Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] (26 page)

Daintry touched the child’s flushed cheek and smiled at her. “If you were a boy,” she said gently, “they would have packed you off to Eton or Harrow two years ago to have a grand education flogged into you. In my opinion, miss, you are much better off here with me and Aunt Ophelia.”

Charley grinned at her. “I am glad you are my aunt.”

Daintry watched her run off, and wished her own spirits might be lifted so easily. She wondered once again what was amiss between Davina and Charles, but with Seacourt likely to descend upon them at any moment, she did not spare them more than a brief thought, hurrying instead to find Lady Ophelia.

That worthy dame was sitting placidly in the drawing room, her journal, pen, and inkwell pushed to one side while she gave her attention to Cousin Ethelinda, who, when Daintry entered the room, was explaining in tedious detail, just how it was that Lady St. Merryn had not yet chosen to come downstairs.

“I am really quite concerned about your mama,” she added, seeing Daintry. “She is that vexed over Susan that she seems to have no spirit at all today. Why, she did not even want me to read her a chapter from her Bible this morning, which she generally likes, for it makes her feel as if she had had enough energy to attend morning prayers with the servants, which, of course, she never has. But today she just wanted to sleep.”

Lady Ophelia made an unladylike noise. “All Letitia needs is some responsibility. She is like a plant with no one to water it. She droops.”

Cousin Ethelinda stiffened. “I am sure I water her … that is to say, if she were a plant, which she is
not,
I am sure I should take just as good care of her as I do now. There is nothing at all she needs that I do not provide for her.”

“Oh, my dear,” Lady Ophelia said, shaking her head, “if only that were possible. But though you do your best for her, every woman has needs that cannot be met by another woman, or by a man, for that matter. One must have inner resources as well, and I fear Letitia has none. I have given orders,” she added, looking significantly at Daintry, “for any visitors to be directed to us here. There have been none.”

“I see,” Daintry replied, meeting her gaze.

Cousin Ethelinda said brightly, “I hope Susan got away early this morning and that she will quickly make amends with Seacourt. A woman ought not to be at odds with her husband.”

Daintry, having been taken aback by the first part of the statement, realized what was meant and was briefly at a loss for something to say. Glancing at Lady Ophelia, she said, “Susan left at nine, Cousin. Is that a new bit of tapestry you are working?” she added, sitting down beside her on the sofa.

“Oh, yes, is it not a pretty pattern?”

Daintry was able to keep Cousin Ethelinda’s mind occupied with matters other than Susan until they heard the unmistakable sounds of male voices on the gallery. Stiffening, she looked again at her great-aunt to see that Lady Ophelia had picked up her pen and appeared to be concentrating on her journal.

The door was thrown open, and St. Merryn entered, followed by a furious Seacourt.

“Where the devil is Susan?” St. Merryn demanded.

Daintry got to her feet, striving for calm. “She is not here, Papa. Since you would not help her, she has gone away.”

Seacourt took two steps toward her. “Damn it, you young—”

“Language, Seacourt,” St. Merryn snapped. “Ladies present.”

“Sorry, sir, but this is enough to make anyone forget his manners. Susan came here, prating of abuse because she is a trifle put out with me at the moment, and Daintry, if I am not much mistaken, has assisted her to do something very naughty.”

Daintry glared at Seacourt. “I daresay Papa told you he refused to see Susan. You would not be pretending it was no more than a foolish little squabble if you knew he had seen her face.”

Flushing, he kept his gaze pinned to hers. “You will regret it if you have tried to come between me and my wife, my girl.”

“I am not your girl, thank heaven,” Daintry said, “nor am I much impressed by your threats, Geoffrey. Papa, please,” she added, turning to face him, “you must not listen to him.”

St. Merryn returned her look angrily. “What are you doing in here, anyway? I distinctly remember ordering you to stay in your bedchamber until I gave you leave to come out of it.”

“Well, yes, you did, but I knew Geoffrey would come, and—”

“She was out on the road with Susan, sir,” Seacourt said.

“Upon my word,” St. Merryn growled, “I ought to take you across my knee to teach you obedience, girl.”

“Not,” Lady Ophelia said evenly, “if I have anything to say about it.” She looked him in the eye, and St. Merryn was the first to look away, glancing at Seacourt, then balefully at Daintry before muttering, “Anyone who thinks it’s easy for a man to command a houseful of women has never done it, that’s all.”

