Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (46 page)

Overwhelmed, he pulled her close against him and hugged her
tight. "I don't want you to go either, sweetheart."

"I lose all my friends," she sobbed. "I think I—won't have any
more. Ever! It's too sad when… when you have to—go 'way!"

Montclair buried his face against her tumbled curls and for a
moment couldn't say anything at all. Then he asked unsteadily,
"When—will you leave?"

"Ever so soon. As soon as the Bo'sun buys some more paint.
There wasn't enough in my tub."

He stiffened. "But—I thought— Do you say the Bo'sun is
finishing the front of Highperch with the paint you used for your doll
house?"

"No," she sniffed. "He started it all over 'gain."

She wouldn't! Surely, however she despised him she wouldn't
take her revenge by desecrating the dear old place with that hideous
purple?

"I don't like it," Priscilla went on sadly, taking the
handkerchief he rather absently handed her. "It's not pretty. But Mama
says we must leave you something to 'member us by… Why is your face so
red, Mr.Val?" And with the bewilderingly sudden recovery that is the
way of childhood, she did not wait for him to respond, but said an
excited "Only look at all the carriages!"

With an effort Montclair collected himself and turned to the
window.

A long cavalcade was winding up the drivepath; an ornate
travelling coach in the lead, followed by three luxurious closed
chariots, a phaeton, and a curricle, all piled high with luggage. The
final vehicle was a huge coach, so topheavy with boxes and bags it was
remarkable it had not foundered. The coachmen and footmen wore an
elegant but unfamiliar dark blue livery, nor did Valentine recognize
any of the eight outriders. 'Who the devil… ?' he thought, and wondered
uneasily if Great Uncle Chauncey had decided to move in.

Taking Priscilla's hand, he muttered, "We'd best go and see
who this is."

They went out onto the front steps. Prospect, flanked by two
lackeys, was already waiting, and several stableboys were running along
the drivepath.

The leading carriage halted, the high-bred team snorting and
cavorting about. The footmen jumped down and one ran to swing open the
door and let down the steps, while the other began to unload valises.

"Good God, Prospect," murmured Valentine
sotto voce
,
"we're being invaded! Who the deuce is this?"

Prospect's eyes twinkled. He whispered, "I couldn't say,
m'lud, but—"

An extremely beautiful young lady who was obviously in a
delicate condition was handed down the steps. "Oh!" she exclaimed,
gazing rapturously at Montclair. "Is this my brother? He is
so
handsome!"

Valentine's jaw sagged.

Both footmen were now inside the vehicle. A gentleman was
being tenderly supported down the steps. He seemed very frail, and his
dark head was bowed as he accepted a walking cane and leaned on it
heavily. Then he looked up. From shadowed hollows a pair of dark eyes
gazed at Valentine. The pale, sunken face twisted with emotion; a thin
arm reached out.

With a choked sob, Valentine was sprinting down the steps to
hug and weep and be wept over. "
Geoff
!" he gulped.
"Oh—my dear God!
Geoff
!"

"Val," gasped Geoffrey, Baron Montclair, tears gleaming on his
cheeks. "Good old Val. You… thought me dead, I'll wager! And—and here I
am… like the proverbial bad penny… come to wrest the title away from
you, poor old lad!"

"Stupid… cawker," managed Valentine.

Priscilla had followed him down the steps and now paused
uncertainly. She was considerably shocked to see tears on the cheeks of
her beloved friend, for an English gentleman did not weep. Her
disappointment was forgotten, however, when from the following carriage
came two small children. A little girl, and a boy of about seven with
fair curls and a pair of bright green eyes which looked her over
appraisingly. "Hello. I'm Theodore," he said. "Have you got any
brothers?"

Priscilla shook her head. "No. I've got a dog."

His face, which had fallen, brightened again. "Have you truly?"

"An' my uncle's got a boat," said Priscilla.

"Oh, jolly fine!" said Theodore, his eyes shining with
admiration. Clearly, Priscilla was acceptable. He cast about for
something equally impressive, but at last admitted regretfully, "I've
only got a sister. This is her. Alice. She's four."

Alice had fair curls, a shy smile, and a battered doll. She
had something of inestimably greater value. She wore big spectacles.
Priscilla smiled at her. Alice held out her doll, and Priscilla
inspected it.

