Parfit Knight (5 page)

It went
unanswered. Lawson merely bowed and ushered him into the
uncompromising light of the parlour, leaving his lordship feeling
quite unaccustomedly foolish as the doors closed softly behind
him.

‘Please sit
down and get warm,’ the girl invited as she moved away across the
room. Her fingers trailed lightly along the back of a gessoed sofa
and she came to rest beside a handsome sideboard upon which stood a
decanter and glasses. ‘Will you have some claret? At least, I
think
it’s claret – though it seems only fair to warn you
that it may be port.’ She gave a little gurgle of laughter. ‘Are
you prepared to take your chances, sir?’

An answering
gleam leapt to Lord Amberley’s eye. ‘Only provided that you are
prepared to assure me that there is no possibility of it being
ratafia.’

Again that
deliciously husky laugh.

‘You have my
word on it,’ she replied, unstoppering a decanter and carefully
filling a glass. ‘Lawson would die sooner than permit such an
atrocity.’

‘Quite right,’
approved the Marquis. ‘I saw immediately that he was a man of rare
discernment.’

She turned and
one dark eyebrow lifted mischievously as she held out the
glass.

‘Naturally. He
let you in, didn’t he?’

It was his
lordship’s turn to laugh.

‘True – though
I imagine it must have been touch and go,’ he said, crossing to her
side. And then, ‘I can only apologise for my disreputable
appearance and confess that I feel lamentably out of place.’

Her smile was
replaced by a look of doubt. ‘I’m sorry?’

Amberley felt
vaguely baffled. Her composure was remarkable, her manner
refreshingly natural and she seemed anything but a fool – so why
was she pretending not to understand his meaning?

‘Well, it’s
true that I’m not exactly dripping on your carpet,’ he said
lightly, ‘but Chard’s bullet-hole and a short spell on the box of
my chaise haven’t done much for the state of my coat.’

‘
You
drove your coach here?’ she asked blankly.

‘Yes.’ Her
eyes, he noticed, were neither blue nor black but actually an
exquisite shade he could only describe as violet.

They widened
suddenly and, instead of handing him the glass, she set it down
again with a little snap. ‘And you’re wet! Oh, I
do
beg your
pardon – you must be desperately wishing to change your clothes.
Lawson should have told me.’

She sounded
mortified and Amberley, who was beginning to feel as though some
vital point had eluded him, said weakly, ‘It is really of very
little moment, I assure you – merely that I’m not fit to grace your
parlour.’

Something must
have given him away for he heard tiny sound as the breath caught in
her throat and then she said quickly, ‘I’m sorry. You see, I so
rarely meet people who don’t know that I tend to forget … ‘ She
stopped, but only for an instant and lifted her chin a fraction.
‘If your appearance has caused you embarrassment on my account, you
may disregard it. I am blind.’

The Marquis
experienced an unpleasant lurching sensation in the pit of his
stomach, as if the ground had opened up under his feet. Just for a
second, his brain refused to function – and then a dozen muddled
thoughts jostled each other; that it was a tragedy in someone so
young; that her words suggested an isolation that was little short
of criminal; and that, for all her careless tone, it must have been
damnably hard for her to tell him.

He stared at
her helplessly, instinct warning that his first words were
critical. Then, with a hard-won indifference, he said, ‘Are you?
I’m sorry. It is by no means apparent.’

The suggestion
of tension left her shoulders and she gave a tiny shrug.

‘Practice –
though, of course it only works here where I know every piece of
furniture intimately.’ She stretched out her hand, felt delicately
for the glass and held it out to him. ‘Please drink your wine and
I’ll have Lawson see your luggage is taken upstairs so you can
change.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘You can’t possibly go to the
Pheasant, you know. Lawson will tell you that the food is dreadful
and they water the brandy – though I’m not at all sure how he
knows. But you’ll be much more comfortable here – and I expect you
will wish to look in on your coachman later.’

Amberley found
himself smiling in response and then trying to come to terms with
the fact that she couldn’t see him. ‘It’s extremely generous of you
– and, if you are quite certain that it won’t inconvenience you, I
should be pleased to stay.’

‘It’s no
trouble – indeed, you will be doing me a favour for I rarely have
company,’ she informed him with cheerful unconcern. ‘Will dinner in
an hour suit you?’

‘Well that
depends,’ he replied, the humour back in his voice.

