Amanda Scott (29 page)

As soon as Darby was released, he moved without a word to help Sophie, taking Rory’s neckcloth and tying it together with his own to fashion a crude sling, thereby earning a smile from the victim for his efforts.

“Thanks,” Lord Roderick said. “What now, Simon?”

Simon had moved at last to Diana and was kneeling behind her. So aware was she of his anger that his touch sent chills racing up and down her spine. When he spoke, his tone was grim. “First, we must contrive to dispose of the body in the clearing,” he said, “so it does not cause further trouble for Mademoiselle Milice and the others here at the château. I beg your pardon, madame,” he added with a tight, rueful smile at the comtesse. “I wish for your sake that it had not been necessary to kill him.”

“It is of no consequence, monsieur,” said the comtesse regally. She had been talking rapidly with Pétrie a little away from the others and turned now to face Simon. She did not look at all discomposed by the death of her son, Diana thought, as she rubbed feeling back into her wrists. The comtesse went on, “He was a pig, monsieur. I deceived myself for too long, but I say it now, who should know. A changeling, without doubt. Certainly not a true son of Beléchappé. You must not think that I shall repine over the loss of such a one as that. I have been speaking to Pétrie Milice, who is loyal to our family, and she wisely suggests the removal of the corpse to our old cook’s cottage. The soldiers will not disturb the old woman if she says she knows nothing. They think her of less man no account, and will believe her too frightened to lie to them. Then, once the soldiers have taken their leave, our people will see that Bertrand is buried on the land for which he intended to sacrifice his honor.”

And so it was accomplished. Simon retrieved the emeralds from the golden cloak and then, with Darby’s assistance, managed to fling the body over de Lâche’s saddle to take him to the old woman behind the stables. The comtesse accompanied them in order to explain matters to her, while Pétrie, Sophie, and Diana helped Rory to mount his horse. Then, leaving Pétrie, with suitable recompense from Lord Roderick for her trouble, to put her cottage to rights and attempt to salvage her bread, the others rode to meet Simon, Darby, and the comtesse. When Darby explained somewhat consciously that the
Sea Maiden
lay at anchor just off the village of Deauville, Simon made no comment beyond saying that since he had sent his groom and Pettyjohn ahead to Le Havre, it was to be hoped that they would have the good sense to return to Portsmouth on the first available packet and await his pleasure there.

The comtesse, having little concern for Simon’s servants, suggested tactfully at that point that it might be the wiser course to avoid the main road from the village to the château, since they seemed to be in momentary expectation of receiving a visit from a French patrol. Her advice was taken, and the six riders took a cross-country route to the harbor. The two crew members who had been left behind were waiting as ordered with the skiff. They looked astonished and none too happy to see their master with the others, and their glances each fell for one brief, uncomfortable second upon Diana, but neither man said anything.

It was immediately obvious, before the skiff was untied, that everyone could not fit into the boat at once, that two trips would be necessary. Thus, Diana, Sophie, the comtesse, and Lord Roderick went in the first load and were safely aboard watching the skiff being rowed hard for the yacht when a group of a dozen or so uniformed soldiers rode down to the harbor and along the shoreline only to pull up, frustrated of their prey, near the sea wall.

Diana, standing tensely at the rail, let out a long, relieved breath. Once again, the Warrington men had eluded disaster after intruding upon the affairs of a head of state. Sir William would have been proud, she decided, suddenly feeling very tired. A few moments later, the skiff reached the yacht, the men climbed up to the deck, and the skiff itself was hauled aboard. Less than five minutes later, the jib was up, the main sheet was filled with wind, and the
Sea Maiden
presented the village of Deauville with a clear view of her stern.

The skies were still overcast, but the wind was up and almost warm, coming from the south. Diana saw Simon take the glass from the captain and put it quickly to his eye to scan the shoreline behind them. Clearly, he still worried about French patrol boats, but surely, she thought, the mounted soldiers had had no time to get word to such a boat, and there had been no large boats in the Deauville harbor.

She turned back to the rail to watch the roll of the sea being sliced into foamy breakers beneath the bow. It was a mistake. Now that she had begun to relax, her digestive system had no hesitation in reminding her of its delicate condition. She took a deep breath and swallowed carefully. Then, knowing it would be as well to put her mind to something else entirely, she decided to rind out how Lord Roderick was faring. As she turned away from the rail, however, she came face to face with the broad chest of her husband. The noise caused by the wind in the sails and the rush of water below had permitted him to approach unheard.