"Wha' your name?" asked Alice.

Priscilla told her.

"Can we go and see your dog now?" asked Theodore.

"All right, but you'll have to be very quiet 'cause he's
hugeous fierce an' drefful, you know. His name's Wolfgang…"

Riding across the park with Priscilla perched in front of him,
Valentine's thoughts were chaotic. Geoff was home! Dear old Geoff was
alive and— if not quite well as yet, was expected to make a full
recovery. And what a jolly, lively family he'd brought with him. His
beautiful wife, Jemima; her fat and good-humoured mother, Mrs.
Bancroft; his widowed brother-in-law, Hamish, whose two children had
struck up an immediate friendship with Priscilla; and his
sister-in-law, Millicent, a sprightly damsel with auburn curls and
mischievous green eyes. The late Mr. Bancroft had been attached to the
Ambassador's staff in Calcutta until typhoid fever had carried him off.
His family had been intending to return to England when Geoffrey had
been carried to their home after being mauled by the tiger, and while
recovering had wooed and won the elder Miss Bancroft.

Watching his brother anxiously, Geoffrey had suggested that
the South Wing might be ideal for the two Bancroft ladies and Hamish
Bancroft and his children, while Geoffrey and Jemima could reside with
Valentine in the main house. Valentine had happily approved, but had
laughed at "his lordship's" diffidence and told him to stop being such
a gudgeon.

Geoffrey had heard about the murderous attempt on Valentine's
life, and was full of anxious questions. Valentine was as full of
questions, and had yearned to spend the rest of the day with this
beloved brother, the report of whose death had been such a crushing
blow, and who was now so marvellously restored to him. He had seen
concern in his new sister-in-law's eyes, however, and had realized that
Geoff was very tired. Also, Priscilla must be sent home. He'd intended
to have her driven home, but the news of her mama's infamous behaviour
had made it imperative that he take the child back to Highperch himself.

He had been so overjoyed by his brother's safe return, his
heart so light that at first he could only be thankful and elated. But
a shadow had been cast over even that great happiness. Susan Henley,
intending to move away—knowing she would probably never see him
again—had been so full of resentment against him that she'd defaced the
gentle old cottage. The place where he had come to love her so deeply;
where, despite the bad times, they'd known such precious moments. How
could she have done such a thing?

"Come on, Wolfgang!" called Priscilla, waving the bone
enticingly.

The dog had been attempting to haul his prize home, but it was
almost as big as he was, and when the struggle had proven to be an
unequal one, his owner had undertaken its transportation. Montclair
halted Allegro so that the Fierce and Invincible Guard Dog could catch
up, and then they all went on again. Priscilla tossed the bone soon
after they reached the drivepath, and Wolfgang settled down with it
happily.

Highperch Cottage loomed up beyond the trees, and Montclair's
heart began to beat rapidly. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as Priscilla had
said. Perhaps the Bo'sun had mixed the paint so that— "Good… God!" he
gasped.

"Put me down! Oh, do please put me down!" shrilled Priscilla.
He let her down numbly, and she went running off to the stables. "Uncle
Andy! Uncle Andy! I finded two new friends… !"

Valentine sent Allegro on at a walk, his gaze fixed on the
house, rage boiling inside him. The glaring purple trim provided an
almost sickening clash with the sandstone walls. The mellow old
cottage, always so serenely at peace with its surroundings, was now
cheapened and vulgar, so hideous that it hurt him to look at it. He had
humbled himself to apologize to Susan, and she, cold and unforgiving,
had spurned him. Horribly aware of the depth of his offense, he'd
accepted his punishment, and left her in peace. He had perjured himself
to the authorities so as to protect her brother, and had gone on loving
her, breaking his heart for her these past miserable weeks. While she,
remorseless in her wounded pride, had planned to go away and leave him
this cruel evidence of her scorn. She knew how much he loved the old
place. She must really hate him to have done such a thing. "By the Lord
Harry," he muttered, "if ever a woman deserved to be pilloried… !"

The deserving woman came out onto the steps. She wore a pale
lemon gown and a dainty yellow cap with long ribbons that fluttered in
the warm breeze. Folding her hands demurely, she stood watching him.

