly back to him.

He knew that she must have slipped away without permission,
and that he should really take her back at once. But he ignored
conscience and invited Wolfgang to join them. The little dog wagged his
tail but declined the offer, evidently deciding his guard duties could
be postponed until he had dealt with the bone.

The Grand Tour encompassed the first floor only, but took some
time. The innumerable chambers through which they passed were all
approved of, and Priscilla said of Lord and Lady Colwynne Montclair
that they looked as if they were happy people and she could believe
they'd loved each other very much. She found the "indoor garden" most
to her liking. "Though it would be nicer," she said, surveying the
conservatory critically, "if you let some birds come in to the trees
and bushes. They're too quiet." She lowered her voice to a confiding
whisper. "The whole house is quiet. Hasn't you found yourself a wife,
Mr. Val?"

He led her to the windowseat in the front bay of the Gallery,
and sat beside her. "I've found the lady I'd like to have for a wife,
Lady Priscilla. But I don't think she wants me, and at all events, the
world won't let me have her."

Still holding his hand, she gazed up at him. "Why?"

He answered slowly, "Oh—because it's a funny old world, my
lady, and I must—play by the rules."

She threw both arms around him and gave him a strong hug.
"Poor Mr. Val. I heard the Bo'sun say he wouldn't be in your shoes for
any 'mount. Though I don't think your shoes would fit him, you know,
'cause the Bo'sun's a dear, but he's got awful big feet. I'll have to
tell him it's not your shoes that's giving you pepper." She frowned
thoughtfully. "Starry says I'm not to say your name to Mama, so I
'spect Mama won't like it, an' we'll have to keep it
very
secret 'tween us. But I'd best sac'fice for you. Then at least you'd
know you had a lady—somewhere. Would that help?"

He said in a rather husky voice, "Yes, my dear. Indeed it
would. Is that why you came all this way on such a hot day? To
sacrifice for me?"

Her little face clouded. She pushed the spectacles up her nose
and looked at him in sudden deep tragedy. "No. I—I comed to
say—goodbye."

His heart contracted painfully. "You
are
moving away, then?"

"No. We're moving away
now!
Uncle Andy
and Mama finded a house in Town, and—and Mama says I shall like it.
But—" Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Mr. V-Val—I don't want to like
it! I don't
want
to go 'way. I have a simply
drefful time f-finding friends. Look how long it took to find you! And
now… I got to
lose
you!"