“Simon!” She swallowed again, not daring to meet his gaze, knowing he must still be furious with her. Even so, she would not beg his pardon. Had she not gone to Beléchappé, she told herself, de Lâche must have got clean away with the emeralds, Pétrie Milice would undoubtedly have been hurt, and the chances were very good that Rory, Sophie, and the comtesse would all have been taken prisoner again. Perhaps Simon might have been taken with them. She squared her shoulders, wondering why he did not speak. Finally, she said, “I was just going to your brother, sir. Perhaps something can be done for him, to make him more comfortable.”

“Darby is presently removing the bullet,” Simon said evenly. “He has performed the service for others, and assures me that there is nothing particularly delicate about removing this one. It has not touched bone, nor has it caused a deal of damage. If my brother does not succumb to infection, he will be little the worse for this incident.”

He spoke stiffly, formally, and Diana’s pulse seemed to miss a beat. It was as if he had no particular interest in her, as if he were only imparting information. She nibbled her lower lip. “Still, I should go, Simon. Perhaps I can help.”

“You are going to your cabin, madam, where you will lie down and recover your strength. You will be of no assistance to Darby. The last thing he needs is to have you being sick all over the floor while he attempts to operate.”

“Sick! I am perfectly well, Simon,” she said indignantly. But even as she said the words, her stomach tried to make a liar out of her. She drew another deep breath and let it out slowly, then said calmly, “I shall not defy your orders, sir. At least, I shall not interrupt Darby. But there is no reason for me to retire to my bed. I shall go to madame la comtesse and Sophie.”

“You will, for once, do precisely as you are bid,” he said coldly. “Sophie is with my brother and Darby in the galley, and there is no room for anyone else. And madame is recruiting her strength in the forward cabin.” His hands came to rest upon her shoulders, and Diana waited for the bruising grip that he generally employed when he was put out with her. But his touch was gentle, and when he spoke again, his voice was no longer harsh. “You have a nasty bruise forming on your cheek and smudges under your eyes, Diana, and you are very pale. Moreover, a moment ago, there was a tinge of green in your face, which makes me doubt your good health. If you do not rest, you will collapse, and it is no longer possible for you to think only of your own wishes. You must consider the child. We must both consider the child. Therefore,” he added, his voice hardening, “if you do not immediately go below and get into bed, I shall carry you and tuck you in myself.”

She looked at him and saw that he would do precisely as he threatened. “Very well, Simon,” she said with dignity, “I’ll go.” She gathered her cloak together at the front so that she would not trip as she went down into the companionway, and so conscious was she of maintaining her fragile dignity that she did not realize until she reached the door at the end that Simon had not followed her. Still, she was sure he would check soon enough to assure himself of her obedience, so once inside the small paneled cabin, she quickly doffed her cloak, slipped out of her rather damp skirt, and climbed into the narrow bed. As soon as she lay down, she knew Simon had been right. She was exhausted.

She had closed her eyes before it occurred to her that he had said nothing about her disobedience. Her eyes opened again, and she stared at the ceiling. Until recently, when she had defied him, he had roared at her afterward, threatening dire consequences should she ever do such a thing again. This time, barring his order to her to rest, he had said nothing. That he was angry with her could scarcely be denied. Just remembering the way he had looked at her when he had first walked into Pétrie Milice’s cottage was enough to send cold shivers up her spine even now, hours later. She tried to think, to figure out what he intended to do, but her eyelids grew too heavy, and concentration became impossible. The bed rocked gently like a cradle, and even when she tried to force her eyes to stay open so that she could think, they refused to obey her. The ceiling persisted in fading to black, and her thoughts kept disappearing into the distant reaches of her mind until she slept.