Lady Ophelia said quietly, “Daintry, you did not tell me you had been confined to your room. You ought not to have left it. Apologize to your papa at once, if you please.”

“I do apologize,” she said. “Truly, Papa, I did not really mean to disobey, but Susan needed me, and I just did not think.”

“Never mind that,” Seacourt snapped, clearly disgusted. “Where the devil have you taken Susan? And do not bother denying that you took her somewhere, for I saw you, all four of you, and if that damned horse I took from the stables here had not suddenly taken it into his head to slow to a walk—not once, mind you, but three times—I’d have caught up with you on the road.”

“What horse is that?” St. Merryn demanded, diverted.

“The one they call Prince, sir. A big bay hunter.”

“Upon my word, Seacourt, if you’ve hurt that horse—”

“I haven’t He was startled by some wild birds, I think. At all events, he recovered and was fine when I brought him in.”

Not daring to look at Lady Ophelia, who had often heard Charley describe her training, Daintry said, “I have sworn to say nothing, Geoffrey, so do not ask me. I always keep my word.”

Seacourt, still watching St. Merryn, said, “Order her to tell me, sir, or send for young Charlotte, and I’ll soon have the truth out of her if I have to shake it out.”

“Careful, Geoffrey,” Daintry said. “You will reveal rather more of your delightful personality than you mean to reveal.”

He shot a furious look at her but kept his attention focused on St. Merryn. “Well, sir?”

“Tell him where Susan is, Daintry.”

“No, sir.”

“What’s that you say?” St. Merryn’s mouth dropped open.

“I won’t tell him. You may lock me in my room, or beat me, Papa, but I will still refuse to tell you. I promised Susan I would not betray her, and I mean to honor that promise.”

“Then get Charlotte,” Seacourt said. “I’ll talk to her.”

St. Merryn frowned, and Daintry held her breath, fearing he would send for Charley; but before he could speak, Lady Ophelia said in the same even tone she had employed before, “You may ask Charlotte, of course, but if I know her—and I daresay I know her very well—she too will refuse to tell you, and she will enjoy the scene she creates by refusing very much more than you will.”

“Get Charles,” Seacourt snapped. “Surely, he is not so cowed by you that he will refuse to force his daughter to speak.”

Daintry sighed. “You really do not know Charles very well, do you, Geoffrey? Davina might help you if she wanted to do so, but I daresay she might have more sympathy for Susan than for you, and at all events, she would not try to beat an answer out of Charley. Nor, to his credit, would Charles ever do so.”

St. Merryn shrugged. “Daresay there ain’t much you can do, lad, if they refuse to speak. Take my advice and just wait a day or two for the chit to go home. She will, you know. They always do, and you can teach her then to mind you better.”

“She has taken my daughter from my house,” Seacourt said, his voice tight. “I will not simply sit and wait for her to decide what to do next.”

St. Merryn shook his head. “Now that was wrong of her, very wrong. Man’s child belongs at home. So does his wife, for that matter. Susan’s done wrong, Ophelia. Even you must see that.”

Lady Ophelia, looking straight at Seacourt, said, “Susan has done what she thinks best and will live with the consequences, whatever they may be; but understand me, young man, when I say that I believe every word she told us. Bad enough that you treated her roughly, but to force her to accept your mistress into your household, and to be carrying on such a relationship under the innocent eyes of your own child—”

St. Merryn interrupted angrily, “What nonsense are you prattling now, Ophelia? Mistress? What the devil’s his mistress got to do with any of this?”

Daintry said, “She is living in his house with him, Papa—Lady Catherine Chauncey. I told you—”

“And I told you then, as I tell you now, that such things have nothing to do with you. A pretty pass we have come to when females begin cutting up stiff over a man’s private affairs.” He looked at Seacourt with new respect. “Actually got one living in your house with you, you say?”

“My cousin is making an extended visit,” Seacourt said stiffly. “Whatever Susan might think of her, that is all it is.”

“Upon my word,” St. Merryn said, almost reverently, “I don’t know how you manage it, lad. I truly don’t.”

