Parfit Knight (24 page)

‘Presumably,
from Domi
nic
. My dear, it’s true and you have to face
it.’

To herself,
Rosalind said, ‘Not this; not now. I can’t stand it.’ And then,
aloud, ‘But he can’t know. If he knew, he’d have told me. And it
doesn’t matter. The accident wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t driving,
was he?’

Philip remained
silent. He stared at her white, miserable face and hated
himself.

‘I don’t care,’
she said stubbornly. ‘It’s not important.’

‘Of course it’s
important. It’s left you blind for twelve years.’

‘If it doesn’t
matter to me, it need not matter to you,’ she said, her voice
little more than a whisper. ‘It’s my decision, not yours. And if he
asks me, I’ll marry him.’

He dropped on
one knee beside her chair and took her hands. They were cold as
wax.

‘Rose – try to
understand. His part in your accident matters – but less than the
fact that he’s tried to hide it. And he must know; if you spoke to
him about it, he couldn’t not! You say he will ask you to marry him
… well, supposing he did? Would you ever be sure he hadn’t done so
out of pity or guilt? And knowing that he had deceived you once,
could you ever completely trust him? It won’t do – don’t you see?
And I want something better for you than that.’

‘There
is
nothing better than that. I love him.’

‘Rosie, I know.
And I’m so very, very sorry.’

The violet eyes
were bleak and drowning but she lifted her chin and said, ‘I won’t
believe it unless he tells me so. It isn’t as you think and
tomorrow you’ll find out how wrong you are – that he isn’t capable
of any of it. It will be alright. All I have to do is wait.’

At just before
nine on the following morning, the Marquis was about to sit down to
breakfast when he was informed that Lord Philip Vernon had arrived
to see him and was waiting in the library. For a long moment,
Amberley said nothing but stared meditatively at his butler; and
then, without any visible change in his expression, ‘Oh hell!’

‘My lord?’
queried Barrow, unaccustomed to this kind of reception.

The Marquis got
up.

‘I said “Oh
hell”,’ he repeated kindly. ‘And it probably will be. There’s no
need for you to return to the library – I’ll see his lordship now.
And Barrow … ?’

‘Yes, my
lord?’

‘I don’t wish
to be disturbed unless I ring – in which case you will come
yourself. Understand?’

Barrow bowed.
He had, of course, heard tales of drawing-room brawls but had never
expected to receive such an order in this house. He drew a
lugubrious sigh and wondered what the world was coming to.

Lord Philip,
sombre in black velvet, was standing at a window frowning down into
the square but he turned as the doors opened and looked across into
Amberley’s eyes. The Marquis met that stern gaze with one equally
direct but expressionless and then, closing the doors behind him,
walked unhurriedly towards his guest.

‘Good morning.
I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for very long?’

The calm
courtesy of this overture made Philip suddenly aware of his
perennial problems in dealing with Amberley and he reminded himself
not to lose his temper.

‘Not at all,’
he replied curtly. ‘I imagine you know why I’m here?’

An odd smile
flickered in the grey-green eyes.

‘Well, no. In
fact, I don’t. It is about last night, of course – but as yet I am
not quite sure whether you’ve come to thank me or to … quarrel with
me. But I’m forgetting my manners. Won’t you sit down?’

‘Thank you, no.
And the answer is that it is neither – I hope. No doubt you acted
with the best of intentions when you took my sister home,’ a
decidedly dubious note crept in here, ‘but I should naturally have
preferred it if you’d have seen fit to return her to me.’

‘Did you happen
to see in exactly what state she arrived home?’ asked the Marquis
interestedly.

Philip
stiffened. ‘I – well, no.’

‘I see. And I
daresay you received some sort of explanation from Robert
Dacre?’

‘Yes.’

‘An explanation
which I doubt your sister confirmed.’ It was not a question.

Philip found
himself recalling in precise terms the unsatisfactory nature common
to both conflicting accounts. ‘I really don’t see where this is
getting us.’

There was a
pause and then Amberley shrugged.

‘Nowhere,
perhaps. But I generally prefer fighting on solid ground. Very well
– what is it you wished to say to me?’

