A Perfect Likeness (33 page)

Petra stared at her.
“He
changed the plans? I could almost believe your air of injured innocence! Spare me any more of your acting, Miss St. Charles, for I will not demean myself or Sebastian by attempting to persuade you anymore.” She hesitated for a moment then, as if in spite of what she had said she did wish to say something more, but then she turned on her heel and walked out.

Bryony was trembling, struggling not to give in to the tears which pricked her eyes. She must be strong now, mustn’t show any of them how she really felt!

Someone gave a discreet cough behind her and she whirled about to see a footman standing there. “Madam, his grace desires your presence in the solar immediately.”

“Is he alone?” she asked quickly.

“No, madam, both her grace and the Lady Delphine are also there.”

She relaxed a little. “Very well.”

She followed him through the almost silent house which earlier had rung to the sound of music and laughter. Her courage almost deserted her as they reached the solar doors, and she took a deep breath as the footman opened them and announced her name.

The duchess sat in her wheelchair, her face still pale and shaken, but her old spirit gleamed in her eyes when she saw Bryony, whom she now hated more than ever. Delphine sat quietly on a nearby chair, her hands clasped in her lap, the folds of her golden silk skirts spilling richly to the floor. She did not look up as Bryony was announced.

Felix stood by the fireplace. Like his mother, he had recovered quite considerably since last Bryony had seen him. His glance swept scornfully over her, his lip curling a little at the plain clothes she wore. “So, the provincial Miss St. Charles is back among us.”

“You wished to speak with me, sir?”

“Yes. Partly to inform you that of course the confession wrung from me under duress will now be denied.”

“That is little more than I would expect of you, sirrah,” she replied.

He gave a cold laugh. “A woman scorned, my dear?”

“A woman wise, my lord.”

“Drawing-room repartee? What a pity it will not now be needed.”

“Please say what else you have to say, sir, and then allow me to leave this house.”

“Very well. I’m told that you have asked for a carriage to take you to Falmouth.”

“That is correct.”

“No doubt you wish now that you had never left Liskillen, for by your failure you have made certain that it will be forfeit, haven’t you?”

“Please get to the point, sir.”

“I’ve issued orders that a carriage is to be waiting for you within the hour, but the coachman will be given instructions to convey you to Tremont, and nowhere else.”

Delphine leaped to her feet immediately. “No! Felix, you cannot!”

“Sit down, Delphine, for this no longer has anything to do with you.” He glanced at Bryony again. “I note that the thought of Tremont does not appeal to you, Miss St. Charles. What a shame. No doubt you have as little desire to go there as they have to receive you, in spite of my cousin’s so noble efforts to persuade you to depart with them. Well, he saw fit to call me out because of you, even though he obviously believed a great deal of what I said. Now he can have you, and the ridicule that will go with you.”

Oh, how she despised him. “His will not be the ridicule, my lord duke, for you have full claim to that. You did not cut a gallant figure when he defeated you tonight, indeed you looked quite the wretch.”

His lips were white with fury, but he controlled the urge to cross to her and strike her. He turned away. “My mind is made up, word has already been sent after them that they are to expect you. Go now, Miss St. Charles. I trust that we will never see each other again.”

“I trust the very same, sir,” she replied. There was nothing more to be said, and she withdrew from the solar, but as she made her way back toward her apartment for the last time, she heard Delphine hurrying behind her.

“Bryony! Wait, please!”

“What is it?”

“Please don’t go like this.” There were tears in Delphine’s eyes. “I know that I’ve been disagreeable, but I can’t bear to part from you in this way.” She hesitated. “You really don’t want to go to Tremont, do you?”

“No, but it seems that I have no choice in the matter.”

“Maybe I could help.”

“How?”

“Well, I would tell the coachman that Felix has changed his mind and that his instructions are now that you are to be conveyed to Falmouth.”

Hope leaped into Bryony’s heart. “You would do that?”

“Yes. But, Bryony ... ?”

“Yes?”

