Parfit Knight (19 page)

As soon as he
realised what she was saying, Amberley stemmed the tide with a
movement of one tapering hand and said, ‘Mistress Dacre – there is
no need for you to thank me. What I did was not done for the
convenience of your brother but to suit my own peculiar code of
ethics. I don’t know exactly how you came by this information and I
wish very much that you had
not
done so – but, greatly
though I appreciate your thought, I would much prefer not to
discuss it.’

Already a
little pink, Isabel flushed afresh.

‘Yes. I – I
guessed you would say that,’ she replied, her voice very low. ‘And
I
do
respect your feelings. But I wanted you to know that –
that we’re not all as ungrateful as Robert.’

The Marquis
experienced a twinge of remorse.

‘I do know it
and must beg your pardon if I seemed churlish. Did I?’

Isabel looked
up into ruefully gleaming grey-green eyes and was lost.

‘Not at all. I
don’t think you could,’ she said naively. ‘And naturally I shan’t
speak of it again – of Robert, I mean.’

‘Naturally,’
Amberley agreed with strenuous gravity. ‘And do you think I may
rely similarly on Lord Philip’s discretion?’

‘I’m sorry?’
she asked blankly.

‘Perhaps I am
at fault. I assumed his lordship was the source of your
knowledge.’

‘Oh no! Philip
doesn’t - ‘ And stopped, aghast at what she’d said.

There was a
long pause, while the Marquis surveyed her meditatively. Then, ‘So
Lord Philip thinks I took the money, does he?’ he mused, half to
himself. ‘Well, well … that explains a lot.’

‘You must be
wondering why I haven’t told him,’ began Isabel wretchedly. ‘But
indeed I – ‘

‘My dear, odd
though it may seem, I’m very glad that you haven’t – and I applaud
your restraint, for I feel sure it can’t have been easy,’ said the
Marquis lightly. He smiled suddenly. ‘But I’m forever in your debt.
It’s extremely comforting to know that Lord Philip’s dislike of me
isn’t as personal as I’d begun to think it.’

Clutching her
fan so hard she heard one of the sticks snap, Isabel said, ‘That’s
all very well – but now
you
know the truth, I have to tell
Philip as well. I promised Robert I wouldn’t, although I didn’t
want to. But this – this changes things. You must see that.’

‘Actually, I
don’t.’

‘No?’

‘No. I’m glad
you told me – even though you didn’t mean to. I’ll be even more
glad if you can continue keeping it from his lordship.’

Isabel could
find no sense in this whatsoever. ‘But
why
?’

He shrugged. ‘I
have my reasons – odd though they may be. Will you do as I
ask?’

And because he
was still smiling at her and she didn’t know how to refuse, Isabel
said, ‘If that is truly what you want – then of course.’

Throughout his
conversation with Mistress Dacre, Amberley had been acutely
conscious of the fact that, not only was Rockliffe the sole
recipient of Rosalind’s attention but that they had the air of old
friends. It was like salt in a wound and, when Isabel was claimed
by her partner for the gavotte, the Marquis shrugged all his
resolutions aside and strode purposefully across the room. There
was quite definitely a limit, he thought irritably, to the amount
of experience Rosalind needed in order to form a rod of assize; and
he was damned if he was going to stand idly by while that devil
Rock stole a march on him.

‘Good evening,
Mistress Vernon,’ he said pleasantly. ‘It suddenly occurred to me
that you must be missing your parrot.’

‘Broody?’
Rosalind frowned, a little puzzled. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because,’
replied the Marquis, grinning down at the Duke, ‘I can see that
you’ve adopted a popinjay in his place.’

Provocative
grey-green eyes met deceptively lazy black ones and locked, as
Rosalind gave a gurgle of laughter.

‘This fellow,’
announced Rockliffe calmly, ‘is a person of no discrimination. He
is also, untruthful, unreliable and no gentleman.’

‘And his
Grace,’ countered Amberley smoothly, ‘is just about to desert you
for the card-room.’

Rosalind turned
her head to smile enquiringly at Rockliffe. ‘Are you?’

‘It seems
unlikely,’ he replied. And raising one quizzical brow at the
Marquis, ‘Am I?’

‘Yes.’ Still
looking his friend in the eye, Lord Amberley committed unhesitating
perjury. ‘Jack demands your presence and I promised that he should
have it.’

His Grace
sighed and came unhurriedly to his feet.

‘I scent a ruse
– and a deplorably unoriginal one at that. But I suppose I must be
certain before I call out that pretty small-sword of yours.’ He
turned to Rosalind. ‘It’s common piracy, of course – but what can
one do?’

