Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet (29 page)

"Hmmmmn," said Feather. "I rather thought you found it so. Your
brother already knows the story but has probably said nothing. Damon
should tell you, of course—but will not." Quick to note the shyness in
the lovely face beside her, she nodded and said, "I decided it was
necessary to tell you because of three pairs of eyes. Yours—when you
saw my craven nephew shrink from that splendid stallion the other day—"

"Oh! But—ma'am—I assure you, I—"

"Damon's," Feather went on inexorably, "when he knew you had seen
it…" Here Sophia's lashes dropped, and she stared fixedly at her hands.
"And—Phineas Bodwin's," Feather concluded, "when
he
looks at you!"

"Oh, dear," murmured Sophia.

"Quite. Now I have already told you about Ninon and Vaille—and the
tragedy that took her from us. Only I did not tell you all of it. And I
know all of it… almost. I have known the family all my life, you see.
We grew up on neighbouring estates—my sisters and me and the two
Branden boys. We had such happy times, and then Ridgley was orphaned
and came to live with them. He was their cousin, but very soon he and
Philip were more like the two brothers. Roland, the younger Branden
boy, was quiet and bookish. The bond between Philip and Ted I never
thought to see broken…" She paused, her eyes looking into the past.

"It was Roland whom—you married, I think?" Sophia prompted gently.

At once, that booming laugh rang out. "The quiet one, you're
thinking! Married to a great, clumsy creature like me! No, no,
child—never get into a taking! It's what everyone thought. Still, we
loved one another. We had twenty wonderful years. And then—he was
killed at Talavera. I grieved for him, but he died as he would have
wished, fighting for the country he loved. A noble dying. If only we'd
been blessed with children, it wouldn't be… quite so…" She broke off,
shook her head, and said impatiently, "D'ye see how maudlin I get? And
this isn't my story but Vaille's. I shall never forget the expression
on his face when he met Ninon again. It had been almost five years
since he'd saved her life in France. His first wife had died eighteen
months previously, and we were all down at Hollow Hill for the week.
Harland had many guests, and one day Ninon and her Mama walked in. I
don't know what made me look at Vaille, but he was staring at Ninon as
if he had glimpsed something… holy. The only trouble was, Ridgley had
the same look!" A sad smile flickered over her face. "Trouble, trouble!
They both courted her. Bets on which would win were laid at all the
clubs, but I don't think Ted ever had the slightest chance."

"One would think, with such a love, there would have been few
problems," Sophia interjected. "Yet you said the marriage was unhappy?"

"Not at first. Philip's life revolved round her and their child. And
when Ninon became withdrawn and afraid of him, I think it broke his
heart. To add to his sorrow, she would use any and every excuse to keep
him away from Camille until the child himself became—and I think is to
this day— afraid of his father. Even so, he worships the man. But will
not acknowledge it. Which is what provokes me so that I wish I might
strangle my arrogant, cold, top lofty, much too good looking, and
altogether beloved nephew! That surprises you, I see. My dear, never
doubt it. I am putty in those beautiful hands of his, and well he knows
it, however I harp and rail at him! At all events, it was Ninon's fear
of Vaille which caused the final rift between the cousins. Poor
Ridgley, you see, was still completely in love with her, and to see her
so unhappy was unbearable to him. It was wrong, of course. He should
have gone away and left them to manage their troubles; and he would,
I'm sure, had she been happy. As time passed, however, Philip and Ninon
grew ever farther apart. When Camille was nine years old, there was, as
I told you, a dreadful quarrel. For better than a year, Vaille had
wanted the boy sent away to school, but Camille was frail, and Ninon
dreaded to be parted from him."

"But this is our custom. Did she not realize British families send their boys to boarding school?"

"I'm sure she did. But she would not agree. Vaille was patient at
first but became increasingly angry, especially since Ridgley stood
firmly with Ninon in the matter. They were at the Priory for the summer
when it all came to a head. Ted arrived to find Ninon in tears. He lost
his temper and Vaille… well, he can be very cutting in a quiet way, but
when he is really furious, the ice flies in all directions, I do assure
you! From what I heard, they almost came to cuffs— at the very least!
The next morning, Ninon—poor child—took Camille and ran away." Her lips
quivered, and she stopped abruptly.

