Parfit Knight (30 page)

There was a
long, nerve-racking pause and then Robert said furiously, ‘Damn you
– what choice to I have?’

‘None,’ replied
Philip, coldly indifferent. ‘But whose fault is that?’

*

At about the
time that Lord Philip arrived in Clarges Street, his betrothed -
who had no idea of the stirring events taking place at her home –
called on Rosalind and found her pacing restlessly up and down the
parlour in an orgy of frustration.

‘Isabel – just
the person!’ she exclaimed, abruptly ceasing her perambulations.
And then, anxiously, ‘Philip isn’t with you, is he?’

‘No.’ Isabel
looked faintly mystified. ‘I’ve been to Phanie’s for a fitting for
my wedding dress. Why?’

‘It doesn’t
matter. It’s just that he went to Clarges Street to see you.’

‘Oh.’ Isabel
turned rather pink. ‘Then perhaps I ought to go home – or do you
think it would be better to wait for him here?’

‘Neither,’ said
Rosalind firmly, her eyes sparkling with determination. ‘If you go,
you’ll probably miss him. And when he finds you are out, I imagine
he’ll go to his club. He certainly won’t come back here.’ She
laughed oddly. ‘Yes. It’s perfect – couldn’t be better.’

‘
What
couldn’t?’ asked Isabel, baffled. And then, with dire foreboding,
‘You’re plotting something, aren’t you? Something dreadful.’

‘Yes – and no.’
Rosalind’s smile was tinged with brittle brilliance. ‘I just
thought you might like to go for a little drive with me. Will
you?’

‘I might,’ came
the cautious reply. ‘Where to?’

‘Richmond,’
said Mistress Vernon casually. ‘Philip wouldn’t take me … but I
think that, if we left him a note, he might follow us.’

‘But why?’

‘Because you
are with me.’

‘I meant,’ said
Isabel dryly, ‘why are we going?’

Rosalind
laughed again and the sound had a recklessness that was strangely
disquieting.

‘To see Lord
Amberley – and lay a ghost. I hope.’

‘
Mon
fils
, I do not mind if you do not wish to talk to me,’ lied the
Dowager Marchioness of Amberley with an apparent placidity designed
to cover her inner anxiety, ‘but the roses you are scraping off
that plate are what make it part of a set. Also, I do not like the
noise.’

Starting
slightly, the Marquis frowned down at the knife he had been running
absently back and forth across the gleaming surface of a small
Sèvres plate and laid it aside.

‘I beg your
pardon,’ he said with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. ‘I
was thinking of something else. I am a poor guest, am I not?’

‘
Affreux
,’ she agreed frankly, her gaze on the black silk
sling that supported his left arm. It lent him a romantically
heroic appearance that accorded rather well with the bleak pallor
of his face but Eloise appreciated neither. Still less did she
appreciate the phrase ‘a slight accident’ – which was all the
explanation he would give.

He said wryly,
‘Perhaps I should have gone to Amberley.’

His mother
rested her chin on one slender palm and surveyed him enigmatically
across the table. ‘Why did you not, then?’

And that
brought him up short. Why hadn’t he? Because he hadn’t wanted to go
that far away? Because he had hoped against hope that something
might change? Folly. One had as well try grasping the moon’s
reflection in a pond. The only solid truth was that he could not
stay in London for everyone to see that his duel with Lord Philip
had been no joke – and could not yet face the prospect of meeting
Rosalind at some social engagement or other. So he had come to
Richmond in time to sit over a late breakfast with Eloise and tell
her none of the things she wanted to know.

His mother was
an unusual woman – and, in some ways, remarkable. He knew she would
sooner bleed to death than burden him with her concern and her
questions; but they were there nonetheless and he found himself
vaguely regretting that he had come.

The word vague,
he thought, seemed to say it all – to describe his every thought,
word and deed; he even felt
vaguely
unwell for the dull
throbbing of his arm was echoed by a nagging ache in his head that
would not go away. He was used to none of it and it produced a
degree of irritation that occasionally prompted him to cut through
the cocoon of mists and shadows with the lash of his tongue. It did
so now and, because he would not speak to his mother that way, he
stood up, saying abruptly, ‘I thought I might go abroad again.’

Dismay clutched
at the Dowager’s heart but she merely said, ‘Oh? And where to this
time?’

He shrugged and
his mouth twisted in something not quite a smile.

