Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (43 page)

Diccon put out his hand, and as it was taken and wrung
strongly, he
said, "Then you have indeed my heartiest congratulations, sir!"

"Thank you. I think we shall deal well together. Now, what of
you?
There's a stunningly beautiful girl downstairs who is ready and eager
to be your wife unless I mistake it. Why do you back and fill? Don't
care for the lady?"

Diccon stared unseeingly at the bank draft in his hand. "She
is grateful, sir, because I was able to help her little brother."

"What matter her motives? She's a diamond of the first water!
Were I
you, I'd strike while the iron is hot, and before she has time to think
on it! Why not?"

Diccon said slowly, "Perhaps, because… she is a diamond of the
first water, sir."

Stamping down the stairs a few minutes later, Smollet paused,
glaring at the inoffensive front door until Marietta's lovely face came
into his field of vision.

She smiled up at him. "I like your lady, sir."

"What it is," he grumbled, "he's too full of pride!"

Startled, she asked, "Who, sir? Diccon?"

"Aye, Diccon." He continued down the stairs to seize her hand
and
declare fiercely, "But England will never cease to need such prideful
fools. Or to find them, I pray God! I've recommended his promotion to
Lieutenant Colonel. He's a rare human being. And stubborn as his
donkey!"

Towards the end of October there came, as if to make amends
for the
storms of the past, a season of warm, sunlit days, brilliant sunsets,
and brisk, clear evenings. Diccon was allowed to go outside, and on a
golden afternoon lay on many pillows in a garden chaise as he had done
once before, and watched the graceful movements of Marietta's hand as
she sat beside him busied with her sewing.

She said with a smile, "How very nice it is to see you looking
comfortable and contented. Did Yves bring good news?"

"He brought a letter from my mama."

"Is she happy in her new home?"

"Very happy. And, thank heaven, she sounds far more at ease in
her mind."

"Poor lady. She must be very grateful to you."

"So she says."

Marietta resumed her sewing. "Gratitude," she said, with an
oblique
glance at him, "is good for people. I mean, it is only right to be
grateful for—good deeds. Such as yours, for instance."

A pause. Then he pointed out, "You made a knot."

"Yes." She tucked her needle into the shirt she was repairing,
and
folded her hands. "It was a nice place for one. As I was saying,
gratitude is—"

"Good for people," he drawled. "But a poor substitute for
love."

"It is rude to interrupt," she said sternly. "And anyone who
could mistake the one for the other must be quite blind."

"My thoughts exactly. It would be almost as bad as—as
confusing pity with love."

She gritted her teeth. "Mallory Diccon Paisley—"

"Lord Temple and Cloud," he prompted, his lips twitching.

"Do not try to change the subject."

"I thought we'd exhausted it. Do you like the future Lady
Smollet?"

"She is very kind, and will be just the wife for him, and as
you know very well—"

"No, ma'am. Your pardon, but I've never met the lady."

"—As you know very well," she persisted, fixing him with a
steady
stare, "we all are grateful to you. And there is not a bit of use your
pretending to fall asleep, for you look perfectly able to take Orpheus
out for a gallop!"

He said with a smile. "My thanks to all of you for your
gratitude. You did mean
all
of you, did you not?"

He meant Papa, of course, who was crushingly polite to this
man to
whom he owed so much. With an inward sigh she took up her sewing again.
"My father would have been heartbroken if we had lost Arthur. And Eric
is—is safe away."

"No thanks to me. Had I been willing to abandon my principles,
he would not have to live away from England."

It was a painful subject, even now. She poked her needle at
the
shirt and said slowly, "He brought it on himself, and I suppose, sooner
or later, he would have been caught at all events."

"Hmm. And Sir Lionel shares those sentiments, does he?"

"You are being horrid." Again, she met his eyes, and said
softly,
"And I am four and twenty, Diccon, and told you once before how I feel
about—"

He interrupted hurriedly, "You must indeed think me horrid, if
you
fancy that I would be so gauche as to enquire about a lady's age! Did I
tell you, by the bye, that your father has been so kind as to volunteer
to create several devices whereby I'll not be such a burden to, er—my
friends? A little stand, for instance, so that if I wish to read in bed
I won't have to hold the book, and small wheels for my chair which will
make it easier to pull it up to table. He's working now on a
neck-cloth, already tied, that will—"

"Be useful for people to strangle you with?" She sprang up,
her eyes
flashing, and leant over him in such a rage that he shrank back and
threw up his hand as a shield.