“It really wouldn’t be very wise to go all the way to Falmouth in the dark. The moors can be quite dangerous. It would be safer if you lodged overnight at the Royal Charles and then proceeded in the morning. Felix wouldn’t know, he will think you safe at Tremont, and the coachman will not question such a stop, for all the servants know what happened tonight and why you are being sent away from here. I will speak to the coachman, but you must promise me that you will stay at the Royal Charles tonight and go on to Falmouth tomorrow. Will you promise?”

Slowly Bryony nodded. “Very well, I promise.”

Delphine smiled then. “Good, for I should have worried so about you. I’ll miss you, Bryony, I’ve really enjoyed your company. I’m only sorry that you and Sebastian were so ill-matched.”

Bryony suddenly hugged her. “I shall miss you too, Delphine. Thank you for all that you’ve done for me.”

“You’ve nothing to thank me for, Bryony. Nothing at all.”

They parted then, and half an hour later the carriage was waiting in the quadrangle and two footmen were carrying Bryony’s luggage out to it. When all was loaded, Bryony and Sally left the apartment and descended the grand staircase for the last time. At the bottom, Bryony turned anxiously to the maid. “You are certain you still wish to come to Liskillen?”

“I want to be with you, Miss Bryony.”

“Life will not be easy there. The estate is badly in debt and I do not know what will become of us.”

“It makes no difference to me. There’s nothing for me here now.”

“What of Tom Penmarrion?”

The maid’s eyes filled with easy tears, but she blinked them away, “Maybe I should ask you: what of Sir Sebastian?”

Bryony said nothing more and they proceeded out into the quadrangle. As they appeared, the coachman climbed down to speak to them, and Bryony heard Sally’s smothered gasp of dismay, for it was none other than Tom Penmarrion himself. He was an immensely tall, broad-shouldered young man, his large figure clad in a box coat against the chill of the sea mist. He removed his hat politely. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am?”

Bryony halted. “Yes?”

“Lady Delphine says I am to convey you to the Royal Charles tonight, and then take you to Falmouth tomorrow morning.”

“That is correct.”

“Beggin’ your pardon again, ma’am, but may I be so bold as to inquire if Miss Anderson will be going with you?’’

Bryony glanced at Sally’s pale, unhappy face. “Perhaps you had better ask her yourself,” she replied, getting into the carriage, ‘‘but please do not be long, for I wish to be gone from here as quickly as possible.”

She sat back in the dark carriage, listening to the whispered voices outside. She heard Sally’s tearful voice and then the maid was climbing in to join her. Tom closed the door on them and then climbed up to his box. A moment later the carriage drew swiftly away, its lamps barely piercing the gloom.

Neither Bryony nor Sally glanced out; both sat in silence, wrapped up in their own thoughts. The team’s hooves sounded rhythmic and the wheels crunched on the gravel drive, and it was Sally who bowed her head, giving in to sudden tears. Bryony went to sit beside her, her arm gentle about her shoulders, but she did not weep. She was beyond weeping now.

The landlord of the Royal Charles was astonished to be awakened at such a late hour. He was even more astonished when he realized the identity of his unexpected guest. He showed Bryony and Sally to the adjoining rooms at the front of the inn, and fortunately for Sally, there was no sign of his buxom daughter, who had originally caused all the trouble with Tom Penmarrion.

Bryony lay awake in her bed, listening to poor Sally sobbing into her pillow in the room next door. Bryony felt so very sad for the maid, for she knew only too well the heartbreak she was enduring, but then Sally Anderson and Bryony St. Charles were not so very different, were they? Both were turning away from the men they loved, and both felt they had no real choice, not if their lives were in the end to be made endurable.

She was almost drifting to sleep, when suddenly her eyes flew open again. She heard a quiet sound. An uneasy sensation crept over her, a sensation just like that which had touched her at the inn in Falmouth. Sitting up slowly, she listened again, and then her glance went inexorably to the foot of the door, where the lamplight from the narrow passage beyond crept in a thin line over the rough floorboards. There, very white and startling, was a folded piece of paper.

She stared at it in dismay, and her hand trembled as she drew the bedclothes aside and slipped from the bed. She picked up the paper and opened the door quickly, but the passage was deserted. She thought she heard a door close softly somewhere downstairs, but she could not be certain. Slowly she unfolded the paper, and found herself looking once again at the writing that purported to be Anthony Carmichael’s.

