Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] (31 page)

Remembering what Lady Ophelia had said reminded her of the feud, and believing that a far safer subject for contemplation than the other, she managed to fix her mind upon it. She had been distracted for a time by Susan’s predicament, but if any good might be said to have come of its resolution, it was that Jervaulx’s decision had made St. Merryn think the better of him. Outrageous as that was, there could be no better time to ask her father about the feud’s origin. And this time, she would keep her temper. One did not want to be thought a shrew, after all. Moreover, the next time she lost her temper, she would put the fear of God into someone or know the reason why.

Dozing at last, she nevertheless awoke early the following morning and, feeling restless, both at the thought of confronting her father and at what they might discover at Seacourt Head, she went for a solitary ride on the moor, leaving Clemons in the dust when he attempted to keep up with her. But even Cloud’s fast pace, and the exhilaration of the moor wind blowing through her hair did nothing to erase thoughts of Deverill from her mind. She could not seem to stop searching the horizon for a centaur.

Returning to the house, determined to take some action, if only to allow herself a pretense of accomplishment, she was glad to find St. Merryn alone in the breakfast parlor. Taking a seat opposite him, she said to the footman who came to discover her wishes, “Nothing now, Jago. I will ring when I want you.”

The footman vanished, and St. Merryn said, “What the devil are you about, girl? I wanted more herring.”

“I’ll serve you, Papa,” she said, getting up and looking under lids on the sideboard until she found the kippered herring. Putting a generous portion on a fresh plate, she handed it to him, saying, “I want to know about the feud, sir, and I hope you will not try to fob me off again, because it will be easier for me to respect your dislike of the Deverills if I can discover what caused the dissension in the first place. Do you know?”

“Upon my soul,” he exclaimed, smearing jam on his toast with lavish abandon, “what can that matter now?”

“Aunt Ophelia says no one knows the cause,” she said, hoping he would respond as he would to any sporting challenge if the matter was put to him this way.

He sneered. “No reason that dratted female should know. No business of hers. She wasn’t even a part of the family in those days, not that she probably wasn’t as damned nosy and interfering then as she is now. Probably was. I don’t know. Wasn’t born yet, was I? Only thing I know is that my father said when old Tom Deverill quoted Smollett about making the monarchy stronger, he was not speaking of the present royal house.”

“He was a Jacobite?”

“So they say. Can’t really have blotted his copybook, though. Those who did lost most of what they owned. Then, too, most folks around here held by the true line then. Not that it did them any good. We’re all stuck with the same mad king and his precious offspring now, aren’t we?”

“Was my grandfather a Jacobite?” Daintry asked.

“Upon my word, girl, how should I know? He would not have told me. All secrets and plotting, it was. I just mention it because since the feud began when your aunt was young, it must have begun when there were still a few Jacobites hanging about, and I remembered that bit about Tom Deverill.”

“But surely your father told you something about the feud.”

He shrugged. “When I married your mama, he said it put him ahead of Deverill, but what the devil he meant, I can’t tell you, for he never told me.”

“Then why do you persist with the feud?” she demanded.

“That you can ask such a fool question just proves what I’ve said all along,” he said with a snort. “Females don’t understand simple facts of life. A feud grows, girl, and it’s a matter of family loyalty. Just look at what happened in Launceston—my daughter calling down a magistrate in his own courtroom. Jervaulx probably thought you held him cheap because of the feud, so then he bent over backward to show he wasn’t cut from the same bolt of cloth. Gave him a point to the good, that did. Once before, when we battled it out over a boundary line, I won the point. It all feeds into the whole.”

“It’s ridiculous, and the pair of you ought to mend matters,” she said bluntly.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He got to his feet and threw down his napkin. “I’ve business to see to. All these mines shutting down have made difficulties for my tenants.” He paused at the door. “Mind you don’t forget to take Melissa home today. Charles and Davina ought to have done it on their way to Wilton, but Ophelia insisted she was taking her. In any case, I want to hear no more complaints from Seacourt about your interference in his family affairs. You understand that?”

“Yes, Papa.” She ate her breakfast and went up to change out of her riding habit, knowing her great-aunt and Melissa would soon be ready to depart for Seacourt Head.