‘Careful,
Rock!’ Amberley’s voice brimmed with mischief. ‘As the challenged
party, I’d have the choice of weapons – and I’d choose pistols, you
know.’

‘Yes.’ The Duke
eyed him with anguished resignation. ‘Yes. You probably would. So
unsubtle!’ He took Rosalind’s hand and held it for a good deal
longer than was necessary. ‘
Au revoir, mademoiselle
. One
does one’s poor best, you understand – but there are some things
that even I cannot remedy. I leave him to you – regretfully.’ And,
with an elaborate bow, he kissed her fingers and cast Amberley a
glance of perfectly amicable mockery before strolling away in the
direction of the card-room.

The Marquis
moved towards his vacated chair. ‘May I sit down?’

Rosalind
suddenly discovered that she felt distinctly nettled.

‘Of course. If
you think it’s worth your while.’

‘I beg your
pardon?’

‘Well, I didn’t
think you would be staying,’ she explained dulcetly.

His lordship
sat. ‘Why should I not?’

‘I don’t know –
but you usually manage to think of something. Unlike his Grace, I
find your ingenuity quite startling.’

Laugher stirred
in Amberley’s eyes. ‘No you don’t. You think I’m the snake who
lured you away from Oakleigh only to ignore you.’

The dimple
quivered and was gone. ‘And aren’t you?’

‘Very probably
– but not in the way that you mean it or for the reasons you may
think,’ came the cryptic reply. ‘And, in all conscience, you have
to admit that you haven’t exactly needed me to swell the throng.
The town is awash with your admirers.’

‘Even if that
were true, it isn’t the point,’ said Rosalind severely. ‘You know
perfectly well that I’ve only three true friends; Isabel, his Grace
of Rockliffe – and yourself.’

The Marquis
derived little pleasure from the knowledge that she regarded him as
a friend – and none at all from ranking equally with the Duke. He
said, ‘Do you see much of Rock?’ And then could have bitten his
tongue out.

If Rosalind
noticed his slip, she gave no sign of it.

‘Well,
everything is relative, of course – but I suppose you might say so.
He calls in Jermyn Street from time to time and last week he took
me for a drive. Oh – and he’s invited Philip and Isabel and I to
share his box at the Opera. I’m looking forward to that.’

‘I see.’
Clever Rock – I wish I’d thought of that one
. ‘And how does
Lord Philip view all this?’

Long, silky
lashes veiled the violet eyes. ‘With fortitude. It’s to be
Iphigénie en
Aulide
and he doesn’t care for
Gluck.’

Just at that
moment, Gluck was not all Lord Philip didn’t care for. After twenty
minutes spent trying to corner his uncommonly elusive fiancée, he
did so only to discover that she was behaving unusually like her
mother.

‘At last!’ he
said, manoeuvring her into an alcove. ‘Now – what the devil was
that fellow saying to you?’

Isabel regarded
him innocently. ‘What fellow? Monsieur de Fontenac?’

‘No – Monsier
le Marquis.’

Light dawned.
‘Oh – Amberley.’

Philip’s temper
began to rise. ‘Yes – Amberley. What was he saying to you?’

‘Saying to me?’
she repeated vaguely. ‘Why nothing very remarkable. He asked if we
were going to the Queensbury rout. Or no – that might have been Mr
Consett.’ She paused doubtfully, a tiny frown creasing her brow.
Then it cleared and she said happily, ‘But no – I was right the
first time. It was Mr Consett who talked about Mrs Clive.’

If Lord Philip
had been in the habit of grinding his teeth he might have done so
then. As it was, goaded, he said, ‘Well, perhaps you’ll explain
just what there was in that to make you blush like a poppy?’

‘Surely, my
lord,’ she asked, about to use of her fan and then remembering
she’d broken it, ‘you don’t expect me to repeat it to you?’

‘Yes. I
do.’

The brown eyes
widened and filled with shocked reproof.

‘But I couldn’t
possibly! I hesitate to say it, but you must know as well as I do
that … that some of Mr Consett’s tales are rather
warm
!’

There was
glacial silence. Then, ‘In which case,’ retorted Philip with
relish, ‘you shouldn’t have been listening to them. Do I take it
that Lord Amberley’s conversation was also …
rather
warm
?’

Isabel lifted a
limpid gaze to meet his lordship’s thoroughly annoyed blue one.

‘Oh no,’ she
replied sweetly. ‘Lord Amberley is all courtesy – and extremely
charming. I like him very much.’

