Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] (11 page)

“My brother’s daughter, Letitia, married Daintry’s papa,” Lady Ophelia said. “And I can tell you, St. Merryn—Ned Tarrant, that is, not your papa, Daintry—behaved as if he had got a point more than Tom Deverill when she did. Ned always was looking to line his pockets, so I suppose that, having married a woman with an income of seven thousand a year, then managing to arrange for his son to marry into the Balterley family, he thought he’d won.”

“He did marry better than my grandfather,” Deverill said. “At least, if my grandmother was an heiress, I never knew it.”

“She wasn’t,” Lady Ophelia said, “but she had always had a soft spot in her heart for Tom. I thought, myself, that Harriet hoped he would make her a marchioness, but although the senior branch of your family was never strong, it didn’t die out soon enough to benefit her. In any case, Tom didn’t marry her until several years after the feud began and she’s been dead for forty years, so she can be of no help to you now. Tom himself has been dead for nearly thirty years. I don’t suppose you even remember him.”

Deverill shook his head.

“I am sorry I cannot be of more help,” she said.

Deverill turned to Daintry. “You must agree now that it is absurd to ring a peal over me in the name of this old feud when I daresay everyone connected with it has just as little understanding of it as we do.”

Daintry felt obliged to agree, but Lady Ophelia clicked her tongue in annoyance and said, “I gave you credit for better sense, sir. Surely you must realize that reason rarely prevails in such instances as this. If you can convince St. Merryn that there is no longer cause for a feud, I shall congratulate you, but you won’t do it, for a more pigheaded man never existed unless he was a Deverill. More than that I will not say.”

“We must suppose that the feud has been fueled by other incidents over the years,” Deverill said thoughtfully, turning to Daintry. “If we accomplish nothing else, I say we should do what we can to end it now and become better acquainted.”

He was looking directly into her eyes, and there was a light in his that warmed her. Though she had been to London and seen all the elegant gentlemen who flocked to the Marriage Mart in search of suitable brides, she had never known a man like this one. Three times she had believed she had found a man she could bear to marry—since her father insisted that marry she must—but each time she had rebelled once she had discovered the flaws of character lying beneath each handsome face and manly figure.

No doubt Gideon Deverill also had feet of clay. Indeed, he had already wickedly deceived her, but something about him made it easy just now to forgive the one transgression if there were no more. Until there were—and if she could manage to teach him that it was folly to try ordering her about—she was willing to encourage his attention. Indeed, it was no more than her duty to encourage him, for now that Penthorpe had been killed, her father would certainly make new arrangements to find her a husband if she did not find one for herself, and rather quickly.

She said, “I must apologize, sir. You were quite right to say that I ought not to condemn you and your family out of hand. In truth, I did not realize until just now that I had not the slightest understanding of what caused the feud.”

He smiled. “Perhaps if you were to speak to your father, he would agree to lay the business to rest.”

“He won’t do it,” Lady Ophelia said.

“I do not know if I can bring Papa round my thumb or not, but I mean to try,” Daintry said. “He must be made to understand that there is no longer any feud worthy of the name, and once he does, I am certain he can have no objection to your paying the occasional friendly call, Deverill.”

Lady Ophelia clicked her tongue, but whatever she might have meant to say was lost in a clamor of noise when the doors were opened and a number of people entered the room.

Startled by the din, Daintry whirled to discover what looked like an invasion. “Gracious, Charles and Davina are home,” she exclaimed as she found herself crushed in a brotherly embrace.

“You and Susan missed a dashed good time in Brighton,” Charles Tarrant said, laughing.

He was a man of middle height with a sportsman’s muscular body and the dress sense of a dandy. His chestnut locks were brushed in the windswept style made popular by Beau Brummell, his snowy cravat was stiffly starched, and his shirt points were a good deal too high for any comfort of motion.

Holding Daintry in the curve of one arm, he raised his gold-rimmed quizzing-glass to peer at Deverill, and said, “By God, you must be Penthorpe. Here, Daintry, let a fellow go, so he can do the proper. Dashed glad to meet you, Penthorpe. My father has been telling us how glad … that is, he has been saying—Oh, good God, I shall put my foot in it if I say any more, shan’t I?” Grinning broadly, he thrust out his right hand. “Pleased to meet you. There, no one can cavil at that.”

