Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (12 page)

Coming in from the dining room where she had set out covers
for luncheon, Marietta exclaimed, "Good gracious! Never say you were
able to placate the mighty Lady Dale, Major?"

"After knocking down two of her footmen?" Whisking a fragrant
mutton pie from the oven, Fanny said, "You must have a silver tongue,
sir."

Diccon was quite aware that this very pretty girl neither
liked nor trusted him. He said with a wry smile, "And if I remarked
that your pie smells delicious would you think I was merely trying to
win your friendship?"

"Oh, no," said Fanny coldly, "I would be more likely to say
that you just proved my point."

He sighed. "And that properly sends me to the ropes."

Mrs. Cordova shook her head and left them.

"No one here wishes to do that, sir," said Marietta. "Indeed
we all owe you a debt of gratitude." She ignored Fanny's stormy frown,
and went on, "You must be eager to leave this house, for we have
involved you in one disaster after another!"

Diccon tried without much success not to stare at her. A
ribbon of orange velvet was threaded through her dusky curls, and she
had changed into a gown of pale orange muslin, with a low inset yoke of
snowy eyelet ruffles. Yearning for the ability to sketch, he murmured,
"To the contrary, ma'am. I cannot remember when I've enjoyed myself so
much."

"You must enjoy violence," said Fanny tartly.

Persevering, Marietta said, "In which case we shall have to
disappoint you, Major. For the rest of your stay here, you are to enjoy
peace and quiet."

Diccon smiled at her dreamily, then sprang up as Mrs. Cordova
came puffing in again, carrying "Captain Miles Cameron."

"No, really Dova," protested Sir Lionel, entering the dining
room in time to see her settle her inanimate friend into the chair
Diccon drew out. "Not at table! What will our guest think?"

"Oh, the Major knows him." Apparently unaware of the sharp
glance Diccon slanted at her, she added, "I invited Miles to luncheon
because he has some news for us, and I don't want to forget. Now, if
you will say grace, Warrington, we can get on. I am fairly famished!"

She appeared to forget "Captain Cameron's" news while she
satisfied the pangs of hunger and chattered about Lord and Lady Dale
who were both, she said with cheerful candour, "blighting" people.

In a low voice Marietta begged her father for a few moments of
his time after luncheon. Sir Lionel smiled at her but looked uneasy and
without answering launched into a prolonged monologue about the
failings of the Prince Regent. Discussing "poor old Prinny's" increased
girth, he chortled, "They say he's been obliged to leave off his stays,
and is now so large that he can no longer even ride around the Pavilion
grounds!"

Fanny giggled, but Mrs. Cordova looked shocked, and scolded,
"Really, Warrington! That is scarcely a subject to be discussed at
table with young maidens present!"

"Pooh!" said Sir Lionel airily. "My girls are not missish, and
we're all family here. Well," he grinned at Diccon, "almost all."

"Which reminds me," said Mrs. Cordova. "Miles met our dearest
Eric the other day!"

"Did he so?" Watching her eagerly, Marietta asked, "Was Miles
in Cambridge, then?"

Just as eagerly, Fanny enquired, "Is Eric well?"

No longer surprised by their acceptance of their aunt's often
inexplicable remarks, Diccon assumed that they were being kind and
humouring the lady.

"He is quite well," replied Mrs. Cordova. "But Miles was not
at Cambridge, dear. He met Eric in Town."

"Come now, Dova," said Sir Lionel tolerantly. "You know very
well my son is at University. Cameron must be mistaken."

"Oh, no," she said, reaching for a ripe peach.

Fanny said, "Eric may have gone into London for a change. The
poor darling has had little enough vacation."

"Now don't go putting on a Friday face, Etta," said Sir
Lionel. "A young fellow must kick over the traces now and then. I'll
warrant we both did, eh, major? Are you a Cambridge man, by the bye?"

"No, sir," said Diccon. "My schooling ended at Eton."

"Went straight into the military, did you? Well, it's a good
life for a lad. One of these days, I'll have the story of how it is
that an old Etonian and a major is now a free-trader."

Diccon smiled. "I doubt there is much I could tell you that
you've not already guessed, sir."

Fanny said, "And we should not press Major Diccon to tell us
things that he prefers to keep secret, Papa."

Marietta slanted an embarrassed glance at Diccon, but his
expression was unreadable.

Taken aback, Sir Lionel exclaimed, "Secrets? Jupiter! I had no
intent to pry!"

