Cherished Enemy (25 page)

He chuckled. “I think I am being roasted. But you are not so wrong, ma'am. My interest lies in Wales. I am, in fact, wholly enchanted by the possibilities in that area.”

“Whales?” She stared at him. “How very unusual! Shall you go to sea?”

“No need for that. I've seen all I need.” He looked at her curiously. “Now why should that surprise you? Do you find it odd that I use the word ‘enchanted' in such a context? There are many kinds of beauty, you know. I am so fortunate as to have discovered the kind that fits my particular dream.”

‘Good God!' she thought, and asked, “Is it your intent to hunt? Or to study?”

“Neither. I would like to acquire a few good specimens and do some selective breeding, and—”

At this, Rosamond was quite unable to keep her jaw from dropping and she came to an abrupt halt beneath a venerable chestnut tree.

Victor halted also. “Have I startled you? Never say you think me incapable of such an undertaking?”

She said faintly, “Is a—a rather ambitious one. How on earth do you propose to go about it? I'd think them extreme difficult to—er deal with. They are so—big!”

“I suppose they appear so to you,” he said with a smile. “Certainly, I'd not recommend a lady attempt such a scheme, though most of the brutes are actually quite amiable as a rule, and not too difficult to train.”

Train?
Beginning to be decidedly nervous, Rosamond blinked and edged back a step. “I suppose—'tis all in the, er, eye of … of the beholder. But—shall you not need a great amount of room?”

His thoughts had drifted to another, more urgent matter, but he shrugged, and replied politely, “I have all I need. Is clear you think my dream a foolish one, but I guarantee that had your brother straddled some of the specimens I've ridden, he—”

‘Lud!' thought Rosamond, paling. ‘'Tis small wonder he has confused me from time to time—he is stark raving mad!'

Victor said sharply, “Ma'am? Are you well? Is it that your side troubles you?”

She was far from a coward, and had been prepared to use all her woman's wiles to win the heart and thus, hopefully, the cooperation of a vicious thief and blackmailer, but a madman was more than she'd bargained for. Desperate to reach the safety of the house, she retreated, but, not daring to turn her back on him, promptly tripped on a tree root and fell. Aghast, Victor sprang forward and dropped to one knee beside her, only to recoil as she let out a terrified shriek.

“What … in the devil…?” he gasped. “Ma'am, an I've said anything to offend…”

“No, no,” she babbled, shrinking away from him. “I quite believe every word. And you are very right. They are, er, beautiful. Indeed they are! You will—will overcome all the—ah, obstacles and—and manage very nicely, I am—er, assured.”

Fascinated, he asked, “Do you encounter many—obstacles—with your own?”

“N-no,” she gasped, convinced she would never get away alive. “But—my papa has not your—ah, interest in science. In fact, I doubt he has ever really seen one.”

“Nonsense, ma'am,” he exclaimed, beginning in turn to eye her uneasily. “He's not that obtuse, and certainly, I've seen some fine examples exercising in your paddocks.”

“You have seen…” breathed Rosamond, fairly gawking at him, “
whales
in our paddocks?”

Victor's eyes took on a glazed look.
“Whales…?”
he whispered. “What the deuce…” And then came comprehension. He bowed forward and broke into deep, helpless laughter. Rosamond sprang to her feet, only to give a cry of fright as he put out a hand and gripped the hem of her gown. “No…” he wheezed, “No—
h
…”

Shrinking, terrified, she stared. “No
h
…?” Whatever—Lord, how he laughed! A symptom of his dementia, no doubt! “No
h
…” Oh!
Wales!
She gave a gurgle, then a squeal and sank down beside him, convulsed.

“Oh,” she gasped at length, wiping tears from her eyes. “How
very
silly you must … think me. But my mind was—was on your career, you know. And—when you spoke of your … interest, I th-thought—” And she was off again.

“Small wonder you—looked at me as if I was—demented,” he gulped breathlessly. “Especially when—when I spoke of—of selective breeding…”

“I thought you were—
quite
demented. And as for my brother—r-riding one…!”