Deverill shook his hand, but if he had intended to reveal his true identity, he had no opportunity to do so, for reaching out rather wildly to catch hold of the slender, darkhaired lady who had accompanied him into the room, Charles said, “Davina, allow me to present Penthorpe. Oh, and there are Geoffrey and Lady Catherine. Come and meet Penthorpe. Papa, I have stolen your thunder, by Jupiter. Hello, Mama … Cousin Ethelinda. Good God, it’s a dashed family reunion, that’s what it is! If we don’t take care, we shall have the children underfoot next.”

“I am here, Papa,” Charley cried, hopping up and down on one foot beside him. “Wait until I show you the new tricks we have taught Victor while you were away! What did you bring me?”

“Bring you?” Charles looked dismayed. “What did you want me to bring you? Davina, did we bring her anything?”

Davina said sternly, “It is very bad manners to demand a present the minute your parents walk in the door, Charlotte.”

“You promised,” Charley cried. “I didn’t ask for anything. You said when you left that you would bring me a lovely present to make it up to me for being away so long. You know you did.”

Behind them, Sir Geoffrey Seacourt, a tall, slender, fair-haired man, said, “We have presents for you and Melissa both, Charlotte, so stop screeching like a banshee and come kiss your favorite uncle. But where are Melissa and your Aunt Susan?”

“They are coming, Uncle Geoffrey,” Charley said, recovering her dignity instantly and responding to his demand for a kiss with a demure peck on his cheek. When he hugged her, she freed herself with a quick, twisting motion and said, “You know I do not like to be mauled about, sir, though I do thank you very kindly for my presents. Where are they? And who is that lady?”

“Forgive me, everyone,” Sir Geoffrey said with a boyish grin. “I’d forgotten you do not know Catherine. This is a sort of cousin of mine, Lady Catherine Chauncey of Yorkshire, who was most unfortunately widowed last year. We met her in Brighton and she consented to let us carry her back with us to see the county of Cornwall. Catherine, this disheveled young lady is my wife’s niece, Charlotte. Charlotte, do pull up your stockings. You look like a shag bag, and do not,” he added, laughing as he tousled her hair, “ask me what a shag bag is.”

“I know what it is,” Charley said scornfully. “It is the bag one keeps a fighting cock in, and if that is not something I ought to know, then you and Papa and Grandpapa ought not to use the term so often. Lady Catherine is pretty,” she added, making a swift curtsy without bothering to hitch up her stockings. “There is Aunt Susan, now, sir. And Melissa, too.”

Sir Geoffrey turned quickly, saying, “My dearest love, I do hope you are quite well again. You missed a delicious treat by not accompanying us to Brighton. And,” he added, catching her and kissing her hard on the mouth, “I missed you very much. You, too, my darling Melissa,” he added, releasing his wife and catching up the fairylike child in her place.

Melissa put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, and still holding her, he called to Medrose to bring in the parcels he had brought with him. “All of them, Medrose.”

Daintry had taken advantage of the distraction to catch Charley and pull her a little to one side. “Do pull up your stockings, darling, and stop dancing about. Grandpapa has been watching you, and so has Aunt Ophelia, so if you do not want to suffer a severe scold later, do as I say right now.”

As the child bent to obey her, Daintry glanced at Deverill, and saw that he was watching the others with a somewhat bemused look on his face. Her father moved to greet him with a beaming smile, and Daintry wondered when Deverill would reveal his true identity. That he had not done so at once could not surprise her, for he would have had to shout to make himself heard, and with all the chatter, it would have taken a good deal of exertion even then to make himself understood. The matter could be set right in a trice once the others quieted down.

Charley tugged on her sleeve. “May I go and open my presents, Aunt Daintry?”

“Yes, darling, and be sure to thank your uncle and your mama and papa for being so kind as to bring them to you.”

“Well, I shall thank Uncle Geoffrey, of course, for I believe he did remember them, but I shall not thank Mama or Papa, for I am just as certain that they did not.”

Daintry, too, was certain of that, but she said firmly, “Thank them nonetheless, Charley. Your good manners must never be dependent upon those of anyone else.”

“Very well, I will.” She was dancing again with impatience, so Daintry shooed her off to open her presents. Then, seeing that Davina and Charles had moved away from the others to sit on a sofa while Sir Geoffrey passed out his gifts, and that St. Merryn had engaged Deverill in conversation near the window, she dutifully turned her attention to the stranger in their midst.

