Wolf, Joan (6 page)

"No. That is," Van amended hastily. "I hadn't thought of it."

"When Vanessa's wardrobe is completed we will leave for London," Lady Linton intervened. There was the faintest of lines between her lovely brows. For some unfathomable reason, her son and her guest did not appear to be getting along. "Did you look into engaging a music teacher, darling?" she asked now. "Frances was particularly anxious for Vanessa to receive some professional instruction while she is with us."

"Yes, I did, Mama," he replied impeturbably. Then, to Van, "You must play for me after dinner, cousin."

"Certainly," Van said stiffly. It was going to kill her, she thought, to be beholden to this... this Whig.

"How was the rest of your London visit?" Lady Linton asked her son. "What was that urgent summons about?"

He shrugged easily, his big shoulders moving smoothly under the blue velvet of his coat. "There were dispatches from Cumberland," he replied. He took a sip of burgundy and turned to Van. "The Duke of Cumberland is commanding a combined British, Dutch, Hanoverian, and Austrian force against the French," he said.

"I know." She paused and then added deliberately, "In Scotland we hear
all
the news from France. My brother, in fact, just recently returned from three years at the University of Paris."

"I see," said Edward, very softly. He looked over to his mother's face and smiled. "And have you planned every moment of Vanessa's visit for her, Mama?" he asked, his smile lazy and sweet, his blue eyes glinting. "Mama is in heaven at the thought of a daughter to take about," he added to Van. "She has been contacting all her old cronies and lining up invitations for months."

Van looked at Lady Linton, her eyes wide and startled.

"Edwards exaggerates," Katherine Romney said with dignity. Then, laughing, "But only a very little. My goodness, Vanessa, but this visit of yours is going to be fun!"

CHAPTER 5

After dinner Edward insisted that Van play for him. She sat down at the harpsichord reluctantly, but soon the music absorbed her, as it always did. When she had finished she sat for a moment, hands in lap, back to her audience. Then she turned around.

His eyes were waiting for her. There was no amusement in them now; they were utterly and completely grave. "Herr Schmidt will not do for you at all," he said. "I will engage Martelli."

"Martelli!" Lady Linton said. "Do you think he would consider Vanessa as a pupil?"

"Yes," Edward replied matter-of-factly. "If I recommended her." His eyes had never left Van. "Do you know the Brandenburg Concertos?"

"Some of them," Van replied.

He nodded. "Play one, please," he said, and Van, automatically responding to his tone, turned back to the instrument.

She played for half an hour, sometimes stopping and correcting herself, but he never said a word. When she had finished he nodded and said, "I understand perfectly why your mother was so anxious for you to get further instruction." Van felt a flash of treacherous joy at his words and dropped her lashes to hide her emotion.

"Edward is a great music lover, Vanessa dear, so you can trust his word," Lady Linton put in. "And once we get to London he will be able to take you to a host of concerts—he's invited to every musical evening in London, you see—and to Vauxhall and to the opera as well. You will have a surfeit of music, my dear, I assure you."

Van's lashes lifted to reveal glowing eyes. "You can never have a surfeit of music, ma'am," she said a little breathlessly.

The earl didn't reply and after a moment he turned to his mother. "When do you plan to leave for London?" he asked.

"In about a week's time, I think," Lady Linton replied. "Vanessa is to attend the Duchess of Newcastle's ball on April 5."

He grinned. "The most important ball of the season, eh, Mama?"

"Well, it is certainly the ball that opens the season," Lady Linton returned impeturbably.

Van sat silently on her stool. The earl was standing now, leaning his big shoulders against the chimneypiece, looking at his mother with amused affection. The candles in the wall sconces illuminated the shining golden wing of his hair. His shoulders were enormous yet his waist and hips in the closely fitting satin breeches were narrow. He looked at Van. "Would you like to ride with me tomorrow morning, cousin?" he asked.

Van hesitated. She would actually like to spend as little time in his company as possible, but she could think of no excuse. "If the dressmakers don't need me?" she said to Lady Linton.

Edward had not missed her hesitation and his smile became sardonic. "I'm sure they can spare you for a morning," he said dryly.