And Philip, who
had been up half the night rehearsing in detail what he intended to
say, suddenly experienced the demoralising sensation that something
was missing. He clasped his hands behind his back and said briefly,
‘I believe you planned to wait upon my sister this morning. I’ve
come to save you the trouble.’

This was
several steps beyond what Amberley had been expecting and his eyes
widened a little. He said slowly, ‘I don’t think I understand you.
What I have to say to Mistress Vernon is – forgive me – a matter
which is between her and myself and not something I propose to
discuss with you. At least, not yet.’

‘Is it not?’
demanded his lordship. ‘It would seem the fact that Rosalind is in
my care has escaped your attention.’

‘It certainly
escaped yours last night,’ retorted Amberley dryly. ‘But perhaps
you’re making up for lost time?’

The hold that
Philip had over his temper suffered a relapse.

‘What the devil
do you mean by that?’

‘I mean that
Robert Dacre isn’t a fit companion for any girl – let alone one
with your sister’s difficulties. And especially in such a location
as Vauxhall. I don’t know how much she told you of what happened –
though I suspect consideration for Mistress Dacre caused it to be
rather less than she told me and that was little enough – but when
I found her she was alone, dishevelled and very frightened. I won’t
bore you or abuse her confidence by relating details but this I
will say; the prime cause of her distress was Robert Dacre and, if
I’d known then what I know now, I would have done considerably more
than just knock him down. I do you the credit to think that, had
you been in my place, you would have felt exactly the same. But in
case I’m wrong, I would like to point out that there had better not
be any further instances of a similar nature. I trust I make myself
quite clear?’

‘Perfectly!’ A
tinge of angry colour began to burn high in Philip’s cheeks. ‘And I
will do the same. For whatever service you rendered Rosalind last
night, I give you her thanks – but beg leave to inform you that,
since there is no future in any further communication between you,
I should prefer there not to be any. In short, my lord Marquis, if
you call in Jermyn Street, my butler will have instructions not to
admit you.’

Amberley went
white and, for an instant, his eyes flared dangerously. Then, with
a perceptible effort, he said evenly, ‘May I ask why?’

‘Certainly.
Rosalind has already suffered enough at your hands and I am merely
employing my right to protect her from your thoughtless and
light-minded attentions.’

‘My
what
?’ The normally pleasant voice cut like a lash.

Just for a
minute, Philip entertained the enlivening hope that he was about to
be served in the same manner as the unfortunate Mr Dacre. Then it
passed and he said, ‘Are they not, then?’

‘No. They are
not.’ The Marquis discovered that his hands were not quite steady.
‘And I think you’ll find that Mistress Vernon knows that.’

‘Mistress
Vernon knows a number of things that might surprise you,’ came the
sardonic reply. ‘But are you asking me to believe that you mean
marriage?’

‘I’m not asking
you to believe anything – yet.’

His lordship
gave a brief, unamused laugh. ‘Quite. And that answers my question,
doesn’t it?’

‘No – damn you,
it doesn’t!’ snapped the Marquis, driven at last to abandon his
controlled reserve. ‘And I’ve had more than enough of your
insulting insinuations. God knows where you obtained these peculiar
notions of my character but it’s time, for the good of your sister,
that you said goodbye to them. And if it will help you do so, I’m
willing to request your permission to pay my addresses to her in
form. Does that make you happy?’

The stunned
amazement in Lord Philip’s eyes was replaced by a look of blazing
anger.

‘
Happy
?’
he echoed scornfully. ‘You must be insane. I’d rather see her dead
at my feet than married to you!’

Amberley
blinked as though unable to believe he had heard aright.

‘But why? You
can’t surely be simpleton enough to despise me solely on account of
what you think I did to Robert Dacre – so what in hell’s name is
it?’

‘It’s quite
simple,’ replied Philip. ‘I want Rosalind to marry a man with some
notion of honour and decency – not a liar, a libertine and a
coward.’

Green sparks
flashed in a face that had no more colour to lose and the Marquis
took a swift step forward, his hands clenched tight at his sides.
Then he checked himself and, breathing hard, said with perilous
softness, ‘You must be well aware that, as both a guest in my house
and the brother of the lady I hope to make my wife, I cannot answer
you as I should wish. But – ‘

‘Don’t,’ begged
Philip, ‘allow that to stand in your way.’

