Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] (30 page)

Charley looked mutinous, but Daintry said quietly and with a warning glance at the servants, “We must not talk here, my dears. I will come to you as soon as I can, to tell you everything.”

Biting her lip, Charley gave her a long look, then turned and went back. Melissa had already slipped back into the house.

Daintry meant to go straight up to the schoolroom, knowing the little girls would be impatient to know what had occurred, but no sooner had she and Lady Ophelia entered the hall than Medrose said, “His lordship desires you both to go at once to the drawing room, my lady. He has ordered a light repast to be served to you there.”

“Excellent, for we are famished,” Lady Ophelia said gratefully, allowing him to take her cloak and reticule. “I suppose everyone else is in there with him.”

“Yes, ma’am. That is to say, Lady St. Merryn, Miss Davina, and Master Charles are there, and Miss Ethelinda, of course.”

Daintry, realizing that she had no choice in the matter, said to the butler as he took her things, “Please send someone up to the schoolroom, Medrose, to tell Miss Charlotte and Miss Melissa that I shall be a trifle delayed in coming to them.”

She was more than a trifle delayed, however, for by the time she and Lady Ophelia had described the courtroom scene and its aftermath to the others, and had their supper, a considerable amount of time had passed.

Lady St. Merryn appeared to think the entire episode had been devised to distress her, Charles and Davina were diverted, and Cousin Ethelinda exclaimed her dismay after nearly every statement made by either Lady Ophelia or Daintry, until the latter at least was ready to strangle her. St. Merryn, on the other hand, declared with obvious satisfaction that he had never looked for such a sensible decision from Jervaulx.

“Sensible, Papa? How can you say so?” Daintry demanded.

“Just did, didn’t I? Can’t think why you females make such a piece of work about it when there was no other legal course the man could take. Not that I didn’t expect him to pull some damned foolery or other just to spite me, mind you. Only saying his action was proper. Don’t do to interfere between a man and his wife, don’t do at all. That Jervaulx didn’t try to do so makes me think the better of him, upon my word.”

“Well, I do not think better of him,” Daintry said.

Davina, chuckling, said, “By the sound of it, I should say you were fortunate not to have vexed him beyond reason. Did you really cry out at him right there in his courtroom?”

Flushing at the memory, Daintry said, “I spoke without thinking, that’s all. He made me too angry to think.”

“When I think that Charles accuses me of making a spectacle of myself when I do no more than smile at another gentleman, I shudder to think what he would say if I were to behave as you did,” Davina said, sending her husband an arch look.

Charles grimaced but said nothing.

When Lady St. Merryn moaned, reached for her salts, and lay against her cushions, holding the back of her free hand feebly against her forehead, Cousin Ethelinda said, “Pray, do not distress your mama with more of this talk, for now that Susan has returned to her family, all will be well. How thankful Sir Geoffrey must be to have her at home again where she belongs.”

Daintry’s fingernails dug into her palms, and she wished it were possible to tell one’s cousin precisely what one thought of her foolishness. Since it was not possible, she held her tongue, but she did not hold it later, when she was finally able to go to the children and Charley’s indignation at both the fact that Susan had returned to Seacourt Head and that Melissa was to return the next day led her to be impertinent.

“I won’t let Aunt Ophelia take Melissa back!” she cried when Daintry had explained matters.

“You have no more to say about it than I had,” Daintry said, holding her sorely tried temper in check with difficulty.

“Then we’ll run away.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“We will so!”

Daintry had been sitting between the two little girls on the schoolroom sofa, but she rose now and looked sternly down at-Charley. “Stand up.”

Slowly Charley obeyed. There were tears in her eyes, but she did not make the mistake of trying to defend herself.

“How dare you speak to me in such an improper manner?” Daintry said. “Had you spoken so to your papa or grandpapa, you know exactly what would befall you. As it is, you may take yourself off to bed at once and you will spend the entire day tomorrow attending to your lessons with Miss Parish. I had hoped to arrange matters so that you could go with us to take Melissa home, but you do not deserve such a treat now. Have you anything at all to say for yourself?”

“No, Aunt Daintry.” The tears spilled down her cheeks, and she added with a sob, “I-I’m sorry.”