"Of course they can," Lady Linton said.

"Very well," Van said, none too graciously. Then, hoping to shock him, "I'm afraid I've had none too much practice using a sidesaddle. At home I wear my brother's trews and ride astride."

Lady Linton looked scandalized. The earl, irritatingly, merely looked amused. "Did you bring your... ah... trews with you?" he inquired courteously.

"Of course not," Van snapped.

His blue eyes glinted. "Then you will have to ride sidesaddle, I'm afraid."

"Of course she will ride sidesaddle," Lady Linton said coldly. "Don't be ridiculous, Edward. Vanessa has a very lovely riding habit, I assure you."

"Mother insisted," Van said a little sourly. She really did not ride sidesaddle very well and she was not looking forward to making a fool of herself in front of the Earl of Linton.

"Don't worry, cousin," he said. "I won't let anything happen to you." His voice was sympathetic but there was a gleam of wicked laughter in his eyes.

Van's own eyes narrowed. Her palm itched to smash across that handsome, mocking face. She closed her fist and said austerely, "Thank you. I feel so much better. And at that he laughed out loud.

He was waiting in the hall the following morning and he raised a golden eyebrow as she came down the stairs. "This
is
a very nice habit, cousin," he said approvingly.

Van gave him a dark look. The habit Frances had had made for her was of a particularly becoming shade of green cloth. On her head Van wore a Scots bonnet of deep green velvet under which she had, as usual, simply bundled her hair. "Are the horses out front?" she asked in a clipped voice.

"No. I thought we'd walk down to the stables. Mama says you haven't been there yet."

"Well, let's get started than," Van said. She was in no mood to make polite conversation. He opened the door for her with unruffled courtesy and discoursed easily the entire way to the stables, seemingly oblivious of her monosyllabic answers. Van walked like a Highlander, with long, swift strides that ate up the ground; her green bonnet, she noted disgustedly, did not quite reach his shoulder. At that moment they came down a small rise of land and Van saw the stableyard.

The Staplehurst stables were magnificent. All of the buildings were of the same golden stone as the house; behind the barns and carriage houses stretched acres of fenced-in paddocks. Van stopped unconsciously and stared. None of this was visible from the house.

"I'm rather proud of my horses," Edward said at her elbow.

Van didn't reply but started to walk forward again. The stable at home was more a run-in shelter from the weather than anything else. The hardy Highland ponies they rode needed very little pampering.

A groom appeared out of nowhere. "Marcus is ready, as you requested, my lord. And Mallow. Shall I have them brought out?"

"Yes, Blackstone, thank you. Oh, and, Blackstone, this is Lady Vanessa MacIan. She is visiting my mother."

Blackstone ducked his head. "Morning, my lady."

"Good morning," Van returned.

"Did I tell you yesterday that I think I've got a buyer for Beau, Blackstone?"

The man looked suddenly alert. "No, my lord, you did not."

"Stanmore caught me at my club a few days ago. He's looking for a hunter. We'll have to get Beau out over fences a few times to get him in condition."

"Right, my lord."

There was the sound of hooves and Van turned to look at the two horses being brought out of the barn. She swallowed. They looked so big. The earl reached up to rub a dark bay forehead. "This is Marcus," he said.

Van had never seen a horse like Marcus before. His elegant head, with widely spaced, large, lustrous eyes and narrow, tapering nostrils, was set on an arched and powerful neck. His strongly sloped shoulders and muscled rear proclaimed sheer power, yet his legs were slender, even delicate-looking. He did not look as if he belonged to the same species as the shaggy, sturdy ponies Van had grown up with. He was magnificent, but Van thought she would much rather look at him than ride him.

"And this is Mallow," Edward went on. "He'll carry you very nicely."

Mallow was, mercifully, not so big as Marcus, nor so powerful-looking. He was a golden chestnut in color, with a dished, Arabian face and very soft, kind eyes He was wearing a sidesaddle.

"Up you go," Edward said cheerfully and, before Van realized what was happening, his hands were around her waist and he was lifting her into the saddle. "How's the stirrup length?" he asked, and Van gave him a look of pure dislike. He had lifted her as easily as if she had been a child.