Something he
took for anger passed like a red-hot wire through Philip’s chest
and his mouth set in a grim line.

‘Do you?’ he
asked frigidly. ‘Then it seems I am answered, doesn’t it?’

March passed,
cold and blusteringly equinoctial, and gave way to rainbow-hued
April – and still the Marquis pursued, in a desultory fashion, his
policy of vigilant laisser-faire. And then, towards the end of the
month and quite without warning, something occurred to change his
mind.

It began at the
Cocoa-Tree where he and the Honourable Jack Ingram passed a
pleasant hour at picquet before being joined by the Duke of
Rockliffe who, it appeared had won a thousand guineas at
écarté
, lost them again at Hazard and subsequently decided
that gaming was a tedious pastime.

Sighing, Jack
pushed the cards aside and ordered a bottle of canary.

‘If, by that,
you mean you wish you’d stuck to
écarté
,’ he said
good-naturedly, ‘I entirely agree with you.’

‘And if by
that
,’ replied his Grace, casually drawing up a chair and
giving the full skirt of his black brocade coat a practised flick
as he sat down, ‘you mean that I’m interrupting your game, you are
perfectly right. I am. I have a firm belief that one’s friends have
a duty to share one’s misfortunes.’

The Marquis
grinned. ‘You hear that, Jack? He needs cheering up. Tell him a
bawdy story.’

Mr Ingram was
busy counting up points. ‘
You
tell him one. Devil take it -
you beat me!’ He threw down the pencil and leaned back in his chair
in mock disgust. Then, ‘Or better still, let him tell
us
one. Come on, Rock – what’s the latest gossip?’

The Duke
sighed. ‘Nothing new,’ he said regretfully. ‘Depressing, isn’t
it?’

‘It must be,’
agreed Amberley sympathetically. ‘And mentally taxing too, I
shouldn’t wonder. What
will
you find to talk about?’

Rockliffe
surveyed him from beneath mocking lids and then replied with a
single, pleasantly-delivered word of explicit vulgarity.

His lordship
laughed. ‘You’ve met Mistress Vernon’s parrot.’

‘Yes.’ The Duke
raised his glass to the light and examined it meditatively. ‘A
singularly ill-mannered bird. I am not enamoured of it. It … er …
spits.’

‘It
what
?’ asked Jack.

‘Spits,’
obliged Amberley. ‘And does it spit at you, Rock?’

‘It spits at
everyone,’ came the pained reply. And then, ‘Though one cannot but
wonder how you would know that when you never call in Jermyn
Street?’ He paused and when the Marquis merely grinned at him,
added, ‘One also wonders if it did not spit at the estimable Mr
Garfield as he knelt at the divine Rosalind’s feet.’

Just for an
instant, the candlelight danced oddly before Amberley’s eyes and
the cheerful sounds of the room became muffled, like things heard
under-water. Then the world righted itself and he heard Jack say,
‘Do you mean Lewis Garfield has actually offered for her? I never
thought he’d work up the nerve.’

‘And was he
accepted?’ asked the Marquis, carefully remote.

Rockliffe
considered the sudden absence of amusement in his friend’s voice
and the hint of strain in his eyes. They did not surprise him but,
even though he felt a certain sympathy, he couldn’t resist one tiny
jibe.

‘My dear
Dominic – I thought you disapproved of idle gossip?’

Amberley said
nothing. Jack glanced at him and drew a sharp breath, his gaze
widening suddenly. Then he turned back to the Duke and said easily,
‘Well, I don’t – so tell me. Has she accepted him?’

A faint smile
curled Rockliffe’s mouth. ‘Dear Jack. Always so
good
.’ He
sighed. ‘No, my loved ones. To the best of my knowledge, she has
not accepted him and he is now drowning his sorrows in the other
room.’

The icy
constriction in Amberley’s chest eased a little. He said
expressionlessly, ‘I doubt you had this from Garfield himself. He’s
not exactly a bosom-friend of yours.’

‘True. But one
hears things, you know.’ The Duke sought in his pocket for his
snuff-box. ‘I imagine the lady was perfectly polite – but, one
hopes, extremely final. Dear Lewis may have a great deal of money
but he is totally bereft of either wit or charm. On the other hand,
he is undoubtedly a great improvement on previous offers.’ He
smiled blandly at Amberley and, flicking open the silver box with
one long finger, held it out to him. ‘De Lamerie – circa 1740, I
suspect. Quite pretty … though a trifle heavily chased. But
possibly you do not admire the use of the rococo in so small an
object?’