Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] (41 page)

She couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. Even if she could somehow bring herself to put into words what Geoffrey had done, she had seen how angry Deverill could get, and if he were furious with Geoffrey, it would only make matters worse for everyone than they were already. So, instead, she said quietly, “I am pledged to Viscount Penthorpe, sir. This is very wrong. We must not.”

He was silent, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. He did not look convinced, but after a moment, still holding her, he said gently, “I think your sister-in-law was right. The time has come for us to speak what is in our minds. Penthorpe, in case you have not yet noticed the fact, my pet, is more interested in your sister, Susan, than he is in you.”

She smiled a little sadly. “I am not a fool, Deverill. Did you expect me to be shocked or distressed? In point of fact, however, it changes nothing. I only wish it were possible for Penthorpe to steal Susan from Geoffrey and run away with her, so that she would be safe. Perhaps if he were cut from the same bolt of cloth as Lord Anglesey, he would try, but it would do no good, for Susan would not go with him if he did.”

“I was not suggesting any such thing, you know. Your sister would be far wiser simply to sort things out with her husband.”

“Don’t be nonsensical,” she retorted, annoyed. “The man is brutal, hard-hearted, and malicious. Why, I fear for her very life after what happened here tonight.”

“You need not, I think,” he said, his tone still gentle. “Just remember that to get out of the house he had to pass through that crowd out there, which is no mean feat, and then wait for his carriage. If my experience is any guide, people will stop them and chatter at them, and it will take time just to say their good-byes, especially since they will be forced to maintain an appearance of normalcy. Even without Lady Ophelia to intercede in person, the smallest respite ought to give him time to recall her will and the ease with which she can alter it.”

“Well, I hope you are right, but I still think Susan would be safer to run away with Penthorpe. She would never leave Melissa, though.” She brightened as another thought struck her. “Perhaps Penthorpe would take Melissa as well.”

“He could not,” Deverill said. “Even if your sister were to follow the lead of the Duchess of Argyll and secure a divorce in Scotland, no court in either country would award her custody of Seacourt’s daughter. She would be forced to give her back.”

“Then she would never go,” Daintry said.

“You know,” he said quietly, his hands still warm on her shoulders, “none of this has much to do with the point at hand.”

“Certainly it does. Penthorpe is going to marry me, caring more about my sister than he does for me. I should say that has a great deal to do with the point at hand.”

“Not when the point at hand, my pet, is us.”

“I am betrothed to Penthorpe, Deverill. He is certainly too much of a gentleman to cry off, and my father is determined to hold me to my word of honor. Would you have me disobey him?”

“No, of course not, but I think if you and Penthorpe talk to him, a way might be found for one of you at least to be happy.”

She stiffened. “Let me see if I understand you, Deverill. You want me and Penthorpe to tell my father that we agree mutually that we shall not suit. You do not mention which of us is to bring up the subject first, or how, but to do so would be pretty much the same as crying off in fact. But once I am free of Penthorpe, I am to cast myself into your arms. Is that it?”

His lips twitched. “I do not know that I would put it in such blatant terms as that, certainly, but if you were free of Penthorpe and could see your way clear—”

“You forget that my father would not under any circumstances permit me to marry a Deverill, sir.”

He grimaced. “I confess, I did forget about that; however, since he did not precisely throw me out of here tonight, per—”

“Perhaps it will just chance to fall out the way you want it to, is that it? Well, since we are being frank with each other, sir, let me tell you that I do not think I would marry you even in such a case as that. You need not look at me as if you mean to show me otherwise, either,” she added, stepping hastily away from him. “You seem to think that all you need do is sit back calmly and wait for fortune to smile upon you. I suppose, in school you were taught simply to do as you were told, or perhaps it comes of being a second son for all those years and knowing you need never take responsibility for anything, but—”

“Just a minute,” he interjected. “I have never shirked a responsibility in my life. I was, if you will recall, a brigade major serving under Wellington at Waterloo, with a good number of men dependent upon me to lead them. If that is not responsibility, I should like to know what is.”