"Fine," she said, slipping her toe into the single stirrup iron.

Edward swung easily into his saddle and Van looked at him nervously, expecting the great bay stallion to begin to dance around. Marcus stood rock-still, the flickering of his ears his only motion. "Ready?" Edward asked genially.

Van raised her chin. "Yes," she said. Marcus began to walk forward and Mallow followed.

They walked through the stableyard and along a road that led by the paddocks. Van stiffened in nervousness as the horses in the paddocks came to gallop alongside the fences, but neither Marcus nor Mallow stirred out of the steady, even, forward walk. As they entered a wide ride that led through a wood, Van began to relax.

"Feeling better?" Edward asked.

"Yes," Van answered shortly. Then, "I'm not accustomed to such large horses. At home I ride ponies."

"If you can ride a pony over rough ground, you'll have no trouble at all with my horses," Edward said calmly.

Van was beginning to think he was right.

"Let's trot, shall we?" said Edward, and before she could protest, the two horses moved forward.

It was like sitting on air. Van couldn't believe how comfortable Mallow was. She looked over at Marcus. The great stallion appeared to be floating, he was so light.

When they came down to a walk again Edward looked at her and, unbidden, Van's rare smile dawned. "They're marvelous," she said.

"Training a horse is like working on a piece of music," he said. "The end product must be smooth, light, effortless, but to get to that point takes a lot of hard work." The tone of his voice changed. "Speaking of music"—he was looking straight ahead now—"why didn't your parents send you to Paris to study? Why London?"

Van was silent, thrown off balance by the sudden change in topic and in tone.

He looked at her out of the side of his eyes, a flash of blue quickly withdrawn. "I take it from your none-too-veiled comments last night that you are still Jacobites in Morar?"

Van's face was still, her eyes veiled and wary. "Yes," she said. "We are."

"Then why not Paris?"

"My mother has no social contacts left in Paris," she replied carefully. "And your mother and she were like sisters when they were young."

His profile was unreadable. "I'm surprised your father let you come, into the lion's den, as it were."

Van looked straight ahead of her. "My father was under the impression that I would be visiting a Jacobite family." She paused and then added, "So was I."

There was a distinctly startled pause. Then he gave a short laugh. "Your mother was indeed anxious to get you away."

Van said a few Gaelic curses under her breath. Then a thought struck her. "How do you know my father is a Jacobite? Your mother had quite forgotten."

"My mother, bless her, is completely oblivious of politics. As your mother must be too, or she would never have arranged this visit. I thought it was suspicious the moment I heard about it."

Van's fine lips turned slightly down. "Suspicious?" she asked dangerously.

He stared at her, his blue eyes cold. "If not suspicious, than certainly odd."

"If you have such objections to my visit, then why did you allow me to come?" she asked. Her chin had lifted in a gesture of perfectly unconscious arrogance.

"Because my mother was so pleased at the thought of having you," he replied grimly. "I was serious last night, you know. She has been planning for this visit for months."

Van's eyes fell to her own narrow hands on the reins. "Oh," she said.

"And if you do or say anything to upset or embarrass her," he continued evenly, "I will murder you, Vanessa."

Van's head jerked up. "I have no intention of embarrassing your mother!"

"Then you are really here just for social purposes?" He was pushing her relentlessly, his blue eyes cold and piercing.

Van's long lashes came down. "Of course," she said out of a suddenly constricted throat.

"It has nothing to do with the Chevalier's recent busy visits to France?"

"He is a prince, cousin, not a chevalier," she said defiantly.

"What he is," Edward returned grimly, "is a damn nuisance."

Van flung back her head. "He is the rightful heir to the throne!" she flared. "His father, King James, is our rightful king. The elector is nothing but a... a usurper."

"King
George," he replied very deliberately, "is the duly chosen king of Great Britain."

"Chosen by whom?" Van shot back.

"Chosen by Parliament."

"Parliament doesn't have the right to choose a king," Van said fiercely. "That right is God's."

"And that, my dear Vanessa, is where we differ."

"Don't call me your dear Vanessa," Van snapped.

"It's true, you're not at all like a Vanessa," he agreed cordially. "However did you get the name?"