They did not leave until ten, but the roads were dry, and they arrived at Seacourt Head shortly after noon. Melissa passed most of the journey staring out of the window, responding politely when she was addressed by either of her companions, but initiating no conversation of her own. Daintry chatted with Lady Ophelia about the book the older lady was reading, but soon gave up any attempt to draw the child into the conversation and began to wish they had brought Charley along, after all.

Their reception was warmer than they might have expected, for Geoffrey, apparently on the lookout for them, came to the door while his servants were still collecting Melissa’s baggage. “Come in,” he called. “Susan was hoping you would arrive in time to take a light nuncheon with us. Hello, darling. Come and give Papa a big hug.”

Melissa ran to him at once and put her arms around his neck, whereupon he lifted her, whirling her so that her skirt billowed around her slender legs. Then, setting her on her feet again, he kissed her cheek and said, “Let us go find your mama and Cousin Catherine. They have been anxiously awaiting your return.”

Surprised by his easy manner, Daintry wondered if he truly believed he was in everyone’s good graces again. He seemed to do so, and to her own amazement, she found herself automatically smiling back when he turned his flashing grin in her direction.

Lady Ophelia allowed her footman to help her down from the carriage, and they went inside to find Susan in her pleasant drawing room, looking perfectly well and happy to see her daughter again. Daintry searched her sister’s face for any sign that she had been hurt again, but although her earlier bruises could still be detected, she could see nothing newly amiss.

Lady Catherine Chauncey, standing near one of the two tall windows and looking as beautiful as ever in a pale green, flowing robe of India muslin, smiled and greeted them. “We were just gazing out at the sea,” she said, gesturing toward the magnificent view. Sunlight sparkled on the foam-crested waves of the Channel, while gulls darted and drifted on capricious breezes. “Hello, Melissa, did you have a pleasant journey?”

“Yes, ma’am. Mama, may I be excused now?”

Seacourt said, “Of course you may, darling. You will want to put all your things back where they belong and tell Miss Currier all about your visit to Tuscombe Park. She has missed you, you know. She had little to do when you were not here.”

The little girl ran away without another word, and Seacourt said to Lady Ophelia, “Her governess is very fond of her, you know, though I daresay she has begun to wonder if Melissa really lives here or not; however, we shall say no more about that.”

He continued to converse cheerfully with Lady Ophelia, and Daintry moved to stand by Catherine at the window. The view was spectacular, for the house was perched out on the headland, and she could see across St. Merryn Bay, all the way to the park, but she could not see the house. Some windows of its upper stories had a partial view of the sea, but by and large, Tuscombe’s views were of its parkland. Realizing that Catherine had spoken, she said, “I’m dreadfully sorry. I was not attending.”

“That view is hypnotic, is it not? My bedchamber faces the sea, and I get up early in the morning just so I can look out and see what sort of day the sea is having. Usually,” she added with a sigh, “it is as gray as any day in Yorkshire.”

“I had forgotten you come from the north,” Daintry said.

“Well, I don’t really, but my husband did. My family is from Lincolnshire, which is much the same—fens in place of the moors, but very bleak. My parents are dead, and my brother and his wife have too many in their own family to welcome me. I simply couldn’t stomach the thought of Yorkshire at this season. Gray days notwithstanding, Cornwall is much more pleasant.”

“I believe you said you had cousins in St. Ives,” Daintry said, hoping the remark was not too pointed.

Evidently it was. Flushing, Catherine said, “You are thinking of the dreadful accusations Susan made, and believe I
ought
to leave, but she has apologized to me, you see, and I am quite willing to forgive her, for she must have been utterly furious with Geoffrey. I have told him he mustn’t look to me for sympathy, either, for in my opinion, he was much too harsh with her. Men do tend to forget their own strength, do they not?”

Susan was smiling at her husband, and just then he put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. For the first time, Daintry’s convictions were shaken.

“You see,” Catherine said softly. “He loves her very much and is truly sorry to have hurt her. He will not do so again, for he has promised us both that he will not.”