"Of course you did not, sir. And Miss Fanny is quite correct,
for there are, you know, secrets"—Diccon winked conspiratorially—"and
secrets."

Relieved, Sir Lionel laughed. "You rogue! I'll wager you could
tell some tales. Without the ladies present, of course."

"Do you hear that, Miles?" Mrs. Cordova dug an elbow at
"Cameron."

"They are so unkind as to try and keep it to themselves." She
leant towards Diccon and said, "I have been naughty, Major, for I
peeped at your palm whilst you were sleeping one day. I mean to ask
Madame Olympias to consult her Mystical Window Through Time, and then I
will know
all
your secrets, I warn you!"

He groaned. "In which case, ma'am, I shall be wholly in your
power!"

"Foolish creature," she said complacently. "You already are!"

Went red as fire." Sir Lionel chuckled. "Did you see? That
young fella's got a colourful past, I'll warrant, and don't want your
aunt snooping into it!"

"Perhaps." After ten minutes alone with her father in his
cluttered workroom, Marietta was still striving to turn the
conversation in the right direction. "But I want to—"

"He's got an eye for you, child." Sir Lionel took up a wooden
object about a foot long that bore some resemblance to a miniature pair
of fireplace tongs. "Plain to see. You must keep him in his place,
m'dear. Oh, I know you think we stand indebted to him. And I'll own he
has poise and polished manners. I like him, and I do not doubt he comes
from good stock. But he has no prospects now, Etta. I cannot allow a
prize like you to throw herself away on an ingratiating rascal, who is
at best a penniless half-pay officer!"

"How can you say such a thing, Papa? I scarcely know Major
Diccon."

"Just as well." He tightened the handles of his device, and
snapped the flat ends at her playfully. "Fanny don't trust him. What
d'you think of my flea trap, m'dear? I'll wager it'll sell like
wildfire!"

Clearly, he had no intention of letting her come to the point.
Marietta gripped her hands together and said with firm resolve, "Papa,
Mr. Innes Williard called here this morning, and—"

"Now did he, by George!" Sir Lionel's eyes sparkled. "Another
of your admirers, and a respectable one who—"

"Respectable! He attempted to force his attentions on me and
was so horrid that had it not been for Major Diccon—"

"What's that? I hope Diccon did not overstep the mark? If he
means to offend my guests, he must take himself off, well or no!"

Her cheeks flushed with anger, Marietta protested, "You must
not have heard, sir. Mr. Williard was the one who offended. The Major
came to my aid, as I am sure you or Eric would have done!"

"Well, of course, if Williard really—" Cornered and fuming,
Sir Lionel stamped to the far end of the room and rummaged in a bin
filled with scraps of wood and metal. "His sister is a very pushing
female, but that ain't his fault. I doubt the man intended any offence,
and you're too quick by far, miss, to fly into a huff. You're a very
pretty girl, but you mustn't give yourself airs. If young Coville don't
come up to scratch, Innes Williard's a jolly good substitute. Lots of
ladies have dropped the handkerchief for him, and would be overjoyed
did he cast a glance in their direction!"

"Then I wish them joy of him, sir! I find him repellent, and—"

"Repellent!" Frowning, Sir Lionel returned to the workbench
and slammed down a metal bar with unnecessary force. "Here's a high
flight! The man's a friend and neighbour! He's well-favoured,
well-built, very plump in the pockets, and—"

"And an uncouth boor who did not hesitate to warn me that I
must be nice to him since we're in his debt to the tune of five
thousand guineas!" At this, her father paled and looked stricken.
Running to catch his arm she said, "Papa! Is it truth? I try so hard to
pay the bills and set aside funds for school expenses, but—"

"But I do nothing! Is that it?" Scourged by guilt, he pulled
away and blustered, "I've given up my clubs. I don't patronize my
tailor—faith, but my clothes are in rags! I sacrificed my carriages and
horses. And—and do I complain when you ladies buy cloth and pattern
cards and—and deck yourselves out in the latest fashions and fal-lals?
No!"

"But, dearest Papa, you said we must keep up appearances, and
we sew and mend all our clothes so as to keep expenses down!"

"Oh, aye, set it all to my account! I say nothing when you
bring this fellow into our home to eat up everything in the pantry and
cause me to be saddled with a great bill from that miserable
apothecary! Despite the fact that Diccon nigh killed my son with his
nasty temper!"

