Parfit Knight (31 page)

‘We don’t
intend to,’ sighed Rosalind. And then, to the Dowager, ‘I must
apologise for my brother, Madame. It seems he is fated to be
continually at a disadvantage with your family.’

‘
Oui - ça ce
voit
,’ agreed Eloise. She stood up and directed a twinkling
smile at his lordship. ‘
Toutefois
… I am very happy to see
you, my lord. I have been hoping I might do so.’

That smile was
so uncannily familiar that it was a moment or two before Philip
recovered sufficiently to bow over the small, shapely hand she
extended to him. He coloured hotly and said, ‘I b-beg your pardon,
Madame. For my intrusion and also for my appearance.’

She laughed.
‘But do not! One sees that you have ridden
ventre à terre
in
pursuit of … your sister … and are a little out of temper. I do not
regard it,
je vous assure
!’

Philip’s mouth
relaxed a little as he responded involuntarily to her charm.

‘I thank you,
Madame – but the truth is that I followed my bride-to-be. I’ve
spent altogether too much time worrying over Rosalind’s concerns
and - save that I have a number of apologies to deliver presently
to your son - I intend, in future, to leave them in her own charge.
It’s high time I began putting my own house in order … and, if you
will permit me, I should like to ask Mistress Dacre to walk with me
in your garden.’

Eloise shook
her head decisively. ‘
Mais, non
– the garden is much too
public! Your sister and I, we shall leave you here and Mademoiselle
Isabelle shall pour you a cup of tea.’ She smiled encouragingly at
Isabel. ‘Tea, I have noticed, has a very beneficial effect on the
temper and
monsieur le Capitaine
will appear much less
formidable
when he is seated. Come,
ma fille
.’ And,
taking Rosalind’s hand, she led her quietly out of the room and
closed the door behind her.

Philip showed
no sign of sitting down and nor did he speak, so at length Isabel
said hesitantly, ‘Would you like some tea?’

‘No,’ said
Philip curtly. And then, drawing a deep breath, ‘I’d like to know
what you expect of our marriage.’

Startled brown
eyes flew to meet his.

‘I – don’t know
what you m-mean.’

‘Yes, you do.
When it was first arranged, we scarcely knew each other but that’s
no longer true, is it? And, although I know you accepted me for the
sake of the money, I want to know if … if you have come to like me
at all for myself.’

Isabel stared
fixedly down at her hands, her heart beating very fast.

‘Does it
matter?’ she asked carefully.

‘Yes, damn it –
it does!’ Philip dropped romantically on one knee and took her
shoulders in an unromantic and somewhat exasperated grasp. ‘Because
it’s only fair to warn you that, if you’re looking for a
fashionable alliance where you can do as you please, you’d better
not marry me! It’s true that I didn’t expect to be jealous – didn’t
think I
could
be – but I am. And, once you’re my wife, if I
catch you flirting with any man under eighty, I’ll knock his teeth
down his throat!’

‘Oh,’ breathed
Isabel, entranced by this evidence of lover-like ardour. All her
longings for a gentle, poetic courtship melted into the realm of
things forgotten and unregretted and she said, ‘Would you
really?’

‘Yes. Why do
you think I blew a hole through Amberley? And
don’t
say it
was because of Rosalind. I’m sick to death of the whole tedious
business and it’s bad enough that I’ll have to let
him
think
it was that – but I can hardly say that I felt like killing him
because you seemed a good deal fonder of him than you were of me,
now can I?’

‘No – of course
not.’ A sweet radiance settled on Isabel’s face and she smiled
shyly. ‘B-but you were quite wrong, you know. I like Lord Amberley,
of course – but nothing more than that. And I never flirted with
him or anyone else.’

‘No?’

‘No. I rather
hoped, you see, that you m-might flirt with me yourself.’

‘Really?’
Philip grinned suddenly. ‘Then I’d better take care to do so in
future, hadn’t I?’

She nodded and
stared in apparent fascination at his cravat.

‘You’ve been
mistaken about other things too – such as the money. I never …
‘

‘Yes?’ The
sapphire gaze sharpened suddenly. ‘You never what?’