At the table, Daintry saw nothing to indicate that Susan was not content in her marriage. Nothing at all was said about the day before, and when she said Charley had been disappointed not to be allowed to accompany Melissa home, Seacourt said she could visit whenever she liked. “And you must come often yourself,” he added. “Here we are, so near, yet so far that Susan sometimes begins to think she lives in quite another county altogether.”

Later, as they were driving away, Lady Ophelia said with satisfaction, “That looks to be going well now, very well indeed. We have taught Sir Geoffrey a valuable lesson, I think, my dear.”

“Perhaps,” Daintry said, but she decided to put him to a more severe test. In the weeks left before Christmas, instead of attending house parties as she had planned to do, she would visit Seacourt Head often, with or without Charley, to discover for herself if what they had seen today was truth or illusion.

She had turned to confide this simple plan to Lady Ophelia when the first shots rang out.

T
HE CARRIAGE SLOWED RAPIDLY
, and Daintry heard the driver shouting at the horses to “Whoa.” Looking out the window, she saw several masked horsemen approaching, pistols drawn.

“Highwaymen!” she exclaimed.

“Villains,” Lady Ophelia said grimly. “Dash, I must take off my gloves!”

Daintry, startled nearly as much by these words as by the approaching highwaymen, turned sharply to see that Lady Ophelia was struggling to tug a pistol from her large reticule. The old lady snapped, “Don’t sit gaping, child. Your father never thought it right to mount proper holsters in his carriages, on account of you girls and then Charlotte, but no sensible person travels the moors these days without a weapon at hand. We have just been fortunate enough never to need this one before.”

Daintry stared. “But do you know how to use it, ma’am?”

“Certainly. Papa taught me. Like this.” She put down her window and a deafening shot rang out. Daintry looked out again just as one of the villains yelled and clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Got him,” Lady Ophelia said with satisfaction.

“Goodness, ma’am, that was an excellent shot!”

“Would have been if I’d been aiming at him,” the old lady said. “Dash, the others are still coming! I believe this thing fires twice. Let us see if it will.”

It did. “That does for them,” she announced happily, banging with the butt of the pistol on the forewall of the coach. “Drive on, Cotter, drive on! I hope those men are not greater nincompoops than I think, and have sense enough not to follow.”

But the men had retired, evidently believing themselves defeated, and the rest of the trip was without incident. At Tuscombe, the earl chose to make light of the matter.

“Disgruntled miners, no doubt, looking for easy pickings,” he said when they told him what had happened. “Lots of that sort of nonsense going on hereabouts, what with the bread shortages and so many of the mines closing down. But upon my word, Ophelia, it’s lucky you didn’t blow your fool head off with that damned popgun. If you must go gallivanting over the countryside, take care that Cotter and your footmen are armed from now on.”

Thus it was that the first few times Daintry took Charley to visit Melissa, they went by carriage, making the journey over and back a full day’s business, but though they heard of other incidents occurring elsewhere, they saw not the least hint of danger to themselves and soon began riding the cliff path instead, which made the journey much shorter.

Daintry was determined to make her presence felt at Seacourt Head, and Susan’s delight in the frequent visits was obvious, making her certain that they forced Seacourt to keep his promise to control his temper. Lady Catherine Chauncey was still with them and clearly had no plan to depart until after Christmas. Her cousins at St. Ives, she said, had gone to visit friends in Devonshire, and she had no notion when they meant to return.

Daintry heard nothing from Deverill, nor did she see him, although it had become her habit to ride on the moor any early morning that it was not fogbound. By mid-December, with an increasing hint of snow in the air, such mornings became rare, but she did not want to leave matters as they were, because she was still determined to end the feud between the two families and knew she could scarcely make any progress toward that end if she remained at outs with Deverill.

She thought about writing to him again, but although she sat down to do so several times, she could not bring herself to send the letters. Now that she knew he was simply a traditional male with traditional values and attitudes about female behavior, she was certain he would think less of her if she committed the social solecism of writing to a man not only unrelated to her but whose family was at outs with her own. Moreover, each time she picked up her pen, the words flowed from its nib as if she wrote to an intimate friend, and since she was well aware that she wrote to the mysterious stranger she had concocted in her imagination and not to the real Deverill at all, she was certain that to send any such letter would be utter folly.