Lady Catherine, who was, as Charley had noted, very pretty indeed, was a buxom, golden-haired beauty with sapphire-blue eyes and a complexion of peaches and cream. She stood quietly near Sir Geoffrey, and Daintry, remembering that Susan had come in after the introductions and seeing how she kept glancing at the woman while she opened her gift, feared that Sir Geoffrey had neglected to present Lady Catherine to his wife.

Susan took a pair of dazzling diamond earrings from a black velvet box, and her eyes began to shine. “Oh, Geoffrey, thank you. I want to wear them now. Will you help me put them on?”

He turned with a grin to do so, and Daintry, regretting the sudden suspicion that had leapt to her mind, said politely to Lady Catherine, “Do come over here and sit down. You must be dismayed by all the uproar, but it is always the same when the whole family gets together like this. Do you mean to stay long in Cornwall? Have you other friends in the county?”

As they moved to join Davina and Charles, Lady Catherine smiled, showing pearly white teeth and full, sensuous lips, and said, “I do have friends at St. Ives. Cousin Geoffrey, the knave, led me to believe it was quite nearby, but I have come to understand during our journey—thanks to your extremely charming brother—that St. Ives is really quite some distance from here.”

“Oh, yes. Cornwall is not so tall, but it is very wide, and St. Ives is much nearer to Land’s End than it is to Devon. We are less than twenty miles from the river Tamar, which forms the boundary, you know, between Devon and Cornwall. That was too bad of Sir Geoffrey to mislead you.”

“Well, he is determined that I shall make a long stay at—”

“What?”
St. Merryn’s roar drowned her out, and the rest of the room fell instantly silent, so that his next words, spoken in a menacing growl, carried all too clearly. “What the devil do you mean, you are not Penthorpe?”

I
T SEEMED TO DAINTRY
as if someone had created a
tableau vivant.
Charley, holding the new blue Paisley silk scarf she had unwrapped, sat with her mouth agape, her eyes wide and focused on her grandfather. Melissa, caught in the motion of slipping a gold bangle on her thin wrist, was utterly still. Sir Geoffrey and Susan stared at St. Merryn; and Charles and Davina had frozen so that the former’s smile and the latter’s look of polite welcome as Daintry led Lady Catherine toward them, had become as fixed as if the expressions had been painted on their faces.

Lady St. Merryn, reaching for her salts bottle, was the first to move, and Cousin Ethelinda, ever vigilant, leapt to spare her even that small exertion.

Awakened from his own shock by their movement, St. Merryn snapped, “Damme, I won’t have it! You must be Penthorpe!”

Lady Ophelia said, “Pray moderate your tone, St. Merryn. There are children and ladies present.”

“I never raise my voice,” he snarled, “and you keep your nose out of this, Ophelia. I won’t tolerate any more of your damned meddling. Only look where it has got us now!”

“I quite fail to see how this imbroglio relates to me,” she retorted. “It was your own impulsive assumption that began it, you know. Had you waited, as any reasonable man would have done, to allow the young man to give his name—or indeed, his calling card—to your footman, as I have not the least doubt he meant to do before you snatched the moment to yourself, as so frequently is your habit and indeed, the habit of most men—”

“Spout me no more infernal nonsense about the imperfections of men,” St. Merryn shouted at her. “Men are the superior sex because we
are
superior, and that is all there is about it.”

Charley said matter-of-factly, “Men are superior only in matters of muscle, Grandpapa. It has been proven, you know—or at least, it has been written,” she added conscientiously, “that the female brain is quite as capable of logical th—”

“Go to your room, you unnatural child!” St. Merryn roared, rounding on her with frenzy in his eyes.

“But—”

Daintry, recognizing that the earl’s love for his granddaughter was presently outmatched by his driving need of a quarry upon whom to wreak vengeance, snapped over her shoulder, “Charles, I will deal with this,” as she strode forward, snatched Charley up from the floor by one arm and hustled her out of the room, pulling the door shut behind them on her father’s outraged declaration, “But, damme, you must be Penthorpe!”

In the blessed near-silence of the corridor, Charley said with an air of dignity at odds with Daintry’s firm hold on her arm, “I am dreadfully sorry, but he was wrong, you know.”