"Don't hit me! I'm a frail invalid, and—"

"Do you suppose that anyone who loved you would not be eager
to help
with small difficulties? Do you seek to paint yourself as so helpless
and infirm that I must run from you in horror, only because you lost
your forearm while most gallantly saving my brother's life? Must you be
so confoundedly proud that you will reject any—"

"Marietta!" Mrs. Cordova approached, a large tray in her
hands,
formally spread with an embroidered cloth and holding several glasses.
"You
swore!
How very naughty."

"And at a helpless invalid," confirmed Diccon reproachfully.
"And now, only look, Miss Marietta is gnashing her teeth at me!"

"So she is! Goodness, child, that front one has a crack in it!"

Marietta gave a yelp and started to run in search of a mirror,
then
stopped as she heard their laughter. "Aunty, you great tease! If you
had but heard him, you'd have gnashed at him too."

"At my time of life, one does not dare take such chances. I
have
brought some lemonade instead." Mrs. Cordova handed out glasses, then
sat in the chair, clutching her tray. "Sit down do, Etta. I can recover
from your naughty language, but I would purely dislike to see you fall
over. You can't have my place but Diccon can spare you a little room,
can you not, dear boy?"

He agreed readily, and Marietta settled herself on the end of
the
chaise. "Though why you should think my balance so impaired, Aunty
Dova, that I would fall—"

"Stop prattling, child. Now Diccon, I have something to say. I
would
have said it long since, save that I didn't want to upset you whilst
you were so ill."

He looked at her warily, wondering it his stubborn adherence
to his moral code was to be flung at him again.

"You may recall that when we were in your house during that
dreadful
storm," she began, "I warned you that it was going to fall down. And it
did, so I was right. At least the south end of it did. You shall have
to see about having the cliff shorn up—" She frowned, and muttered, "Is
that the word? Or should it be 'shored' up? Well—whatever—"

"Aunty," inserted Marietta, her eyes on Diccon's set face,
"Shall we not talk about that? I think it would be better if—"

"Do you, child? Very well, we'll make it 'shored.' However, my
point
is that your house fell on me, Diccon, whilst I was upstairs, which was
not very nice. It knocked me down. Well, part of the wall did."

"Good Lord, ma'am! I had no notion! I am very sorry. If it has
resulted in an injury you must see Avebury when next he—"

"Hush, hush! Close your nice lips! Oh, w
hy
will no one let
me speak, when I have waited so long and been so patient? There—that's
better. The thing is that, as usual, I was right. For I said it was
with music, you see. The Mystical Window Through Time never lets me
down. Or very seldom. Of course, there was that time when it said Mr.
Beck's mare had been naughty with Lord Dale's black stallion… What an
uproar that caused! You'll remember, Etta? And what Mr. Beck said about
Madame—Well, never mind! The thing is, Diccon, that"—she handed him the
flat parcel that had been underneath the tray cloth—"this also fell on
my, er—limb."

He set down his glass of lemonade, and unfolded the wrappings.
He
was slow and clumsy about it, but although Marietta yearned to help
him, she wisely made no attempt to do so.

Succeeding at length, he became perfectly white, his hand
shook convulsively, and he whispered, "Oh… Jupiter!"

The sunlight awoke a thousand dancing fires from the small but
exquisite Eastern lady who stood between two trees, all depicted in
sparkling jewels, and enclosed by a magnificently carven gold frame.

The glass fell from Marietta's hand. Awed, she murmured,
"So—so it really does exist, after all! Oh, how
beautiful
it is!"

Mrs. Cordova cried triumphantly, "
The Sigh of Saladin
!
Your troubles are over, Diccon! It is worth a king's ransom."

Gazing with dazzled eyes at that ages old work of art, he
thought she was very probably in the right of it.