Victor moaned, “'Twould present a rare spectacle—especially was he to wear his robes…!”

Again, they were overcome, their laughter ringing out peal on peal.

And from there, of course, they enlarged upon the possibilities until they both were leaning back against the tree trunk, weak with mirth. A companionable silence fell, to be broken when Rosamond belatedly recollected her self-imposed task and, sighing, sat up and began to tidy her hair.

Watching her lovely face bathed in the dappled light that sifted through the leaves, Victor murmured, smiling, “It needs no improvement, ma'am.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling shyly at him. “Now, will you pray tell me about—Wales-without-the-
h?
I know very little of it.”

“That's because you people who dwell near London think there is no world north of your city.”

“You are not a Londoner, sir?”

“Just a simple country doctor, Miss Albritton.”

“With a dream to farm in Wales. Shall you have to give up your practice? Would not your papa object, after all your years of study, to have you throw it away?”

“Don't have a practice as yet. Nor have I discussed the future with my sire.” He paused, his eyes suddenly bleak.

Scanning that finely chiselled face, Rosamond hardened her heart and asked with a display of interest, “Why Wales? Surely, a physician would be wiser to settle near a city?”

“I have inherited property near the border, not far from Wrexham. Is a beautiful spot…” His voice became dreamy. “The gentlest of green valleys, the hills clad with woodland and girdled by a rushing stream. Warm-hearted, kindly folk … Once you've heard the Welsh at their singing, ma'am, you're never like to forget it. A man could find peace there, and contentment, if Fate were kind…”

She was silent, watching him, noting the trace of sadness, as though he knew there was small hope of his dream becoming a reality.

He glanced at her, smiling, but the smile died away, and his gaze became piercingly intent.

She felt her cheeks heating and allowed her lashes to flutter down. “And were you seeking peace in my father's hay-loft?” she enquired demurely.

“I am a complete craven, alas, and fled incontinent from the carnage of billiards.”

Amused, she asked, “A shattering defeat, was it? I recollect you said you did not excel at the game, which is none so ill. Papa would not hold it against you if you lost.”

“Aye,” he said ruefully. “When we parted, his whiskers made that very clear!”

“Oh dear! Never say you were so rash as to
win?
”

He nodded. “Your sire went snorting off, muttering threats anent a rematch. So I hid myself. I do not know
how
to play any worse than I did, ma'am, and truly I fear his wrath.”

She could not keep back a chuckle, but of one thing she was very sure: Dr. Robert Victor was far from being afraid of her father. She could not, in fact, picture him being afraid of any man. Although he really did look rather pulled, which gave her the opportunity to feign sympathetic concern. She asked gently, “Sir, are you troubled of your arm? You look—”

“Tired?” he inserted with a wan smile. “I'm not surprised. Your brother and I have much to chat about, so that we stayed up until dawn. And—although your beds are excellent, ma'am, I could not seem to get comfortable. It was another hour before I bestirred myself sufficiently to seek out the cause. And I'll own, Miss Albritton, between whales in your stables and what I found under my sheet…” He groped in his pocket and showed her what he had found. “You must admit 'tis an odd place to keep such objects.”

“My aunt's secateurs! Oh dear! So
that
's where he hid them this time!”

“Your father?”

“Yes. As I told you, Aunt Estelle is never happier than when she's working in the garden. Papa calls her
La Destructrice Grande.
Especially when she prunes.”

Greatly amused, he said, “So he hides her secateurs.”

“And she searches and searches and eventually buys some new ones. Truly, sir, I apologize for the idiosyncrasies of my family.” She leaned to place a consoling hand on his arm, smiling her most winsome smile, and looking apologetically into his grey eyes, quite aware of the admiration she saw there and equally aware it was as false as his declaration.

Predictably, Victor took possession of her hand. She made no attempt to draw it away, but lowered her lashes and waited demurely.

“Miss Rosamond,” he murmured, “I think I have given you no very good opinion of myself. I—I wish you will … will please…”

She should at this point exhibit a tremulous shyness. Infuriatingly, she had no need to pretend such a reaction. Her hand was quivering, her heartbeat had accelerated to the point it seemed likely to break through her ribs at any second, and she felt alternately uncomfortably warm and shiveringly cold. Despising herself for such disgraceful weakness, she whispered, “Will please … what, sir?”