‘I never cared
about it,’ she replied simply. ‘Papa did – but not me. I – I would
have married you anyway but I thought you just wanted a … a
suitable match.’

Philip’s hands
tightened hard on her shoulders and he stood up, pulling her with
him.

‘I did – then,’
he said unsteadily. ‘Or, at least, I thought I did. But that was
before I knew you and came to love you so. I’ve been a fool – but
no more.
Oh my dear
… ‘

And then she
was in his arms and the need for words was gone as she lifted her
face to his.

*

Alone with the
Dowager, Rosalind forced herself to ask the question that had been
in her mind for the last hour. ‘Madame, if Lord Amberley were to
ask me to marry him and – and I were to say yes - would you mind? I
imagine that, like any mother, you would prefer that your son’s
wife was not … did not have a disability.’

Eloise reached
out and took her hand. She said, ‘
Ma chère
, I care only that
my son’s wife loves him. That you are here at all says that you do
– and it is enough,
enfin
.’

Rosalind clung
to the slender hand and silence fell for a moment. Then, as if the
words had been wrenched from her, she said, ‘Oh God – why doesn’t
he come? It’s been
hours
.’

Sympathy
mingled with satisfaction in the Dowager’s eyes and she squeezed
Rosalind’s hand with absent affection. ‘Yes. But that is nothing so
extraordinary and no reason to suppose him lying dead in a
ditch.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No. Dominique
is a very good horseman and quite able to take care of himself –
even with only one hand. He will come when he is ready. And, when
he does, it will be to this room for always he enters the house
from the garden when coming back from the stables. It is his habit,
you understand. And me, I think it will be better that he first
sees you and not Milord Philippe – who is, one hopes, more happily
engaged.’ She got up and shook out her skirts. ‘
Voyons
… I
am enjoying myself very much today. And now I think I shall enjoy
myself some more and tell
mon pauvre
Gaston that we shall be
five for dinner. He will make me a sour face and say it cannot be
done – which I find fort
amusant
for secretly he is pleased
and knows that it can. You will not mind if I leave you,
ma
chère
?’

‘Not at all,’
replied Rosalind politely. And wished it was true.

She also
wished, as she sat quite alone and straining every nerve to hear
any sound that might warn her of the Marquis’s approach, that she
could remember any of the things she had planned to say. But they
had vanished beyond recall, along with a large measure of her
composure and she had the nasty feeling that, when the time came,
she might find herself blurting out something so hopelessly gauche
that he would be unable to answer it truthfully.

And the truth
was important. Before listening to Isabel it had not seemed
possible that his lordship could hold himself responsible for her
blindness but now it appeared the most likely explanation. And that
was as dangerous as it was ridiculous for it meant that Philip
might well have been right about one thing at least.

How do you
know it isn’t from pity or guilt
?

Or a quixotic
but misplaced attempt to make amends in the only way open to him,
thought Rosalind miserably; and, knowing the Marquis, that was by
far the most likely of the three. Unless …

And then there
were light footsteps on the stone terrace outside and she
stiffened, her hands clenched tight in her lap.

Deep in his own
unpleasant thoughts, Amberley had closed the door behind him and
was several steps into the room before he realised that she was
there. He froze, unprepared either for the sight of her or what it
did to him; and then, with a kind of groping gesture, he stretched
out his hand to close his fingers on the solid back of a chair. The
seconds ticked by in silence while he stared wordlessly at her from
eyes full of shock and disbelief and a queer, desperate hunger.

Rosalind’s
throat tightened with the agony of waiting in her endless,
intolerable darkness and then she said stupidly, ‘You are surprised
to see me here, I suppose.’

The lame futile
words echoed on and on in the stillness that followed and, because
she had no way of knowing that the reason he did not speak was
because he couldn’t trust his voice, she bent her head and said
flatly, ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.’

With an effort,
he tore his eyes from her downcast face to study his own whitened
knuckles. ‘Why did you?’

The sound of
his voice, harsh, brittle and stripped of its customary lightness,
hit Rosalind like a blow for it made him a stranger. She shivered,
feeling suddenly cold and very alone. His voice was all she had to
rely on and, without it, there seemed to be nothing left.