The following evening there was a small celebration at the
dower
house. Young Samuel South was pressed into service in the kitchen, and
Mrs. Gillespie arrived looking neat and sober and in a high state of
excitement when she found that she was to assist MacDougall at table.

Among the guests were Lord and Lady Dale, and a very stiff
Innes
Williard and his sister. General Sir Nevin Smollet was accompanied by
his prospective bride, the lady blushing furiously at each introduction
but looking surprisingly attractive in a stylish evening gown of fawn
brocade. Jocelyn Vaughan was dashing in regimental evening dress, and
Diccon, also in his regimentals with his left sleeve pinned up, looked
romantically haggard and won many admiring and sympathetic glances
which reduced him to a state of abject cowardice. Marietta, a vision in
pale green satin, stayed close beside him, and since he clung to her
hand in a panic when the subject of Arthur's rescue came up—as it
frequently did—everyone present formed an accurate opinion of the state
of affairs between them.

The Sigh of Saladin
was prominently
displayed on the
drawing room mantelpiece, and Sir Lionel, in an expansive mood, lost no
opportunity to draw it to the attention of each arriving guest and
seemed never to tire of relating its history.

Drifting to Diccon's side when the gentlemen rejoined the
ladies
after dinner, Vaughan murmured, "I do believe you've won back the old
boy's favour, Major, sir."

Diccon repressed his own cynical thoughts on that subject, and
said, "I told you I didn't want the picture displayed tonight."

"I relayed your message to Sir Lionel and was advised not to
be a
marplot, and that we mustn't deny our neighbours a chance to rejoice in
your good luck."

"His tongue runs on wheels! The news will sweep the county by
morning, and we've precious little in the way of guards here, you know."

"You're right, by George! I shall go at once and get a pistol!"

Luckily, the weapon was not required. The guests were
genuinely awed
by the work of art, and, with the exception of Mr. Williard and Mrs.
Maitland, appeared delighted that such good fortune had come to Diccon.

"You deserve to be rewarded, be dashed if you don't," said
Dale.

General Smollet laughed and, with a wink at Marietta, said
that he rather suspected Major Paisley would win a fair reward.

Diccon appeared not to have heard.

Lying awake that night, Marietta watched the shifting shadows
of the
tree branches that the moonlight cast on her curtains and thought of
the love that had come to her, and the power and wonder of it. She had
found a gentleman she could not only love, but could honour and
respect—a man to whom her children could look for inspiration and
guidance.

But there would be no children if she could not overcome his
foolish
pride. Heaven knows she'd hinted him often enough. But now that he was
suddenly wealthy, how could she manoeuvre him into offering without it
seeming that she was one of those horridly pushing ladies who pursued
wealth?

She thought, 'Oh, heavens! And he has a title, as well! He'll
think I'm just like the Widow Maitland!' She moaned into the darkness.

"I got questions," said Arthur, standing by his sister's bed
with Friar Tuck sagging over his arm playing "dead cat."

Marietta yawned and opened one eye. "What is the time?"

He trotted round to the clock on her bedside table and
imparted doubtfully. "It's gone past nine o'clock."

"All right, love." Marietta sat up and stretched. You may
climb on and ask your questions."

They climbed on and without beating about the bush Arthur
demanded, "When is Diccon goin' to be my brother 'law?"

"Who told you he was?"

"He said he'd like you for a wife, and I wish you'd hurry up,
Etta.
I heared Mrs. Maitland say he's full o' juice an' can take his pick
now."

'Horrid cat!' thought Marietta.

"An' Lem says that means Diccon's rich an' lots of ladies want
him.
You're nice, but there's not many men like Sir G'waine, you know. He's
not pretty han'some like Mr. Blake, but he looks like a man ought to.
An' I like him lots. An' I want him for my brother 'law, so please stir
your stumps, Etta."

"Well, I never did!" she gasped, astounded. "Wherever did you
learn such terms?"

"Oh—here an' there," he said airily. "But when is you goin' to
tell him yes you'll marriage him?"

She sighed. "Whenever he asks me, dearest. But you see, he
hasn't."

"Oh. Well that's all right. You ask him."

She smiled forlornly. "I can't. At least, ladies aren't
supposed to."