The large hands were tightly gripped, and Sophia realized how soft
was the heart that hid beneath the bluff exterior. "How sad," she said
gently. "It must have been a most ghastly thing."

"Yes… The chaise went off the highway and rolled down a bank. One of
the horses broke free, but the other went down with the chaise.
Mercifully, Camille was thrown clear. He was not badly hurt, but his
arm was broken, and he was pinned beneath the animal's neck. He
struggled bravely, dear child, but could not win free. He could see…
his Mama but could not help her."

Horrified, Sophia whispered, "Dear God! How awful!"

"It was hours before they were found. The groom was unconscious and
unable to help. The rain was very heavy, the chaise half concealed by
shrubs...And that, my dear, is why Camille cannot abide horses. He can
drive 'em and does exceeding well. But to touch one is more than he can
bear."

There was a brief silence, each woman engrossed in her own thoughts.
Then Sophia asked, "Feather, you said the Comtesse would not allow
Damon to return to his Papa. Was she bitter about her daughter's death?"

"Perhaps. But, basically, she and her husband were kind people. She
never forgot that Vaille had once saved her life. She wrote to him
regularly—long letters with much detail of the boy. And she made
Camille write, also. But each time Vaille tried to bring his son home,
she outwitted him. The Comte had lost most of his wealth during "The
Terror" but still wielded great influence throughout Europe. When
Vaille finally became completely out of patience, the courts in Belgium
would not support him. Eventually, Vaille took desperate measures and
stormed to their chateau. He could not have chosen a worse moment. The
Comte was critically ill and the Comtesse sick with fear that she would
lose him. There was a bitter confrontation. Camille rejected Vaille and
refused to return except by force. He was seventeen then, and I don't
doubt was capable of being just as cutting as he often is now—beastly
creature! Vaille came home alone. When his Grandmama died, Camille
finally returned to England, but that was the hardest blow of all, I
think. Because he would not live in the same house with his father. And
now, alas, will not even share the same city."

"Does he perhaps lay his Mama's death at Vaille's door?"

Lady Branden frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he knows
something of their relationship that none of us suspected. The only one
who knows for sure where Ninon was running that day is Camille. Would
that he could remember!"

"And this is the reason why the Duke and Ridgley hate each other?"

"Reason and enough, Sophia. When Vaille came home and learned of the
tragedy, he almost went out of his mind with grief. He sat for days and
nights in the music room…just staring at the harpsichord Ninon had so
loved to play. One night, he went to Town in search of Ted. He found
him at a Ball at Lucinda Carden's house. Frightful! They went into
another room. Nobody 'noticed' of course, but that cat Anne Hersh
followed and watched. She told us that Philip accused Ridgley of coming
between them and implied that Ninon had been running to him when the
accident happened. Ridgley said something stupid—to the effect that he
prayed to God that was truth!" Her eyes flashed, and she snorted an
impatient "Men!"

"I'm amazed that Vaille didn't call him out—cousin or no!"

"Did. Roland and I, in a very desperate struggle, were able to stop
that final disaster. But they've been on the brink of a duel a dozen
times since. I… I wouldn't mind it so much, but…" Her twisted smile was
woeful. "They are quite equally matched. Probably kill each other. And
that I simply… could not… bear."

At first, Sophia thought the gallery empty, but looking around, she
at last saw Lord Phineas contemplating a display case containing
splendid antique jewellery. She called to him, and he hastened to join
her and express his profound gratitude that she had interrupted her
rest to come and talk with him. He expressed himself so profoundly, in
fact, that she began to be bored by his gratitude and was quite
relieved when he, at length, drew her to a sofa beneath a magnificent
tapestry and asked her with a rather overdone humility if she would
grant him just one small favour. Afraid that this might evolve into the
offer she now dreaded to receive from him, she said cautiously that she
would hope to be able to oblige any good friend were it in her power to
do so. She was considerably surprised, however, when he enquired what
she planned to wear to the ball. With the smallest of frowns, she
replied that she would probably wear an ivory-lace gown, refusing to
admit even to herself that she had no intention of doing so. The look
of horror that flashed across his face was so ludicrous that she burst
into laughter. "Good gracious, Phinny! Shall I spoil your evening?"