He did not at once answer, the touch of her trembling little hand having apparently overwhelmed him. At least, she thought, her plan was succeeding. She prompted gently, “Pray tell me your—wish, Dr. Victor…”

Silence.

With much fluttering of eyelashes, she raised her eyes.

His were closed. His head leaning back against the tree trunk, The Devious Physician was fast asleep.

It was all Rosamond could do not to kick him. Restraining herself, she slipped her hand from his clasp and replaced it with the rose he had “presented” to her. Then she walked quickly back to the house.

Half an hour later, Trifle felt the pangs of hunger and set up his customarily vociferous objection. His howls would have wakened the dead; certainly, they disturbed the slumbers of the man under the tree.

Sitting up with a start, Victor found himself alone. He smiled slowly as he saw the rose that had been left in his hand. He gazed down at it, then lifted it to his lips. His smile faded. Taking out his handkerchief, he wrapped the rose-bud as reverently as though it had been something holy, and put it carefully into the pocket of his coat. He stood then, but did not walk away, looking at the place where they had sat together as though committing every detail of the scene to memory. For a long moment he stood thus, motionless. Then, sighing, he walked towards the house, but there was no trace of his usual energetic stride. His steps lagged and his shoulders were slumped. He looked a man without hope.

*   *   *

“What d'ye mean—he don't
know?
” demanded the colonel, scowling across the candle-lit withdrawing room at his tall son. “Fella promised to take the gal to Copenhagen. He should know when she is coming home. I vow there's no relying on you young people today! None! What am I to tell Violet Singleton, that's what I want to know?”

Plying her fan nervously, Mrs. Porchester asked, “Did you stop there on your way back, Charles? How does poor Violet go on?”

Charles took a seat beside his sister. “Same as ever, ma'am. I told her that Deborah had felt obliged to remain in Italy with Cousin Elise for a few more days.”

“Which may or may not be true,” the colonel grunted and sipped his wine broodingly.

Mrs. Singleton was actually a distant cousin to the Albrittons, but out of respect, the children of both families had always referred to the elder members as aunts or uncles. In keeping with this practice, Rosamond asked anxiously, “Is Aunt Violet in a taking over it?”

An amused twinkle lit Charles's blue eyes. “I had expected she might be. Luckily, Mr. Fairleigh chanced to mention he was newly come from Paris and she was—”

“Enraptured,” put in the colonel dryly. “I can well imagine.”

“So Violet kidnapped Mr. Fairleigh away from us,” said Mrs. Porchester, indignant. “Pretty behaviour, I declare! Pretty behaviour, when he was promised to
us
for dinner!”

“He was well and truly trapped,” explained Charles. “I think he felt sorry for them. He sends his apologies. I think he will not overnight with them, however. Said something about having business in Portsmouth, but promised to return on Monday for your party, sir.”

‘On
Monday?
' thought Rosamond, dismayed.

“He's a nice chap,” the colonel conceded, and muttered
sotto voce,
“for all he looks like some popinjay.”

“Well,” said Rosamond, “we still have Dr. Victor. He remains faithful to us—at present—do you not, Doctor?”

The smile she bestowed on him was most definitely provocative and Victor's smile was thoughtful as he assured her he was most flattered to be allowed to stay with them.

The colonel gave an amused snort. “‘Ware, my boy! I mean to challenge you to another game of—” He broke off, scowling. “What the devil is that confounded mongrel yapping at? I declare, Estelle, is a fine pest you've brought home!”

The footman carried in a silver tray and offered it. Taking up the calling card, the colonel muttered, “Never heard of him. Did he say what he wants?” The footman murmuring an unintelligible but clearly negative response, he was instructed to “show the fella in.”

“At half past nine?” protested Mrs. Porchester. “One might think a stranger would pay a call during the morning, not—” She stopped speaking as the footman flung wide the door and announced,