Amberley eyed
him with icy contempt. ‘Try not to be a bigger fool than God made
you. There is nothing you can say that will make me issue the
challenge it seems you so badly want. And I see no point in
continuing this conversation; for, though you have successfully
made plain your opposition, you must know as well as I do that
Rosalind will make her own decision. And I doubt if she agrees with
you.’

Something in
the last sentence coupled with the cool assurance in the crisp tone
sent Philip’s temperature soaring to boiling point and if he could
have thought of any pretext, however slight, for calling Amberley
out, he would not have hesitated. But since he could not, he said
in a voice that shook, ‘Don’t count on it, Ballantyne. Life is full
of small disappointments.’

Stark
grey-green eyes met glitteringly hostile blue ones and the silence
– heavy, profound and alarmingly total – seemed to stretch on to
infinity. After the first eviscerating stab that marked recognition
of Philip’s words, their significance came slowly, like something
seen from a long way off and the Marquis turned gradually colder,
his stomach coiling with cramp and his nerves vibrating like
plucked wires. Then, with intense concentration, he laid his hands
on the polished wood of his desk and said remotely, ‘I see. How
long have you known?’

‘Since last
night,’ replied Philip, unsurprised but sick with disgust at having
his expectations so swiftly verified. He supposed he should be glad
that the fellow had not troubled to dissemble but he wasn’t. He
merely felt ill. ‘No doubt it’s amused you that it took me so
long.’

Amberley
continued to stare down at his hands, their bloodless grace
outlined against the dark wood. ‘No. In fact, it didn’t. I don’t
believe I thought of it.’ He drew a long, unsteady breath. ‘And …
Rosalind? You’ve told her?’

‘Of course.
Someone had to, didn’t they?’

‘Yes.’ Very
slowly the Marquis stood upright. A shaft of sunlight rested on his
face, throwing its lines and planes into harsh relief. He looked
suddenly very tired. ‘Are you saying that she doesn’t wish to
receive me?’

Philip wished
he could bring himself to tell the one lie that would solve all his
problems but he couldn’t quite do it. Instead, he said
sarcastically, ‘What did you expect?’

‘I … nothing.
But I hoped that perhaps she would allow me the chance to
explain.’

‘You’ve had
that chance since before you left Oakleigh. And explain how
exactly? With more lies? God!’ said Lord Philip with wrathful
incredulity. ‘It must be wonderful to be as sure of oneself as you
are – to be able to believe yourself so irresistible that twelve
years of blindness and four months of deceit don’t matter! You once
called me insensitive but I don’t think you’ve the remotest
conception of what she’s been through; the endless bloody
treatments that made her sick or crippled her with pain; the fear
and nightmares and the sheer, gruelling hard work that has made her
what you see. And now you say you want to marry her – though God
alone knows why. Don’t you think,’ he finished acidly, ‘that you’ve
done enough?’

Something not
quite a smile touched Amberley’s mouth and his eyes were bleak.
Then he made a small gesture of capitulation, more hopeless than
resigned, and said quietly, ‘More than enough, it seems. But I
promised to call today and therefore I shall do so – merely to
tender my apologies. You will permit that, I presume?’

‘Hardly,’ came
the cold reply. ‘Rosalind has no need of either you or your
apologies and if you cause her any more distress by trying to force
your way into her presence, I’ll take pleasure in kicking you down
the steps myself. If you’ll only let her alone, she’ll be happily
married by midsummer.’

The Marquis was
suddenly very still. ‘Who?’ was all he said.

Philip picked
up his elegant tricorne from where it lay on a side-table and
gripped it in fingers that were stiff and tight.

‘The Duke of
Rockliffe,’ he replied mockingly. ‘I’m surprised you hadn’t
guessed.’

*

It was almost
an hour before, out of the shattered remnants of Amberley’s
self-command, came sufficient resolution to overcome his
indifference and make him resume the painful business of thought
and movement. Even then he didn’t touch on the question of
Rosalind’s reaction. It lay like a raw, gaping wound on his mind –
expected and understood, but too ugly to be looked at. So he
thought, instead, of that other legacy that Philip had left behind
him. And finally he roused himself to investigate it.