Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet (30 page)

"And there is someone else, perhaps?" It was softly said, yet his gaze became fixed and oddly brilliant.

'…there is someone else, perhaps?' The words seemed to echo in her
ears. "I have received other offers, sir," she evaded, lowering her
lashes, "but never one I have considered accepting."

"Then can it be because there is some slight discrepancy in our
ages? I assure you, my dear, you will not find me wanting in virility.
You are not just out of the schoolroom, and I am considered quite a
prize in the matrimonial stakes, you know. Many a lovely girl has
dropped her handkerchief for me; many a trap has been set by a hopeful
Mama—but in vain. Always I have waited for the perfect partner."

He was all but preening himself. Sophia, having been made to feel
quite matronly, was less vexed than amused. Unable to resist the
temptation, she said demurely, "But— alas, I am not perfect."

"I shall make you perfect!" he vowed, striking a pose. "I shall take
your natural beauty and refine it! The greatest couturiers in the world
shall clothe you! I shall import skilled cosmeticians to enhance your
loveliness. There are those, dear Sophia, who know just how to make a
mouth…"—he tapped the side of her cheek gently—"just a teensy shade…
less wide. Or to bring a nose to perfect scale! Your father's
recklessness, your brother's wildness, are not necessarily traits you
must pass on to your children. You shall never know worry again. Money,
Sophia, is the softest cushion the world offers, and you shall be one
of the richest women in England. Your word will be law absolute—second
only to my own—in all my vast possessions and estates. You shall have…"

She had gone from incredulity to anger to mirth during this speech.
Now, as he went on at great length, she found laughter bubbling up
inside her and thought, 'Oh, Camille! If only you could hear this!' She
realized that he had finished his oration at last and was watching her,
probably expecting her to fall at his feet! He was an insufferable bag
of conceit! And not once, in all the puffing off of his consequence,
had he said the one thing that might have disposed her more kindly
toward him. Not once had he claimed to feel the tender emotion. But
just the same, he was her host, and in his own pathetic fashion he had
paid her the greatest compliment a man may pay a woman, and she would
not hurt him for the world. Therefore, she lowered her eyes and stood
in meek silence, striving to think of something she might say without
giggling. Fortunately, she was spared the effort.

"Ah"—Bodwin smiled indulgently—"I have overwhelmed you, have I not?
I am too sudden, too masterful! It was ever thus with the men of my
house. Take your time, my dear. Become accustomed to this palace of
mine and allow yourself to think of it as… ours!"

"Like dark pools…" sighed the Viscount, a hand behind his head on
the pillow, his eyes smiling up at the canopy above him. "And that
delicious upper lip…" He turned a look of complete idiocy upon his
amused sister. "Did you remark that, Chicky? Have you ever in your life
seen such a delightful little mouth? Reminds me—"

"Of a little rabbit." She nodded. "You told me." His bright-eyed
happiness caused her to bless Genevieve's absent head. He loved her all
right! How wonderful to be so sure. To have pride and joy and love. And
no doubts. And how could she spoil this bliss by confessing her own
sins? How could she admit that she had brought shame upon him, fouled
his given word, had so little faith in his judgment that she had—

"Chicky?" Anxiety clouded Whitthurst's eyes. "Nothing wrong, is
there? You do like her? I mean—" He looked very shy suddenly. "I
mean—just supposing she should honour me—Not that I think she would.
But—you wouldn't—er— Oh, dash it all! You know what I'm trying to say,
you ninny-hammer!"

"Of course I do. And I love Genevieve already. I did, in fact,
before I knew you two had met. It's just…" But the eagerness with which
he waited was her undoing. She could
not
tell him! Not now.
He deserved this new found joy, bless his dear soul. She forced her own
misery to the back of her mind and stammered, "Well dear, we're not
exactly plump in the pockets. If Genevieve—"

"Needs a rich husband?" he grinned. '"Fraid the shoe's on the other
foot. She may not be the wealthiest heiress in Europe, but she's never
going to have to worry about the price of tea! I shall feel positively
guilty about offering for the sweet girl, in fact." A shadow crossed
his face. "Everything considered."

"Speaking of offering…" said Sophia with a twinkle.

Whitthurst looked at her sharply. "You'd best give me the office,
Chicky. He's liable to come asking permission to address you, and I
should—"

"He already has."