“Pooh,” she replied recklessly, “what of it? As I understand the matter, it was Wellington who decided what to do and you simply followed his orders. And, at all events, that has nothing to do with the present, since you are no longer a brigade major. Right now, you seem to think being heir to a great title is sufficient, and that if every-one else will just do as you think he or she ought to do, you will not have to lift a finger to secure your own ends. There is a good deal more to putting things right than merely wishing people would do what you want them to, Deverill.”

“You don’t know what you are saying,” he retorted, his temper clearly on the rise.

“Oh, yes, I do. You say Susan would do better to learn to get along with her husband, because it is nothing to do with you, and you want me to talk my father and Penthorpe around because you have got it in your head that you want me. Notice that I say want, not love. If you loved me, you would at least have found a way to end the stupid feud. I’ve read every word of my aunt’s journals, although the most interesting things in them are her views on novels written by the women of the last century, but I did it without prating about being in love. You, on the other hand, dismiss the feud, calling it stupid and idiotic and generally hoping it will go away and not annoy you, but you stopped looking for answers after going through a few papers.”

“Now, wait just a—”

“No, Deverill, I am going to marry Penthorpe. I gave my word, and unless he asks me to break it, I will not.”

He clamped his lips together, visibly fighting his temper now, but the tense silence that fell between them was broken when the door opened suddenly and Penthorpe entered, saying, “Beg your pardon but I think you ought to know Lady Ophelia ain’t feeling quite the thing. Fact is, we can’t seem to wake her up.”

Daintry, reminded of the headache powders and Penthorpe’s own contribution to her great-aunt’s condition, felt a sudden, quite inappropriate, urge to laugh; but, seeing that Deverill did not share her amusement in the least, she said, “We will come at once, sir. She has been so tired of late, you know, what with all the preparations for the ball and having so many other social obligations as well, and she has suffered from insomnia since our arrival in London. I daresay it all caught up with her tonight.”

They reached Lady Ophelia to discover that she had dozed off in her chair with her head resting against a marble column, and had drawn quite a crowd of concerned persons around her, including St. Merryn, who had been summoned from the card room, and who was, as a result, in no pleasant temper.

“She’s asleep,” he told Daintry indignantly. “I’ve shaken her, but she only mutters at me to go away. Upon my word, what will the woman do next?” He paid no heed to Deverill’s presence other than to say to them all that something must be done, but it was Deverill who assumed direction of the proceedings, picking Lady Ophelia up in his arms and moving behind the row of columns in order to draw as little attention as possible as he made his way to the stair hall. Penthorpe stayed behind to explain to interested onlookers that her ladyship was suffering from no more than simple exhaustion, and Daintry went with Deverill to show him the way to her great-aunt’s bedchamber, and to ring for Alma to see her tucked into bed.

When they went back downstairs, Deverill stopped at the landing on the drawing-room level and said, “I’ll take my leave of you now, but I hope to see you again before you leave London.”

She gave him her hand. “G-good night, sir. I… I hope you are not too dreadfully vexed with me.”

“I have no cause,” he said grimly. With a bow, he turned and went quickly down the stairs to the hall.

The ball seemed sadly flat after that, although a light supper was served soon after she returned and Penthorpe seemed determined to see to her every comfort. He seemed equally determined to be cheerful, and finally Daintry could stand it no more. Leaning across the small round table they shared, she said quietly, “Sir, if you are not happy with this arrangement, pray believe you have only to say so. I can quite understand that—”

“No, no,” he said, flushing to the roots of his hair and looking directly at her, “no such thing. Completely happy, I promise you. Happiest man on earth. Good God, how could I be otherwise? Pleasing your father, pleasing my uncle, and of course, pleasing myself most of all. Dashed sorry if I’ve put any other notions in your head, my dear. If I seem a trifle upset over what happened earlier, it’s because I cannot stomach cruelty, and if you’ll forgive a little plain-speaking, that’s just what it is, the way Seacourt treats your poor sister.”