"Yes! Absolutely!" He possessed himself of her hand and, patting it,
said, "I have planned a—small surprise. One of your maids was kind
enough to tell me you own a truly magnificent blue gown. I was sure you
would wear it."

Sophia removed her hand gently and said with quiet emphasis that she
preferred not to wear that particular gown. She was taken aback when
Bodwin voiced an eloquent plea that she do so. "For the colour is
perfect, and I vow I can scarce wait to see you in it."

"You… have
seen
it?"

"I must confess that I have and could not help but admire it."

Considerably annoyed by such flagrant presumption, she said stiffly, "How kind of you to plan a surprise for me."

He gave a sad little answering smile, and she was at once seized by
remorse. The poor man was kind and well intentioned. He planned to
honour her at his ball and had been a considerate host. All he asked in
return was that she wear a gown which, in her heart, she longed to slip
into. She smiled and capitulated. "Very well, Phinny. I will wear the
blue gown."

His face lit up, and he clapped his white hands ecstatically. "Dear
lady! You are so gracious! How may I reward such magnanimity? Ah, I
have it!"

He minced over to the display case he had been inspecting when she
arrived. Without looking around, he snapped his fingers, and a gorgeous
footman at once floated into the room, unlocked the glass door of the
cabinet, and drifted soundlessly away.

Bodwin removed a flat jewel case and carried it to Sophia. "This is
very old," he said, placing it in her hands. "You would honour me by
wearing it this evening, dear lady."

She knew that she should simply hand it back with a polite refusal
but was unable to resist a peek at what lay inside. A magnificent
necklace of sapphires and diamonds that must have been worth a fortune
winked and sparkled at her. Worn with a very plain gown, it would still
have been ornate; worn on the gown Damon had sent, it would be
downright vulgar. "It is perfectly lovely." She closed the case and
held it out to him. "But I cannot wear it."

"Nonsense," he smiled, waving the case aside. "It will not put
you
in the shade, my dear."

She stood despite the fact that he did not step back, and she was
obliged to come closer to him than she would have wished. "You are very
good, Phinny," she said quietly. "I shall wear the blue gown but not
the necklace."

She prepared to walk past, but he tossed the case down, the lid
falling open and the jewels spilling onto the gleaming floor. As she
paused, shocked by this careless gesture, Bodwin gave a groan and, to
her horror, dropped to his knees and pressed her hand to his lips. "I
have offended you! Sooner would I die! Ah, my most beautiful Sophia,
when you consent to become my bride, I shall be the proudest man in all
England!"

"Phinny!" She struggled to free herself. "This is most improper! You
should have spoken to Whitthurst before you so addressed me!"

"Why? The boy's ill. You are a mature woman and can reach your own
decisions. From the moment we met, we have been more than friends!
Though I doubt you'd expected to bring a strong man to his knees."

Such a speech should have enraged her, but she had to fight a wicked
impulse to giggle, an impulse strengthened by having caught a glimpse
of the footman's impassive features transformed into a gigantic grin
before they were whisked from sight. She could scarce blame him—Bodwin
looked so utterly ridiculous, kneeling there in all his finery, the
necklace sparkling beside him. "
Do
get up, Phinny! I am truly sensible of the great honour you pay me, but—I wouldn't really suit you at all."

She was impressed by the agility with which he regained his feet,
springing up in a way that many a younger man would have envied. "You
must have more confidence in yourself, my dear," he said with tolerant
condescension. "You are lovely now and will grow in grace and beauty
under my guidance. Your family is quite presentable, and your lack of
an inheritance is of little moment with me. With you here, presiding
over all the pretty little feminine functions that have gone unattended
for so long, my house will be complete!"

Torn between irritation and amusement, she thought, 'He doesn't want
a wife, he wants another object to display!' And she said aloud, "It is
much too soon, my lord. I scarcely know you, and—"