‘Upon
what?’

‘Upon whether I
can overcome my scruples and dine with a lady to whom I have not
been introduced.’

A dimple peeped
roguishly beside her mouth. ‘A difficult problem, sir.’

‘But not, I
hope, insurmountable.’ He paused and then added persuasively,
‘Madam, I’m very hungry.’

Her lips parted
on a ripple of laughter and she swept him a graceful curtsy.

‘Very well,
sir. I beg leave to present Mistress Rosalind Vernon of Oakleigh
Manor.’

Setting down
the glass, his lordship took her hand in his and, bowing very low,
raised it to his lips. ‘Mistress Vernon – the Marquis of Amberley
is delighted to make your acquaintance and entirely at your
service.’

She flushed a
little but said teasingly, ‘My goodness – are you really a Marquis?
I had no idea I was in such noble company.’

‘I expect
that’s because I was very badly brought up,’ he apologised
untruthfully. And then, his tone utterly commonplace, ‘I wonder
what I’ve said to put you out of countenance?’

The flush
deepened. ‘Why nothing. It’s just … do gentlemen usually kiss
ladies’ hands when they’re introduced? I don’t know, you see.’

Just for an
instant, an emotion not unlike anger held Amberley in its grip but
he banished it and said regretfully, ‘I’m afraid I can’t speak for
gentlemen – but noblemen do it all the time.’

*

Rosalind was
seated at her dressing table, striving to conquer a childish desire
to change her gown when Mrs Reed, otherwise known to the household
as Nurse, bustled into the room with the news that the doctor’s gig
had that minute arrived at the door. ‘And though I’ve made all
ready for him, I can’t stay above a minute for I daresay he’ll be
needing me.’

A tiny smile
touched Rosalind’s mouth and she said innocently, ‘Then perhaps you
shouldn’t have left the sickroom?’

‘Oh yes, I
should!’ averred Mrs Reed grimly. ‘Mr Lawson says you’ve asked this
so-called Marquis to stay and
that
I’ll admit you couldn’t
well avoid. But whatever was you about, Miss Rosalind, to ask him
to dine with you?’

Miss Rosalind
yielded to the promptings of her particular devil.

‘Well, he said
he was hungry – and so am I, come to that. On the other hand,’ she
continued dubiously, ‘he also told me he’d been badly brought up.
Do you think that means he eats peas with a knife?’

Mrs Reed
snorted. ‘No, I do not and neither do you – so give over with your
play-acting. What worries me is that you didn’t ought to dine
unchaperoned with any man – let alone with a brass-faced gypsy as
says he’s a lord.’

This
description proved too much for Rosalind’s gravity. ‘Oh
Nurse
! How unkind – and when you haven’t even seen him
yet.’

‘Well I have,’
replied Mrs Reed, not without satisfaction. ‘He came up to see how
his coachman did – and a fine sight he looked too, with his
neckcloth gone and his good coat ruined! That valet of his – who’s
got more sense than you’d expect – was downright ashamed of him.
And all his precious lordship could do was laugh. Not that he
laughed when he saw the state of that poor man’s shoulder,’ she
admitted grudgingly. ‘Seemed quite upset about it for a minute or
two – but that was the only proper feeling he showed, mark
you.’

Rosalind toyed
idly with a carved tortoiseshell comb. ‘How old is he do you
think?’

‘Turned thirty
at least. Old enough to know better than think he can get round me
with a saucy smile and a hug.’

‘He didn’t!’
breathed Rosalind, awe-struck. ‘That
was
brave of him.’

Pleased but
unwilling to show it, Mrs Reed ignored this piece of provocation
and said coaxingly, ‘Be a good girl and eat your dinner up here in
your room.’

Rosalind stood
up, smiling oddly.

‘I’m not a
girl. I’m twenty-two years old and well and truly on the shelf – so
I don’t need a chaperone,’ she announced with characteristic
candour but no hint of bitterness. ‘And that being so, I intend to
dine downstairs with Lord Amberley.’

Mrs Reed
followed her to the door, torn between her duty to her patient and
anxiety for her nurseling. ‘You may be two-and-twenty but you’ve no
more idea than a week-old kitten when it comes to the snares of the
ungodly.’

Rosalind
chuckled. ‘And you think the Marquis is one of them?’