“I agree, sir.” She said no more. If he was determined to plunge ahead with the wedding, she would not try to dissuade him. The Tarrant family had already provided grist enough for the rumor mills, since word of the brawl in the parlor would spread, if only because Susan had been unable to hide her tears when Seacourt took her away. And if by some miracle that whole tale did not come out, Lady Ophelia’s falling asleep in front of the entire company would give the gossips a good laugh at least. Daintry would not give them more by crying off from yet another betrothal even if her father could be persuaded to let her do so.

By the time she fell exhausted into bed that night, her thoughts were in a turmoil. She had, she decided, been perfectly horrid to Deverill, and though he had said he wanted to see her before the family left London, if he never spoke to her again, it would be no more than she deserved. Just to remember the way she had ripped up at him about never doing anything—and not ten minutes after he had sent Geoffrey crashing to the floor, too, which was a memory she would harbor fondly forever—made her ready to sink. How could she have been so idiotic as to fling such an accusation at him? He must think her utterly daft.

She had been completely right, Gideon thought as he strode along the flagway toward Jervaulx House. He
had
been waiting and hoping things would change, that somehow everything would fall out the way he wanted it to. He had hoped Jervaulx would come to realize that he had a son who was entirely capable of assisting him with his many duties. He had hoped the feud would somehow die out for lack of interest or that the key to resolving it would just turn up. And he had hoped that when everything else fell into place the way he wanted it, Daintry would discover she could not resist him any more than he could resist her.

She had been right, too, in blaming his past for his present attitudes. He
had
been taught at school to follow orders and do as he was told, and military life had reinforced those lessons. He could certainly claim, as he had, that as a brigade major he had carried grave responsibilities, but the truth was that he had simply waited for orders and then seen them carried out. His responsibilities had been clearly defined, his duties likewise. He had rarely had to sort things out and decide what was best to be done. No wonder he had felt all at sea when he first returned to England, for in truth, he had been uprooted. He remembered telling Penthorpe that Jervaulx did not know how to let go of past duties to take better care of present ones. He ought to have taken some small heed of his own observation. It was time, he decided, to step out of his old life and into the new.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he was not surprised to find Jervaulx still at his desk in the book room, reading some sort of document. The glow from the lamp reached no farther than the edges of the desk, and what tapers had been lighted earlier in the wall sconces had guttered. The only other light in the huge room came from the fire, still burning brightly and setting shadows dancing on the carpet and in the nearby corners.

Gideon moved to pull the bell cord near the hearth, and Jervaulx looked up at last. “The servants have gone to bed.”

“Not all of them, sir. Thornton was in the hall when I came in, and though I told my own men not to wait up for me, I am nearly certain that both of them will still be up and about. You ought to have rung for more light, Father. You will ruin your eyesight. Yes, Thornton, I rang,” he added when the footman entered. “Replace some of these candles, will you? It ought to have been done sometime ago.”

“Yes, sir,” Thornton said placidly, but even in the dim light, Gideon did not miss the oblique glance the man shot toward the marquess. “I’ve brought some with me, sir, thinking they might be wanted.”

Jervaulx was watching his son.

“I suppose,” Gideon said, returning the look steadily, “that you told them all you did not wish to be disturbed.”

“Nothing further was required of them, and they must rise very early. There was no need, Thornton, for you to stay up.”

“No, my lord. I’ll just light these candles now.” He moved toward the wall sconce nearest Gideon, and as he passed him he said quietly, “Mr. Peters is still up as well, Master Gideon.”

Gideon nodded and moved nearer the desk. “I must ask you to stop now, Father, because I want to talk to you. I’d have waited until morning, but since you are up, I’d like to do it now.”

“There is nothing so important that it cannot wait.”

“On the contrary,” Gideon said calmly. “Thank you, Thornton, that will be all. Tell Peters that his lordship will be up in half an hour.”

“Yes, sir,” Thornton said, slipping quickly out the door.

“Now, see here,” Jervaulx began, “you cannot give orders like that in this house.”