“I suppose you are, now,” Daintry said, steeling herself to remain firm. “Go to bed. You, too, Melissa.”

When they had gone, she went to her own bedchamber, thinking of the blissful moment that lay ahead when Nance would have gone to bed and she would be alone at last after the long and trying day. But when she entered her room she found not only Nance but Davina awaiting her.

Her sister-in-law said cheerfully, “Got the children all tucked up in bed?”

“Yes, but I had to scold Charley. She is very upset that she can do nothing to prevent Melissa’s return. And she’s your daughter, Davina. You ought to do the tucking up, not me.”

Davina shrugged. “Charley does not care. I daresay she is closer to you than she is to me, and if she was impertinent, I doubt she was any more so than you were with Jervaulx, and with much the same cause. In any case, these days I should be thought an odd sort of mama if I hovered over her.”

“Perhaps, but you are wrong about her not caring. She misses you both when you are away so often.”

“So you have said before, but I did not come to talk about Charley, you know. Do you think Susan lied about Geoffrey just because she was angry with him?”

“I do not think she lied at all,” Daintry said, holding her temper now on a slender thread. “I have said that all along.”

Davina sighed. “Men are very difficult, aren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Daintry said, but the image of a tall, broad-shouldered one leapt to her mind’s eye and she knew at once that she was equivocating. Men were loathsome creatures.

Davina said, “Well, I do know. Your brother is a puzzle, Daintry, and that is plain fact.”

“Charles?” Daintry was astonished.

“You needn’t sound as if I had just said something absurd,” Davina said crossly, “for it was nothing of the kind. He seems to expect me to know what he is thinking, as if I had a crystal ball. Can you tell when he is angry, Daintry? I promise you, I cannot—not until he explodes, at all events.”

“And has he exploded?” Daintry asked, thinking she knew now where the conversation was leading.

“Twice in a fortnight,” Davina said with another sigh. “At Mount Edgcumbe because I smiled more than once at Lord Aston, and two days ago at Cothele just because I borrowed a few rouleaux from Alvanley. It was no great thing, so do not look at me that way. I won on the next turn and paid him back. At all events, I do not know how Charles thinks I can live on the pittance he gives me each month—as if a woman did not require a new gown from time to time, not to mention money for trinkets and loo.”

“But it is not just loo, is it, Davina? At Mount Edgcumbe you were plunging rather deep.”

“And what else was there to do, with Charles playing cards himself or drinking himself into a stupor? I wore a brand new dress that I thought he would particularly like, and he just demanded to know what it cost. Right in front of everyone, too. I wanted to sink through the floor. And if I so much as smile at anyone, he sulks, but he has no romance in him, Daintry, and I like to be courted and made much of. Is that so dreadful?”

“I suppose not, but would it not be better to tell him how you feel, rather than me?”

“I did tell him but it was as if I spoke a foreign language. I said I wished he would recite poetry to me, and he quoted some nonsensical thing about a flea on a lady’s bonnet on a Sunday.”

Daintry laughed. “It was a louse, not a flea. Charles has always liked Mr. Burns’s poems.” The frustrated look on Davina’s face caused her to add quickly, “I beg your pardon, but I cannot imagine him reciting any other type of poetry, you know. He is not a romantic man. He’s sensitive, but he tends to be like Papa and bluster when he’s angry, and he loathes strife. At all events,” she went on, too tired to be tactful, “you don’t really want my advice. You just want me to agree with you.”

Davina looked angry for a moment, but then she smiled ruefully and said, “I suppose you are right, but can you imagine what it is like for me, Daintry, living here where everyone is on Charles’s side and no one ever takes mine? If I had to stay here all year, I’d go mad. At least Susan, with all her problems, has a home of her own.”

“Is that what you want?” Daintry asked, thinking it would not be if Davina truly understood what Susan’s home was like.

Davina hunched a shoulder pettishly. “Oh, how does one know what one wants? What one thinks is desirable generally turns out to be nothing of the kind. I just never realized Charles would want to bury me alive in Cornwall, that’s all.”

“But he doesn’t. You just returned from Cothele, in fact, and are you not leaving tomorrow for Wilton House?”