‘Mark my
words,’ came the dark reply, ‘he’s a philanderer. I know the
signs.’

‘Do you?’
Rosalind was impressed. ‘I wish I dared ask you what they are – and
better still, how it is you can recognise them. Indeed, Nurse – I’m
surprised at you. I never knew you were a Woman with a Past.’

Watching her
float serenely down the stairs, Mrs Reed contemplated with mixed
feelings the knowledge that the light of her life was possessed of
a new glow. ‘As if somebody had lit a candle in her,’ she thought.
And then, swallowing savagely, ‘And if it’s you, your honey-tongued
lordship, you’d better not do anything to put it out again. Because
if you cause my lamb even a minute’s upset, I’ll cut out your heart
and fry it!’

*

Unaware of the
dark thoughts being directed at him, the Marquis repaired his
appearance without finding it necessary to summon his valet. He
brushed and re-tied his hair, exchanged the ruined blue coat for a
full-skirted one of black velvet laced with silver and worn over a
silver embroidered vest and replaced his boots with silver-buckled
shoes. Then, having descended the stairs and entered the room to
which Lawson directed him, he found his hostess ensconced beside
the fire, patiently awaiting him - and never, he thought, could a
jewel have been placed in so perfect a setting. For a moment, he
remained where he was, words of apology for his tardiness
forgotten, as he breathed in the scent of pot-pourri and simply
stared.

The room bore
every appearance of having been specially furnished to form a bower
for her. The walls were hung with amber brocade only a shade
lighter than her gown and the colour was echoed in the richly
textured carpet, where it was interwoven with tones of amethyst and
violet. Curtains of violet damask were closed across windows
flanked on one side by an ebony escritoire and on the other by a
delicately inlaid harpsichord. There were shelves full of books, a
frame holding a half-worked tapestry and a large, gilt cage housing
a brightly-coloured but decidedly sulky-looking parrot. A group of
seventeenth-century miniatures hung over a lacquered cabinet
containing a collection of Chelsea figurines; and from above the
mantel, a dark-haired child laughed down from her frame with a
vividness that was almost uncanny.

His lordship’s
gaze travelled from the painted face to the one of flesh and bone
seated below it and was startled to find that it was turned in his
direction and alight with teasing amusement.

‘Well, sir – do
you like my room?’ she asked.

For an instant,
the resemblance between child and woman was so strong that the
Marquis was stunned into silence. Then he said simply, ‘It’s
charming. And it suits you,’ – before realisation dawned and he
smiled ruefully. ‘I’m sorry. You knew I was there, of course.’

‘Yes.’
Mercifully, she did not seem offended and was even half-laughing.
‘I heard you cross the hall – and no one else in this house wears
heeled shoes. But let me guess … you were comparing me with myself;
and finding me lacking, I should think.’

‘Yes and no –
in that order,’ he replied, crossing the room to her side. Suddenly
everything became crystal clear and the doubts which had beset him
upstairs vanished. In any other woman her remark would have been an
open invitation to a compliment or a flirtation – but in Mistress
Vernon, it was neither. Her tone was one of prosaic amusement but
her words, whether she realised it or not – and he rather thought
she didn’t – were a sort of test. An odd gleam lurked in his eyes
and he went on deliberately, ‘You may not be able to see your face
but you must surely have been told how beautiful it is.’

The blood rose
swiftly beneath her skin and he heard her catch her breath.

‘Well? Am I not
right?’

‘Yes.’ Her face
grew pensive. ‘And so, I suppose, was Nurse. But indeed I didn’t
mean you to – to – ‘

‘I know.’
But you did think I’d skirt round your blindness, didn’t
you
? was his instinctive thought. ‘I gather Nurse is the
redoubtable lady I encountered above stairs?’

‘Yes.’ The
dimple peeped and was gone. ‘She says you are a philanderer.’

There was a
brief, incredulous pause before Amberley gave way to appreciative
laughter.

‘
Merci du
compliment
! That has given me my own again, hasn’t it?’

‘I thought so,’
agreed Rosalind sweetly.

Neither was
aware of Lawson’s presence in the doorway until he coughed
discreetly.

‘I am sorry to
disturb you, Miss Rosalind,’ he said with an air of gentle reproof
that accorded ill with the benevolence in his eyes, ‘but dinner has
been ready for a full half hour and Mrs Thorne is becoming a trifle
distraught over the beef.’