My dearest Bryony:

I cannot wait any longer without seeing you. I love you and must speak with you before it is too late. If you feel anything for me at all, then come immediately to the folly. I will be waiting for you, to explain at last why I have done what I have done.

My love forever.

Anthony

Petra! Bryony did not hesitate, for this had to be settled once and for all. She took off her nightgown and began to dress again, but as she picked up her brush, she accidentally knocked her comb to the floor, and the sound awoke Sally, who came hurrying in from the next room, her eyes still puffed up from crying.

“Miss Bryony? Where are you going?”

“There is someone I must meet at the folly.”

“At this hour? You mustn’t go alone! I’ll go with you.”

“No, Sally, this is something I must do alone.” Bryony tied the drawstring of the blue gown, picked up her linen cloak, and then hurried quietly out, closing the door firmly behind her.

The maid remained where she was for a moment. She was in a quandary, for she knew that it was dangerous for anyone to go out alone on a misty night, let alone that person be a woman. With sudden decision she hurried after Bryony, emerging from the inn into the galleried courtyard, where all was silence. Then hooves clattered and a mounted figure rode from the stables: it was Bryony, riding out into the road and back toward Polwithiel.

Sally listened to the hoofbeats diminishing into the night, then ran across the yard to the coach house, where she knew Tom was sleeping on the floor of the carriage.

She shook his shoulder roughly. “Wake up, Tom! Please wake up!”

He sat up with a jolt, his eyes alarmed for a moment. “Oh, it’s you, Sally! I thought the devil himself was at my tail! What on earth do you want?”

“You must go after Miss
Bryony! She’s gone to meet someone at the folly, and I’m frightened for her!”

He stared at her in amazement. “She’s what?”

“Don’t be so slow, Tom! She’s gone to the folly, on her own! You have to go after her!”

“What, and find I’m interrupting some tryst or other? No, Sally, I’ll not risk that—”

“She isn’t like that, Tom, I swear that she isn’t. Someone’s been doing dreadful things to her since she arrived, and I’m afraid for her now.”

He climbed slowly down from the carriage, running his thick fingers through his tangled hair. “I still reckon it’s not my place to go after her.”

Sally stared at him. “Oh, Tom!”

“No, hear me out, Sally. It was Sir Sebastian she came here to marry, and who wanted her to go to Tremont with him tonight—I know he did, for I heard him asking the countess to go to her. I reckon it’s him I should go to for help right now.”

Sally searched his face for a moment. “Yes, you’re right. But please hurry!”

He smiled then, suddenly bending his head to kiss her on the lips. “If you promise not to go across to Ireland.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“I’ll ask you again, and again, and again, and I won’t stop until I see you on the ship and it’s set sail. I love you, Sally Anderson, and I want you back.”

“It was your own fault you lost, me.”

“I know,” he replied, going through into the loose stalls and leading out one of the Polwithiel coach horses, “and now I intend to put it right. You’re the one for me, Sally Anderson, and you know it.” He heaved himself up onto the horse’s bare back, smiling down again at her for a moment before urging the horse out across the courtyard and into the road, turning it toward Tremont.

It was quiet in the drawing room as Petra and Sebastian waited. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn back and the shutters were open, allowing the first faint fingers of dawn to creep tentatively in. The gilded plasterwork on the ceiling shone just a little, and the chandeliers looked like carved ice.

Petra sat at a little card table, playing patience by the light of a solitary candle. She wore a lilac wrap and her red hair was brushed loose to her shoulders. She glanced now and then at Sebastian as he lounged nearby on a sofa, an untouched glass of cognac swirling slowly in his hand.

His wounded arm had been properly attended to now and he wore a clean shirt. His black velvet coat was still draped casually about his shoulders and he looked almost relaxed, but Petra knew that he was in considerable pain. As he looked yet again at the long-case clock in the corner of the room, she slowly put down her cards.

“She won’t come, Sebastian, and I wish you would accept the fact.”

“I cannot accept it.”

“If she were coming, she’d have been here by now.”