“Yes, although Charles has been complaining that it is too far to go for only four days. If I had my way, we’d not come home till Christmas, but perhaps if you tell him you want to go to Wilton with us …” She paused hopefully,

“I already sent my regrets,” Daintry said. “Moreover, I promised Melissa that both Aunt Ophelia and I would see her home again tomorrow, and it would not do to disappoint her. And, in point of fact, Davina, you will go whether I do or not, and so will Charles. He nearly always does what you want him to.”

“I suppose he does, but he would do it more gracefully for you,” Davina said.

Daintry wondered if Deverill would be at Wilton House, but told herself it did not matter in the least, and soon managed to be rid of both her sister-in-law and Nance. Once she was in bed with the quilt pulled up to her chin, however, thoughts of Deverill’s anger that afternoon came flooding back to haunt her.

She did not know what to make of him. He intrigued her and he fascinated her. He had been kind to her; he had certainly flirted with her; and, at one point, before she had known he was not Penthorpe, he had even said he wanted to marry her. No doubt that had been but part of his play-acting, but he had certainly wanted to get to know her better, and he certainly had a knack for stirring her passions. He had shown her consideration and warmth. He had even pretended to respect some of her opinions. All in all, it was no wonder that she had finally come to trust him, though she had certainly been foolish to do so.

It had been amazingly easy to ignore the fact that he had begun their acquaintance with a deception, that he had all too clearly decided after that to see if he could steal a kiss—or worse, heaven knew—but even when she had taken his measure, it had proved nearly impossible to keep the man at arm’s length—witness the speed with which she had agreed to help him put to rest the ridiculous accusations Seacourt had made. And now, when he had betrayed her beyond all chance of forgiveness, she still could not seem to banish his image from her thoughts.

She remembered her last view of him, standing on the castle green. He had not spoken another word to her, nor she to him, although he and Sir Lionel had lingered, chatting with Lady Ophelia until both ladies were safely in the carriage. Deverill had been particularly charming to her aunt, almost as if he had meant to engage her support. And judging by Lady Ophelia’s conversation in the carriage, or lack of it, he had succeeded.

After Daintry had replayed the events of the afternoon in her mind’s eye several times more without being able to fix upon the exact cause of his anger, she finally realized that her own wrath had stirred his. He had thought her anger irrational, outrageous, even shrewish. But had his accusations been justified? And why was it, she wondered, that women who lost their tempers were shrews, while men who did—like Seacourt—were reasonably angry? If angry men were compared to members of the animal kingdom, they were generally compared to bears or dogs—dangerous animals—not to small, pestiferous rodents.

The fact was, she had somehow made herself believe Deverill was different from other men, more understanding, more sensitive to the difficulties faced by women, more willing than most men to listen and to comprehend female frustrations, and even, perhaps, willing to love a woman on her own terms. In fact, she had begun to think she had found a man whose feet were not made of clay. She had been wrong, and she began to see now that her anger had not been directed at him but at herself. She had let her guard down again, only to be brought up short by reality.

Previously, once she had discovered flaws of character in her suitors, it had been easy to dismiss them from her thoughts. But that night, each time she told herself that enough was enough and turned over again, determined to clear her mind and go to sleep, the unbidden image of Deverill would rise up to unsettle her. It did not seem to matter if she saw him smile or frown. Either way, he filled her thoughts and murdered sleep.

One moment she wanted never again to see the man or speak to him; the next, she wanted to explain matters so he would understand and agree with her. Sometime in the middle of the night, it occurred to her that perhaps she did not know him at all, that she had attributed characteristics to him based solely upon her own needs and wishful thinking. Nonetheless there had been something about him that led her to believe it was safe to trust him, to believe in him, and remembering his touch brought an unexpected wave of desire such as she had never experienced before, that stopped her train of thought cold in its tracks.

Was it possible that she had talked herself into trusting him simply because he stirred feelings that had never stirred before, because he could make her knees weak by looking into her eyes, or send flames shooting through her body just by kissing her? Was it possible that a mere physical attraction could influence her to such a point that she would forget all that experience had taught her about men, or was it merely part and parcel of what her aunt had called the lure of forbidden fruit?