Parfit Knight (6 page)

This
intelligence was all that was needed to overset Rosalind’s
gravity.

‘Oh d-dear. Is
she?’

Perceiving the
need to intervene, the Marquis said pleasantly, ‘My fault, I’m
afraid. I stopped to consult with the doctor and was rather late in
coming down. Please convey my most sincere apologies to … Mrs
Thorne, I think you said?’

‘Certainly, my
lord.’ Lawson bowed and withdrew, leaving them to follow.

Amberley took
Rosalind’s hand and laid it on his sleeve. ‘That was handsome of
me, wasn’t it?’ he remarked virtuously as he led her into the
hall.

‘No – merely
truthful. You
were
shockingly late and, what’s more, I
wouldn’t be surprised if you used speaking to Dr Dench as a pretext
for showing Nurse your fine velvet coat in an effort to improve
your standing.’

His lordship
grinned. ‘How did you guess? After all, I have my reputation to
consider.’

‘As a
Marquis?’

‘As a
philanderer.’

When they were
seated in the green and gold dining parlour and the door had closed
upon them, Rosalind said resignedly, ‘I suppose I should have known
you had formed a partiality for Nurse when she told me that you’d
been hugging her.’

The Marquis
heaved a sigh of relief and said fervently, ‘As long as that’s
all
she told you.’

‘You mean
there’s more?’ The violet eyes were wide with demure wonder, slowly
changing to liquid sympathy. ‘But I doubt if your case is hopeful,
sir. I distinctly recall hearing her describe you as – as “a
brass-faced gypsy as says he’s a lord!”’

Amberley
narrowly avoided choking on a mouthful of ham.

‘But that,’ he
pointed out swiftly, ‘was before she saw me dressed to kill. I’ll
warrant she’s now prepared to admit that I am a lord – though
certainly brass-faced.’

Mistress Vernon
laid down her knife and said unsteadily, ‘Don’t. Are you never
serious?’

‘Less often,
perhaps, than I should be,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘Are you?’

‘Me?’ She gave
a tiny crooked smile. ‘More often than I should like.’

He sensed a
wealth of things left unsaid and wondered why it should touch him;
but their acquaintance was too slight and he was too wise to probe,
so he passed it off by launching into an account of the accident
that had brought him to her gates and finished by telling her what
he had learned from the doctor.

‘He says – and
I believe him – that Chard shouldn’t be moved for at least a week.
And, though I hardly like to ask it of you – ‘

‘Then don’t,’
she responded decisively. ‘There’s no need, for he is most welcome
to remain here. Indeed, I doubt if you could persuade Nurse to let
him go for she dearly loves an invalid.’

‘There. I
knew
I should have driven myself,’ said the Marquis,
vexed.

The soft mouth
quivered. ‘You could always develop a fever.’

‘If the doctor
is to be believed, I may have to.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘It’s snowing
thick and fast,’ he explained, a faint frown creasing his brow,
‘and if it continues to do so, you may find it isn’t only Chard who
is forcibly quartered on you.’

‘Oh,’ said
Rosalind again, but in a very different tone.

There was no
mistaking the pleasure in that single syllable and the Marquis knew
a crazy impulse to admit that his own first thought, after only ten
minutes in her company, had been much the same. He repressed it,
forcing himself to recognise that the feeling that he’d known her
all his life was only an illusion – and that there were, in any
case, other considerations. At this point, he reflected wryly, a
cautious man would immediately remove himself to the inn while
there was still some chance of doing so. But he was not cautious
and, furthermore, to do so might well cut him off from Chard for
several days and would undoubtedly put a stop to his determination
to allow Saunders to get some rest by sitting with the coachman
himself for a part of the night. And then, of course, the snow
might stop after all.

At the heart of
his lordship’s nature and constituting a large part of his charm,
lay a streak of recklessness that he could never entirely subdue.
So while one part of him said, ‘
Careful, my friend. This one
could take you out of your depth
,’ the other was saying,
‘
Risk it
.’ Inclination leaned to the latter but, for once,
he could not quite bring himself to follow it; and the sensation
was unfamiliar.

Rosalind was
also undergoing a novel experience; that of guarding her tongue.
She wanted to urge him to stay, to confess that - as far as she was
concerned - it could snow for a month. But a small voice at the
back of her mind warned her that this was somehow wrong. So she
contented herself with politely informing him that he would be
welcome to stay should the need arise and then, when he did not
reply, said rapidly, ‘But of course you can’t wish to do so – and
doubtless you are expected.’