At Portsmouth, Simon said nothing more than that she was to get into the chaise. Still sleepy, she obeyed him, thinking Sophie and the comtesse would join her. Not until the chaise leapt forward did she realize that she would remain alone. She had no wish to demean herself by shouting at the postilions to stop and explain their orders, especially since, looking out the window, she saw a rider whom she recognized with astonishment as Pettyjohn riding beside the chaise. He was Simon’s man to the core, and she knew there was nothing to be gained by cross-questioning him except a loss of dignity, so she held her tongue, and when the chaise drew up at the White Hart in Salisbury, she knew where they were headed. Expecting no more than a change of horses, she was surprised when Pettyjohn Opened the chaise door and invited her to step down.

“Am I to dine here, then?” she inquired, looking up at the magnificent Ionic portico of the newly restored three-story building. The great lamps on either side of the lower porch had already been lit against the growing dusk. Diana had heard of the famous inn, but she had never yet been privileged to dine there. Its reputation was excellent, however. She would give her courier no argument.

“You are to spend the night here, my lady,” said Pettyjohn gently. “The master commanded that we stop before dark so that you not become overtired.”

“You are taking me to the abbey, are you not?” Diana asked.

He nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

“And his lordship? Whither is he bound, Pettyjohn?”

“To Langley Marsh, my lady, to see the comtesse and her daughter safe with the old count. Then, he will join you at the abbey.” He watched her doubtfully, but Diana only shrugged.

“I trust the White Hart will feed me well,” was all she said.

A number of people sat around a huge table loaded with steaming platters of food in the coffee room, but Diana was led to a private parlor, where Pettyjohn waited upon her. After a pleasant meal she retired to a comfortable bedchamber, where a cheerful chambermaid helped her prepare for bed, shaking her head in horror at Diana’s lack of proper baggage. Without a blush, Diana explained that her coach had been attacked by highwaymen who had absconded with all her trunks, and the maid promptly offered to lend one of her own night gowns.

The following morning they were on the road early, and although her escort set a slower pace than she would have liked, they arrived at Alderwood Abbey by midafternoon. The weather had taken a chilly turn, and Pettyjohn, turning an eye skyward as he helped Diana descend from the chaise, suggested that like as not there was snow in the air again.

Her arrival in the new hall was greeted, as she had expected, in a mixed fashion.”

“Diana!” shrieked Susanna, leaping to her feet without heed for the book she had been reading. It crashed to the floor. “Oh, Diana, we were so worried when the servants came from Osterley Park without you. Where have you been? Where is Simon?”

“Susanna, may I remind you once again that you are a lady?” her aunt said quellingly as she lifted her long-handled glasses to peer at her niece. “Pray, take your seat, and pick up that book. Such disgraceful behavior, I assure you, will not do in London.”

“No, aunt,” replied Susanna, but Diana was pleased to see that the anxious look was gone from the younger girl’s face, as was the apologetic note from her voice. Clearly, Christmas had improved Susanna.

The marquess, seated as usual at his desk near the front wall, had said nothing. Diana made him a curtsy. “Sir, I hope I see you well. Simon and Lord Roderick follow me, but first they had to go to Langley Marsh to see the Comtesse de Vieillard and her daughter safely with the comte.”

“I cannot think what you have been up to, Diana,” said Lady Ophelia severely, “but I do believe you should have outgrown these outrageous starts of yours. Your servants were greatly confused at being sent on without you. I received a most unsatisfactory note from your brother’s wife—no explanation at all—and another, a most distressing letter from Frances Villiers, fairly gloating over the doings at Osterley. Besides describing—I would not so far demean myself as to say
exaggerating
—the progress her dear son is making in his effort to captivate that tiresome Sarah Fane, she devoted an entire second sheet to your activities, Diana—gallivanting about the countryside with no proper escort one minute and disappearing entirely the next. I am persuaded you will wish to explain yourself.”

Diana had no wish at all to explain, but she knew that if Lady Jersey had written to Lady Ophelia, she had no doubt written to others as well, and Diana’s odd disappearance from Osterley would require some sort of explanation. She did her best to describe Lord Roderick’s arrest in such a way as to make him appear the very embodiment of nobility, and then went on to describe Simon’s efforts. Her own she glossed over, merely saying that she had come upon information that was vital to Simon’s rescue attempt and had been forced to follow him to Portsmouth. When Lady Ophelia’s expression grew more disapproving and the marquess showed no expression at all, Diana began to flounder and finally pleaded exhaustion and took to her bed, hoping that Simon would be able to do a better job of satisfying his relatives’ curiosity.