"You know how badly he felt about that! Besides, Arthur was
much to blame. And it was my fault that the Major was hurt afterwards.
In honour we were obligated, sir! You could not wish that—"

"So now my honour is challenged, is it?" Sir Lionel sank onto
a chair and put a hand over his eyes. "That I should live to see my own
daughter turn against me!"

Stricken, she sank to her knees beside his chair. "Never,
dearest Papa! Never! You know how much we all love you."

"I don't know… why you should," he said brokenly. "You're
perfectly right, and I'm a villain! I sought only to make a little
winning, Etta! Williard is shockingly poor at cards, and I so seldom
have the chance to play anymore. The stakes were low… I don't know what
happened." His voice shredded. He caught her hand and pressed it to his
cheek and said on a sob, "I do not deserve… your loyalty! You'd be
better off if I were… dead!"

He was a weak and foolish man, but he had been a devoted
husband and in their more affluent days nothing had been too good for
his children. The shock of his beloved wife's death so soon after
Arthur was born had shattered him, and although he had
recovered and now seemed reasonably contented, his
strength and
self-sufficiency seemed to have been buried with Mama. But he was kind,
and gentle, and meant so well. And she loved him.

She stifled a sigh, and kissed and comforted him. And knew
that their one hope was that Blake Coville should offer for her.

A wind came up during the night increasing in strength until
it
whistled in the chimneys and sent curtains billowing on their rods.
Long schooled to react to any unusual sound, Diccon was wide awake with
the first creak of a protesting floorboard. A door slammed somewhere,
and from Mrs. Cordova's bedchamber, directly above his own, came the
sounds of a casement being cranked shut. All then was quiet, save for
the wind, but he could not get back to sleep.

He could see again that dainty orange gown, the ribbon in the
soft
curls, the brief look of alarm in the big green eyes when Mrs. Cordova
had implied that Eric Warrington was in Town instead of being at
Cambridge. Sir Lionel had accused Marietta of "putting on a Friday
face." It would seem that she had good reason for anxiety. All three
ladies worked long and hard, and it was very obvious that they had been
accustomed to a far more luxurious way of life. When Marietta wasn't
dusting, sweeping, polishing, mending, helping her aunt sew the
effigies, or caring for Arthur, she had to organize the household and
deal with tradespeople and duns. Miss Marietta, who deserved the very
best the world could offer, had enough to bear. If this brother of hers
was as rackety as her sire—

He frowned into the darkness. Sir Lionel seemed a fond parent,
but
he was the type of man who, having willingly shifted his
responsibilities onto his daughter's slender shoulders, might not be
above pushing her into a loveless marriage so as to restore his
finances. It didn't bear thinking of that so exquisite a creature
should be sold to a crudity like Innes Williard.

He tossed restlessly. His occupation and an innate shyness had
prevented him from acquiring a reputation as a ladies' man, but he was
not a stranger to the fair sex. As an embittered seventeen-year-old he
had loved deeply and with tragic consequences. Years after Grace's
death, a dashing and seductive emigre comtesse had laughed at and
teased her "charming boy," but taught him so much of the tender
passion. Poor Danielle had then declared she'd taught him too well and
that she couldn't live without him. His quiet and then firm reminders
that she was a married lady and they must be discreet had been brushed
aside. She had instead pursued him so blatantly that he'd been unable
to avoid a duel with her husband, which had unleashed a regular
hornet's nest of scandal in Mayfair and ire in Whitehall. He smiled
nostalgically. Quite a woman had been the comtesse. Yvette in Normandy
had been a very different type; youthful, uncomplicated, undemanding,
not two thoughts in her pretty head, but glowing with
joi de
vivre.
In Spain, the fiery Dolores had loved him
devotedly—until she'd been taken under the wing of a wealthy rag
merchant.

He had been fond of them all; and had loved only Grace. True
love
had not come to him again until now, when he was unable to claim it,
and all but powerless to help the lady who had so completely stolen his
heart. He should leave here quickly, and yet, if this was the only
chance he would ever have to be near her, how could he bear to go?
Well, he must, that's all, because the longer he stayed to admire her
courage and resourcefulness, her kindness, her beauty, the harder it
would be to break away. Yes, he would be sensible. Tomorrow, he would
leave. Or, perhaps the day after. Meanwhile, his throat was dry as
dust. He got out of bed and pulled on the dressing gown that Yves had
had the foresight to bring with his clothes.