Quick to catch
the faint note of wistfulness, Amberley cursed himself for his
silence and simultaneously reached a decision.

‘It’s not
that,’ he said crisply. ‘The truth is that I’m becoming
increasingly aware that I shouldn’t be here at all.’

‘Oh dear. Are
we back to Nurse again?’

‘No. I’m
perfectly serious. What the devil are your family about to permit
you to live alone in this fashion?’

The disapproval
in his tone brought forth a characteristically literal reply.

‘But I don’t
live alone. You’ve met Lawson and Nurse and there’s Nancy, my maid,
and … ‘ She appeared to lose interest, her right hand delicately
exploring the various dishes in front of her, ‘… and so on. Your
presence seems to have put Mrs Thorne on her mettle. Is there a
bowl of fruit anywhere amongst all this?’

The Marquis
placed it within her reach. ‘That wasn’t what I meant and you know
it.’ He watched, fascinated, as the graceful hands selected an
apple and began skilfully to pare it. ‘I was referring to the
absence of a gentleman to protect and a lady to chaperone you.’

‘I have no need
of either. I rarely go beyond the grounds and, within them, Lawson
heads a team of protection that would probably astound you. And
since the only man who calls here is the rector, a chaperone would
find life very dull.’ She laid a coil of peel on her plate and
began to slice the fruit into quarters. ‘I live very quietly, you
know.’

‘I think I’m
beginning to,’ said his lordship, a green spark lighting his eyes.
‘Are you telling me you have no family?’

‘Only my
brother,’ she replied, puzzled and little wary. ‘You seem a trifle
put out, sir.’

‘I believe I
am,’ he said slowly. ‘Or at least, I anticipate the sensation.’

A shuttered
look came into the beautiful face and she came abruptly to her
feet.

‘I see. I
imagine I can guess why.’

‘I doubt it,’
said Amberley, lazily watchful.

‘You’re about
to start feeling sorry for me,’ she challenged, half scornful, half
disappointed.

‘Hardly. Why
should I?’

‘Because I’m
blind.’ It was out before she realised it.

‘So?’ His tone
was flippant but his eyes showed the cost of it. ‘It would take
more than that, my dear. And I can’t conceive what possible use
sympathy would be to you – or why you should expect it.’

‘I don’t expect
it!’ she snapped. ‘No – nor want it, either. But aside from
embarrassment, it’s the only genuine emotion I ever seem able to
inspire.’

Lithe as a cat,
he was out of his seat and at her side, laughing.

‘Not so,
Mistress Vernon – not so! I know at least one other.’ And then, one
hand round her waist and the other beneath her chin, he dropped a
brief kiss on her parted lips.

‘
Oh
!’
Blushing hotly, Rosalind thrust him away. ‘You – you – ‘

‘Brass-faced
gypsy?’ obliged the Marquis, cheerfully. ‘Now you can go and tell
Nurse how right she was. But just one thing before you do. You can
call me a hypocrite if you choose or accuse me of taking unfair
advantage – but what you may
not
do is to assume that I
regard you as an object of pity because you can’t see. If I feel
any sympathy for you at all – and as yet I’m not sure that I do –
it’s because you appear to be living the life of an elderly
invalid.’ He paused and then added casually, ‘It seems to me to be
a waste. But for all I know, you may be a recluse by choice … or
perhaps just a coward.’

Words of
blistering denial hovered on Rosalind’s tongue and the Marquis
waited hopefully. Then an arrested expression crept into her eyes;
she hesitated, tilting her head consideringly and finally,
incredibly, the dimple quivered into being.

‘Do you find
quarrelling quicker than question and answer? Or are you merely
possessed of a tortuous – not to say unscrupulous – mind?’

‘Neither.’ He
was surprised but he hid it.

‘But you were
hoping for an orgy of self-justification?’

‘Something like
that, perhaps. Am I doomed to disappointment?’

‘You certainly
deserve to be – and worse.’

He gave a
rueful laugh. ‘I know – and beg your pardon. But the truth is that
I thought I had a point to make.’

One dark brow
lifted in sardonic amusement. ‘And one that words couldn’t make for
you?’