He sprang up in bed, his eyes flashing. "He—
what
?"

"He offered to—er—bestow upon me one of the oldest names in England.
And"—she tossed both arms wide and said dramatically—"all this!"

"By God!" cried Whitthurst, her humour escaping him. "How dared he
approach you without first asking me? Fellow's uncouth, Sophia!"

She stared at him and thought of Phineas and the condescending
proposal he had made her. "Uncouth?" she gurgled. "Oh! How that would
enrage him, Steve!"

"I'll enrage him!" he muttered wrathfully. "What the devil did he say?"

"Well, he first showed me the most magnificent diamond and sapphire necklace I have ever—"

"I'll break his filthy neck!" cried the Viscount, tossing back the bedclothes and exposing a very hairy leg.

"Please do not," she said with amused affection. "Though I thank you
for the impulse. It was not a gift. I suppose even Phinny would not be
that gauche. He wanted me to wear it to the ball tonight. But I
refused."

"So I should hope!" growled Whitthurst, settling back.

"And I refused
him
, dear. Though he was willing to overlook
a great deal." She went to the dressing table and leaned closer to the
mirror. "Do you think cosmetics could help my poor mouth?"

"Help it? What humdudgeon are you talking? Ain't hurt— is it?"

"No. But he was right, I do believe. It is a shade too wide."

She turned and found him gaping at her. "He never did!" A little light began to dance in his eyes. "You're making it up!"

"But, no. He will even forgive me my—huge nose, I collect."

Whitthurst gave a great whoop of laughter. "Oh, gad! This is rich! Don't he know our dear Regent wants Lawrence to paint you?"

"Apparently not, but he does have a discerning eye." She touched her nose doubtfully. "You don't suppose it really is—?"

"Poor Chicky! Such a bulbous monstrosity!" He succumbed to hilarity once again as she flew back to the mirror.

"You may laugh and tease, sir," she said with mock severity, "but our host was also quite willing to forgive my pitiful dowry!"

Whitthurst, wiping his eyes with a corner of the sheet, sighed, "You
are a naughty puss is what you are, Sophia Drayton! And will be
punished for making up such shocking whiskers!"

"It
is
fortunate, is it not, that I have several wealthy
suitors? Dear Phinny and Lord Owsley and that kind Mr. Buckingham,
and—" From beneath her lashes she slanted a glance at her brother. "You
seem to think—your uncle
…
?"

"Poor old Cam ain't in that league," Whitthurst said regretfully.
"Properly in the basket, from all I hear. Serves him right, stupid
gudgeon. He'll be lucky if he can get his spa finished in time to save
his fool neck, and—Sophia! Are you ill?" He sprang up, all genuine
concern, and crawled down the bed toward her. "Dear soul, you're white
as a sheet!"

"Stephen," she gasped, clinging to him. "Camille's rich! He must be!"

"Was. But he's got too many dipping into his pockets. A bunch of
leeches was you to ask me. And you'd not believe the blunt he's spent
to improve the home farm and the village. Besides the Priory and the
spa! Now he's thoroughly antagonized Vaille—blasted fool!"

'Good God!' she thought numbly, 'the Duke has cut him off! What have I done?'

Stephen's voice echoed as though she stood on one side of a great
canyon and he on the other, but the words were indistinguishable. All
she could think of was Camille's strained white face at that ghastly
investors meeting… His searing rage when he'd locked the doors to the
music room… the unutterable tenderness in his eyes just before he had
kissed her.

She could all but feel that sweet embrace and, blinking up through
her tears, exclaimed, "Oh! Stephen!" as she abruptly returned to
reality.

"Yes—I'm here, dear. Whatever is troubling you?"

She clung to him for a moment, fighting for composure. And then,
frantic lest she weaken and tell him everything, mumbled, "I'm just a…
a silly chit, you know, Steve. I'm—" she pulled away and wiped at her
eyes impatiently. "I'm just—jealous, you see. I had you back with me
for… for such a short while. And now, I'm going to have to… lose you
again."