Seacourt turned to Daintry. “You may think you have won, but you are dead wrong. I have every right to take legal action, and I shall. In fact, if I am not much mistaken, taking such action might prove interesting.” Looking at her now as if he expected to catch her off her guard, he said softly, “The nearest magistrate, according to your father, is presently to be found at Deverill Court, and now that I come to think of it, that may even be the likeliest place for Susan to have sought refuge.”

“You are mad, Geoffrey.”

Shocked, St. Merryn said, “Deverill Court! Now, look here, Seacourt, don’t you be saying I told you to lay your dirty laundry at Jervaulx’s feet. I won’t have it! We’ve kept our business well away from him all these years. I won’t have you—”

“You cannot stop me,” he snapped. “I can see that Daintry is none too pleased by this turn of events, so I daresay I may have guessed aright. But in the event that I have not, you will see me here again within the day, all of you, and I shall have the law on my side by then.” And with that, he was gone.

Daintry, her eyes wide, turned to Lady Ophelia. “Is it true that Deverill’s father is the nearest magistrate?”

Lady Ophelia nodded, watching St. Merryn. “Yes, he is. Has been for years, though many people expected him to hand over the duties to someone else once he became a marquess. But does Seacourt expect to find Susan at Deverill Court? He must know his so-called suspicions were utter nonsense.”

“What suspicions?” St. Merryn demanded.

Daintry said calmly, “There were letters accusing Deverill of trifling with Susan, but they were not true, Papa. Susan is not the sort of woman to allow such behavior, nor Deverill the sort of man to attempt it.”

“Well, if you think he wouldn’t attempt it, you haven’t paid heed to what those lads of Hill’s got up to on the Continent, but it don’t matter one way or another. Susan is Seacourt’s problem, and he will soon have her sorted out.”

“Not if I can stop him,” Daintry said. “And what’s more,” she said to Lady Ophelia when St. Merryn had gone, “I would very much like to be present when Geoffrey storms Deverill Court and demands the return of his wife.”

Deverill was sitting at his ease, his feet propped up on the fender before a crackling fire in the book room, reading a book. He had finished his midday meal less than half an hour before, and was enjoying a postprandial glass of wine and a few moments’ leisurely reading before turning his attention to the pile of papers his father had left on the desk. He meant to sort them, and to put away what he could before he returned to his labors in the muniments room, but first he would read for a while.

When a footman opened the book-room door and said, “Sir Geoffrey Seacourt, sir,” he thought for a moment that he must have misheard the man. But, looking up, he observed Seacourt himself, looking as red as bull beef, and primed for a fight.

Deverill put down his book. “Come in, Seacourt. Pour Sir Geoffrey a glass of wine, Thornton.” He smiled at his visitor. “My father’s selection is extremely large. What will you have?”

“I want my wife,” Seacourt said, his eyes gleaming with spite. “If she’s here, Deverill, suppose you trot her out.”

Raising his eyebrows, Deverill said gently, “I believe that means Sir Geoffrey declines refreshment, Thornton. You may go. Fortunately,” he added when the footman had gone, “my father trains his servants well. You need not fear that Thornton will repeat what he heard you say.”

“I don’t give a damn if he does repeat it,” Seacourt snapped. “Where is she?”

“You know,” Deverill said, stretching one leg out to ease a kink in his calf muscle, “I received your absurd letter and was not much impressed by it, but now I see that you are completely unhinged, which may explain a good deal. When, my good fellow, do you suppose I’ve had the time to attach Lady Susan’s interest, let alone to do anything of which I seem to stand accused?”

“How do I know what you have done?”

“Oh, come, come, it is not what I have done that need concern you, but what your wife has done. From what I am given to understand, she rarely leaves Seacourt Head and then only in your company.”

“I was in Brighton for more than two months without her.”

“So you were. I, on the other hand, was in Belgium through those same months—or near enough—and when I returned, I went straight to my father’s house in Gloucestershire before going north for a fortnight. I met your wife for the first time when I stopped at Tuscombe Park on my way back. You came home the next day. Sit down, man, have a glass of wine, and tell me what the devil this is really all about.”

“No, thank you,” Seacourt said stiffly. “I cannot prove that you are lying, but I have no way to know you speak the truth, either. Oh, I know you were at Waterloo; who does not know that? But as to the rest—Waterloo was in June, after all; I came home in late September. In point of fact, however, I came here today looking for Jervaulx. I heard he was here.”