Already
uneasily aware that, save for her own good sense, his careless
impulse might have done very real harm, Amberley hesitated before
saying truthfully, ‘They might have done so – but I’ve an
uncommonly low resistance to temptation.’

Irony vanished
and a rippling laugh issued from the slender throat.

‘You, sir, are
quite shameless.’

‘I fear so. But
not, I hope, unforgiveable? You have my word that it won’t happen
again.’

And despite the
now familiar note of levity, Rosalind knew instinctively that this,
at least, he meant. She held out her hand, felt him take it in a
cool, friendly clasp and, with a smile, said simply, ‘You have no
need to promise. I know it won’t.’

Behind his
silver-brocaded vest, a number of strange sensations took place
and, without realising it, his lordship’s fingers tightened on
hers. Then, pulling himself together, he laid her hand on his arm
and said lightly, ‘I hope you don’t intend to leave me here in
solitary state with the port?’

She shook her
head. ‘To tell the truth, I’d quite forgotten that I should. And
besides – you asked for a chaperone and I am determined that you
shall have one.’

‘Oh?’ He smiled
down into the exquisite face as they moved out into the hall and
back towards her parlour. ‘And who is it to be?’

Again that
wicked laugh. ‘Wait and see.’

One glance was
sufficient to inform the Marquis that the room was empty but
Mistress Vernon was plainly waiting for him so he closed the door
and allowed himself to be led over to the gilt cage.

‘My lord
Marquis – pray allow me to present my most jealous guardian,’ she
said demurely. ‘His name is Broody.’

My lord Marquis
examined the surly-looking parrot with interest. ‘How very
appropriate,’ he remarked gently. And then, to the bird, ‘How do
you do, sir?’

Broody eyed him
with marked disfavour and sat on one foot.

‘I don’t think
he likes me,’ observed Amberley.

‘That’s nothing
new. I’d be amazed if he did.’

‘I thank
you.’

She laughed.
‘Don’t be absurd. What I meant was that he doesn’t like anyone –
except possibly me. Thomas and Claude won’t touch his cage if he is
in it because he bites them and when the maids come into this room
to clean it, he swears at them.’

The Marquis
uttered a little choking sound. ‘Does he indeed? And who taught him
to do that?’

‘If you mean
was it me – the answer is no. My brother bought him from a sailor
and was sadly confounded when he heard the extent of his
vocabulary. Indeed, he was only persuaded to let me keep him on the
strength of my solemn promise never to use any of the words myself.
Not that I could, of course, because I don’t understand half of
them.’ And on this faintly regretful note, she turned back to the
cage. ‘Come, Broody – say hello to our guest.’

Broody stared
unwinkingly back at the Marquis, apparently reviewing his
repertoire. Then, in accents of pure disgust, he said, ‘Scabby
pirate!’ before turning a disdainful back on his mistress’s
improper laughter.

‘Well, that
disposes of me, doesn’t it?’ grinned Amberley. ‘But I suppose I
should be grateful it wasn’t worse.’

‘Very
grateful.’ Rosalind sank weakly on to a sofa. ‘You should hear some
of the things he calls Philip.’

His lordship
seated himself opposite her. ‘Philip is your brother?’

She nodded.

‘Then, since
he’s responsible for endowing you with that ill-mannered bird, I
haven’t any sympathy for him. Mr Vernon is well-served.’

‘You are out,
sir,’ she told him, lifting her chin with would-be haughtiness. ‘My
brother is not
Mr
Vernon. He’s Captain Lord Philip – late of
His Majesty’s army.’

Amberley
accepted the rebuke stoically.

‘I beg his
lordship’s pardon. I take it that by ‘late’ you mean he’s recently
sold out?’

‘Yes. He was
forced to do so when my uncle died last year.’

‘Your uncle?
Not your father?’

‘No. Papa died
when we were children. And Mama had not the least idea of how to
manage without him so her brother became a sort of trustee until
Philip came of age. Only by then Phil was army-mad – so of course
Uncle George had to let him enlist while he himself continued to
look after our affairs.’ The expressive face clouded. ‘He was very
good to us. I miss him.’

‘I’m sorry,’
said Amberley lightly. ‘But now your brother has quit the army to
assume his responsibilities, he’ll doubtless spend a good deal of
time here with you, won’t he?’