Whitthurst scanned her face narrowly. She was closer to becoming a
watering pot than he'd ever seen her. Whatever had so upset her was, he
suspected, of a far more serious nature than a simple dread of his
possible marriage. On the other hand, what she said was true. They'd
always been very close, and had been reunited for a comparatively short
space of time. Perhaps she really
was
grieving. He shook her
gently. "Silly little girl. Even should Genevieve accept me, it would
likely be months—if not years—before we could wed. You'll have me to
fuss over until you are glad to see the back of me, never fear."

Sophia smiled, sniffed, and dried her eyes resolutely, while all the
time conscience screamed, 'What have you done? You wicked jade! What
have you done?'

Lord Edward Ridgley leaned back against the reference table in the
library, folded his arms, and watched the distraught girl in silence.
His confirmation of her fears had left her white and shaken, her eyes
tearful, her hands tightly clasped. She looked small, alone and
frightened. A situation of her own making had completely run away from
her. And even so, she was more beautiful than any woman he had seen
since Ninon…

"If I may make so bold, m'dear," he said kindly, "you underestimate
Whitthurst. Do not now underestimate Damon, also. He's inclined to be
top lofty, I grant you. But he's no fool. He'll find a way out of this
mess."

Sophia regarded him uncertainly and, dabbing at her eyes with her
dainty handkerchief, quavered, "I just do not understand. The Duke
seems a kind man. Even though I could tell they were not exactly—close,
surely he wouldn't turn his back if the Marquis were in desperate
trouble?"

Ridgley scowled but said nothing. Sophia noted in an absent fashion
the carefully colour-matched leather covers of the books. Very neat and
very clinical. She thought of Damon's library and the many dog-eared,
shabby books, the worn and broken backs, the oft-read and beloved
favourites.

"Vaille don't know," said Ridgley gruffly. "Nor is Damon like to
tell him. All the Brandens are mad." He gave a wry smile. "I thought
you'd already realized that. But if you're wondering why I don't tell
Vaille about the fix Cam's got himself into—good gad, I'd not dare! The
boy has a ferocious temper! He'd never forgive me. And I am—rather
deuced fond of him, d'ye see."

"I do see," she sighed. "He has made you promise you'll say nothing.
Then I must try and do something." But what could she do? She'd given
the money to Marcus, and the poor darling needed it so badly.

Watching her, the Earl said shrewdly, "Already spent, eh, ma'am?"

"I don't think so. But—I cannot give it back, I'm afraid."

He realized that she had given it to somebody else. Not
Whitthurst—Clay? Of course! She doted on the man, and he'd been deep
under the hatches. Bless the chit! Despite her fiery impetuousness,
she'd a good heart!

"I shall have to tell my brother," Sophia said miserably. "I had so
hoped he could have a few more days here, for he is much improved. But…
there is no one else I can turn to.
Someone
must go to Devon and try to make Mr. Prendergast take down the fence, and I fear he'd not pay much heed to me."

Ridgley frowned. It would be a bitter blow to Whitthurst to discover
what his sister had done. And a greater tragedy if the shock and
humiliation sent his health tumbling once more. Whitt looked happy
again, and God knows, he deserved it. Camille had Thompson and Ariel at
the Priory, or there could be no contemplating this. But he certainly
needed help, and it just might be possible to throw a scare into that
wicked old Prendergast… "Ma'am," he said tentatively, "if you have that
note with you, I could go to Devon at once and try to effect some
compromise—though I don't promise I'll succeed."

"Oh! Would you? Thank heaven! I do not have a copy of the note. Mr.
Prendergast said he would send one, but it has not come. If I were to
give you a letter, appointing you my agent… would that do?"

Sophia was unaccustomedly silent as her two maids fussed with the
finishing touches to her toilette. Their awed exclamations woke her
from her reverie, and standing to survey the results, she was pleased
by her appearance. The gown Damon had sent was
not
too small.
It fit so exactly, in fact, that she knew he must have borrowed one of
her own and had careful measurements taken. The rich blue-violet
enhanced her violet eyes. Connie had brushed her hair into a high
cluster of curls atop her head, with one fat ringlet swooping to her
right shoulder. Even the Viscount, escorting her downstairs, had
nothing more critical to say than that the ladies would hate her with a
passion. "Must say I still like the wide skirts and all those fluffy
petticoats you was used to wear," he observed cheerfully. "Still,
that's a good colour on you—dashed if it ain't." He grinned and added,
"Might even win Phinny's approval—though I wouldn't refine on that!"