‘I came to ask
you something I had thought important,’ she said carefully. ‘But I
think that I may have been … mistaken.’

‘Oh I doubt
it.’ He stood straight, his hand falling clenched at his side.
‘You’d like me to explain myself – isn’t that it? To tell you why I
never thought fit to mention the small matter of it being my coach
that – that took away your sight? Well, I can do so if you wish.
But there seems to be little point since you’d be quite mad to
believe me.’

The flippancy
was back but with a razor-edged bitterness.

‘No – it’s not
that.’ She made a tiny hurt movement that made him turn away,
scalded.

He said, ‘What
then?’ And had to wait a long time for her answer.

‘I wanted to
ask you if it’s true that you blame yourself for the accident. Do
you?’

‘Yes,’ he
replied tersely. ‘How could I not? And that, of course, is why I …
or no. It won’t cure anything, so why say it? And my high regard
for your intelligence suggests that you’ve already worked it out
for yourself anyway.’

Rosalind’s
heart sank and she discovered that she felt rather sick.

‘Yes. I – I
think so,’ she said tonelessly. ‘And there is no need for you to
sacrifice yourself. Nor, indeed, would I wish you to. I believe
Philip allowed you to understand that I – that I held you
responsible, but it isn’t so. No blame attaches to you for you
weren’t driving, were you? And if the fault is to be laid at
anyone’s door, then it should be mine for failing to heed Philip’s
warning.’ She came slowly to her feet and tried to smile. ‘So you
owe me nothing and are quite free … and that is all I wanted to
say. W-will you pull the bell, please? I’m afraid I don’t know
where – ‘

‘In a moment.’
He turned to look at her and, for the first time became aware of
her pallor and the desolation in her eyes. He frowned and said
sharply, ‘What do you mean – that I’m free and need not sacrifice
myself. Did you suppose I intended to?’

Her smile went
somewhat awry. ‘Didn’t you?’

‘No. Indeed,
I’m hard-pressed to see how I could.’ And there he stopped as the
answer drove the breath from his lungs. Then, in a very odd tone,
he remarked, ‘I detect the fell hand of Lord Philip. What exactly
has he said to you?’

‘Nothing that
you haven’t said yourself – or as good as,’ she retorted
desperately. Her control was in shreds and she knew it.
‘
Please
let it alone. I want to go home.’

‘Presently,’
came the inflexible reply. ‘First I want an answer. Just for a
moment there you had me wondering if you didn’t suspect me of
offering you my hand and heart in an orgy of expiation or some such
thing – but, from what you’ve just said, it can’t be that. Oh – I
know that I’ve made you no such offer but you must have been aware
that I was going to. And though I can well imagine Philip
misdoubting my motives, I can’t say I’d have expected you to
believe him – and I’m quite sure that I never said anything to
cause you to do so. So what in hell’s name is it?’

‘But – but you
did
,’ averred Rosalind, bewildered. ‘At least, you were
going to before you thought better of it.’

He stared at
her helplessly, forcing down the desire to take her in his arms –
anything that would stop her looking like that. Then, quite without
warning, he realised what she meant. He said, ‘Oh God – yes. I see
– I think.’ And foolishly, breathlessly, he began to laugh at the
unparalleled irony of it.

Rosalind
listened, felt something wet on her cheeks and simultaneously
realised that she could endure no more. She turned, took two swift
steps and collided painfully with a table.

The laughter
ceased as if cut with a knife and there was suddenly a hand on her
arm and an achingly familiar voice saying unsteadily, ‘My dear –
don’t. I can’t stand it.’

But it was too
late for the choking sobs were already escaping from her throat;
and bending her head over the polished wood where her hands lay,
she stopped fighting and gave way to them.

The sound of it
tore at Amberley’s heart and, freeing his left arm from the sling,
he gathered her close against his chest, his right hand cradling
her head with quiet protectiveness. He did not try to speak;
indeed, he could not have done so and, above her hair, his eyes
were full of anguished tenderness, his face white and set. He
remained quite still until the sobs lessened and died and then,
producing a handkerchief from his pocket, he proceeded to dry her
wet cheeks.