Burning with hurt and wrath, he slid from the saddle and
stamped up the steps. "You wretched, wretched jade," he growled. "You
did it to spite me, didn't you?"

"Of course," she said, calm but very pale.

"Did you have to vent your hatred on the dear old house?"

"I had no choice, my lord, since you were not here to— er,
vent my hatred on."

He seized her by the arms. "I told you how sorry I was. You
knew very well how I felt. Was it not enough to placate you?"

"Not—nearly enough. I wanted to see—"

"See what?" he demanded, shaking her a little. "My hurt that
you would do so crude a thing before you went flaunting off to Town?
Was this to have been your farewell gift? A tenderness to remember you
by?"

She was very close to him, and she smelled of violets, and her
grey eyes were so wide—so clear… And oh, but he was a sorry fool…

"You may have—something more, if you wish," she said, a note
of strain in her voice now. "I—we lived here without payment of rent
for several months. I feel—you are entitled to—to some recompense."

"Do you? Then by all means fetch me your dustpan brush."

His eyes were saying something very different, and Susan
swayed to him. "Would that—satisfy you?"

"No, by God!" he growled.

"I thought not…" Somehow her hands were on his chest, and her
eyes were soft with a tenderness that took his breath. "And also…" she
murmured, "I tried to be noble, to push you away. Only—I find that—that
I cannot seem to smile… any more… without you are part of my life."

"Susan…" he whispered, his arms slipping about her, and his
heart pounding like a kettle drum. "Oh— my Susan. What… recompense are
you offering me?"

"I— Well, you see I know… you cannot wed me. So… after Andy
moves to the house in Town, I thought—"

He scowled darkly. "You thought—
what
?
Why, you shameless wanton! You are offering to be my mistress!"

"Ssshh!" She glanced nervously to the house. "I thought you
would be pleased."

"Pleased! Dash it all, Susan Henley, I don't want you for my
mistress!"

Her eyes fell. "Oh."

He forced her chin up and said with his lurking smile, "My
beautiful, gallant, peerless love. I want you for my
wife
!
Will you, dearest girl, do me the very great honour of taking me to
husband?"

Susan's lower lip fell. She looked up at him, her eyes glazed
with shock. "B-But—Val! I cannot be Lady Montclair, you know that! It
is against all sense—all logic!"

The amber flecks in his eyes were more brilliant than she had
ever seen them; his half smile broadened into a joyous beam. "There is
no logic to the heart, my beloved. How could there be if someone as
dear and perfect as you could care for me? Besides, God willing, you
never shall be Lady Montclair. Oh, Sue—my adored woman, I am free at
last! My brother is come home safe, after all! And has brought a bride
who is most decidedly—ah,
enceinte
, so I am very
likely pushed right out of any chance at the title."

"My dear, my dear! How very glad I am for your sake! I know
how deeply you mourned him."

He kissed her hand. "You also know what it means, my darling.
I shall be plain Mr. Montclair again. Thank the good Lord! We can live
here, and we may not be rich, lovely one, but I promise you'll not
starve. I've a nice inheritance, and Geoff means to settle a
substantial amount on me."

"I have a little money too, Val. No, dear, I am serious.
Diccon came and told me there is a rather enormous reward for the
return of the things in my—in our cellar, so you will not be wedding a
pauper after all!"

He scanned her face eagerly. "I think I have just been
accepted, no?"

"I suspect you have, Mr. Valentine Amberly Montclair."

He hugged her close and murmured humbly, "Most worshipped of
wicked widows, I shall make you a horrid husband! When I'm deep in my
music, I—I simply disappear. And—my temper is not always exactly—er,
tranquil. Will you be able to endure me?"

She looked up at him, her eyes full of happy tears, and lifted
her face. Valentine kissed her, hard and long, and they forgot all
about titles and estates and smugglers and anything at all except that
they loved and needed each other, and that happiness had come to them
at last.

Priscilla's shrill screaming jerked them apart. Valentine
whipped around. The little girl stood a few feet away, but she was
crouched, her clenched hands pressed against her mouth.

Following her horrified eyes, Susan gasped, "Oh! My heavens!"

It was too far, Valentine knew, but he started to run.