‘Anywhere. I
don’t know. It really isn’t important.’

This was too
much for Eloise and, colouring faintly, she said, ‘It is
Mademoiselle Vernon,
n’est-ce-pas
? I do not like to ask –
but if it is to take you away again, I think I must. She will not
have you, la petite?
C’est ça
?’

‘
Oui – c’est
ça
.’ There was no attempt at lightness now and his face was as
hard and expressionless as a carved mask.

‘Oh. I am very
sorry. You told her?’

‘Not I, no. Her
brother.’ And for all I know he may even be regretting it thanks to
Rock. But it’s too late now. The damage is done and past mending.
He looked frozenly at Eloise’s bent head and said, ‘I’m sorry,
maman
. I can’t discuss it yet. Have you anything in your
stables that is up to my weight?’

She nodded. It
occurred to her that he was unwise – in this mood and with only one
arm – to go out riding but she knew better than to say so.

‘Ask them to
saddle Vulcan.’

‘Thank you.’
Again that tight, meaningless smile. Then, ‘Don’t worry. I won’t
ride
ventre à terre
and I’ll try to come back in a more
civilised humour.’ And he was gone.

For a long
time, Eloise sat quite still looking at a rather blurred image of
the closed door and then, with an air of quiet desperation, she
picked up her hat and walked resolutely out into the sunshine of
her garden.

She was still
there when her major-domo came to inform her that she had visitors.
Two young ladies, he said, bristling with disapproval, who had
asked first for Monsieur le Marquis.

The Dowager
laid down her trowel and thoughtfully pulled the gloves from her
hands. Then she said quietly, ‘
Merci
, Gaston. I will see
these young ladies.’

Gaston sniffed.
‘
Oui, Madame
.’

Eloise regarded
him with a twinkle of mischievous sympathy.

‘I know,
mon
vieux
– I know. But we are no longer young, you and I - and the
world changes. Also, two young ladies are better than one, so it
could be worse.’ And on this somewhat obscure utterance, she
drifted away into the house.

Isabel turned
apprehensively as the door opened and received the confused
impression that this small, elegant lady in apple-green silk could
not possibly be the Marquis’s mother. Then she recognised the line
of cheek and jaw, realised that the delicate skin was no longer
young and the exquisitely-dressed silvery hair perfectly natural;
and, looking into the Dowager’s clear green eyes, said impulsively,
‘Oh – but you are so like your son!’

Eloise gave a
sweet rippling laugh but, even as she replied, her gaze was already
on Rosalind. ‘
Merci du compliment
, mademoiselle – I am happy
that you think so. But it seems that you have the advantage?’

Isabel flushed
and wondered foolishly why no one had thought to mention that the
Dowager Marchioness was French.

‘I – I beg your
pardon, Madame,’ she said haltingly. ‘It must seem odd to you but I
– that is, we – have come to – to … ‘

Rosalind’s
fingers tightened on Isabel’s arm and then fell away as she took a
small, uncertain step forward.

‘We came
because I hoped to speak to his lordship,’ she said baldly. ‘And
Mistress Dacre came with me because I am blind.’

‘Ah.’ Eloise’s
gaze became positively owlish as she studied the exquisite face.
‘And what you have to say to my son, Mademoiselle Vernon – it will
not wait?’

‘No. It will
not wait,’ came the tense reply. Then, differently, ‘You know who I
am?’

‘
Bien
sûr
,’ nodded Eloise. And thought,
You are the one for whom
my Dominique is
in purgatory – and you look as though you
are sharing it with him
. ‘Monsieur le Marquis has gone out
riding but he will be back. You will await him, yes?’

‘Yes, please –
if we may.’ The violet eyes grew dark with worry. ‘But how can he
ride? It was only yesterday he had a bullet through his arm!’

The Dowager’s
slim shoulders stiffened and she said flatly, ‘A bullet, you say?
Vraiment
? I think we should sit down.’

‘It’s alright,
Madame,’ said Isabel quickly. ‘Philip said it was not serious –
just a flesh wound.’

‘Philippe?’
queried Eloise. And then, ‘But yes! I have it now. He is your
brother, is he not, Mademoiselle Vernon?’

‘Yes. He is
also,’ said Rosalind reluctantly, ‘the gentleman responsible for
shooting Lord Amberley. You didn’t know?’

‘Me – I know
nothing!’ said the Dowager, shrugging emphatically. ‘Dominique is
never communicative – and today less so than ever. So. You speak to
me of a duel, do you not?’

‘Yes. I’m so
sorry but – ‘

‘And Milord
Philippe, he was not shot?’

‘No.’
Rosalind’s cheeks gained a little colour. ‘I – I understand that
Lord Amberley fired in the air. It was all a – a misunderstanding
and Philip deeply regrets wounding him but he thought … at the time
he thought … ‘

‘
Oui,
mademoiselle
?’

Rosalind
clasped and unclasped her hands nervously.

‘It’s all
rather complicated,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I should start at the
beginning?’

A hint of
laughter gleamed in the green eyes.

‘Well, if you
do not, it is of a certainty that no one else will – and me, I am
consumed of a curiosity quite remarkable. But one does not, of
course, wish to pry.’

The
unmistakable note of levity in the attractively-accented voice was
so strongly reminiscent of the Marquis that it brought an ache to
Rosalind’s throat and an answering gleam to her eyes. She said, a
fraction less awkwardly, ‘Of course not. But I think I would like
to tell you.’

‘
Eh
bien
.’ Eloise smiled encouragingly. ‘Then sit down and tell
me.’

It was, as
Rosalind had said, a difficult tale to tell and was made more so by
her determination to deal fairly with everyone concerned. But when
the threads showed signs of becoming tangled, the Dowager sifted
them with some brief and beautifully direct questions that enabled
Rosalind to explain and move easily on. Isabel said nothing and,
indeed, hardly listened. Instead, she wondered hopefully if Lord
Philip would indeed follow them and tried to calculate how soon he
might possibly arrive.

‘So you see,’
finished Rosalind quietly, ‘Philip realises his mistake and means
to acknowledge it to Lord Amberley – so I beg you will not judge
him too harshly, Madame.’

‘I do not judge
him at all,
ma fille
,’ replied the Dowager blandly. ‘You had
better address that request to my son.’

Rosalind smiled
faintly. ‘I won’t need to. It isn’t in his nature to be less than
generous.’

There was a
long pause and then Eloise said bluntly, ‘I make you my
compliments, mademoiselle. It seems you know Dominique very well.
Do you love him?’

A slow flush
stained Rosalind’s cheeks and, bending her head, she said simply,
‘Yes. Too much to let him live through three more days of believing
I blame him for what happened twelve years ago. It’s enough that he
appears to blame himself.’

‘I see.’ The
Dowager’s green gaze rested consideringly on her guest’s tightly
clasped fingers. ‘And if he asks you – you will marry him?’

With a slow,
painful smile, Rosalind lifted her head.

‘That would
depend on why he asked me. You see, he hasn’t … he hasn’t actually
said that he loves me.’

Eloise,
wondering how her usually intelligent son had been so maladroit,
rolled expressive eyes at Isabel, and drawing a long, bracing
breath, came to her feet.

‘I think,’ she
announced buoyantly, ‘that you and Dominique must talk. Meanwhile,
we should have some tea and you will both take off your hats and be
comfortable,
non
? Then we shall enjoy a cosy
tête-à-tête
and make these foolish men very sorry that they
have left us alone to do it.
D’accord
?’

‘
D’accord
,’ responded Isabel shyly. It was very easy, she
reflected, to see where the Marquis had acquired his charm. His
mother had it in abundance.

The tea was
sent for and, over it, in the process of telling her sympathetic
hostess all about her troublesome brother, Mistress Dacre
unwittingly revealed a good deal of the situation between herself
and Lord Philip – all of which the Dowager found much more
interesting than the Honourable Robert’s vagaries. Indeed, Eloise
was just beginning to think that it would be a pity if she were not
to meet the erstwhile Captain when, from the hall, there came
sounds of an arrival that was clearly not that of the Marquis. And
then a tall, dark and exceedingly dusty young man erupted into the
room.

‘
Oh
!’
said Isabel, blushing furiously. ‘Ph-Philip!’

‘
Oh
Isabel
!’ retorted his lordship irascibly. ‘I don’t know why you
sound so surprised – for, having troubled to leave me a note, you
must surely have expected me. Oh – get your hands off me, man!’
This to an affronted Gaston who was still trying to perform his
duty of announcing this hasty guest. He was brushed briskly aside
in a cloud of dust from Philip’s coat and shut firmly out of the
room. ‘Don’t tell me I’ve ridden all this way for nothing!’