Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet (47 page)

"My God!" gasped Damon. "Sophia never believed that?"

"But—my dear, the groom told us Phinny had been on the way to find
you and tell you of the duel when he saw your carriage race by, empty,
but the horses mad with fear. He followed the tracks and then saw the
fire but could not get inside to help you. What else were we to think?"

"But… didn't Ariel tell you—?"

"Ariel came with us," Clay interposed. "The good fellow's so devoted
to you, Cam. He was half crazed to know if you'd broken your neck
falling off my Rajah or got yourself shot. He's in the kitchen now, for
his back was quite burned, and his grace's coachman insisted the doctor
must look at him."

Stunned, Damon asked, "Does Sophia know Whitthurst was with me?"

"No! Thank heaven! We went at once to the barn…" Charlotte clasped
her hands. "I shall never forget her face when she saw that… that
ghastly… glowing mass. We were both weeping… praying there was some
mistake. But then—one of the men began to… rake the embers. And he
found—" She shuddered, and Vaille patted her hand comfortingly. "Found
the charred remnants of… your special… boot," she went on. "It was
almost gone, Camille, but there was no… mistaking it. Thompson had gone
with us, of course, and he broke down completely and said you'd
insisted on…wearing it. Even now, they are attempting to search the
wreckage. But—the heat was so fierce, they told Sophia it might be
hours before… they could—Oh! How could Phinny have made such a dreadful
mistake? Is he here? He was coming to try and stop the duel and tell
Philip of your… your—Camille! You must go at once! Dear Sophia is
breaking her heart!"

Damon was already limping to the door. "Ariel! Ah—there you are, my
good friend! Lord Ridgley's chaise and my father's greys! All four of
'em! And fast!"

Damon refused the services of a groom, knowing that no man would
drive as he intended to drive. He took no shortcuts this time, yet
reached the Priory in an incredible forty minutes to find two carriages
drawn up behind the house, one of which was his own, the other bearing
the insignia of the Bow Street Runners. Guiding the team expertly round
them, he swung around to the front of the house and was out of the
chaise almost before the lathered horses had stopped. The front door
was flung open as he limped up the steps, and Thompson and Mrs. Hatters
rushed out. For an instant, he thought the man was going to embrace
him, but he stood aside, blinking through swimming eyes as the little
woman rushed into Damon's arms, sobbing, "Oh, thank the good Lord! We
thought… we thought—"

"I know." He kissed her gently. "But as you can see, I am unhurt."
Thompson, who was clinging wordlessly to his shoulder, as if needing
the reassurance he was indeed flesh and blood, viewed his damaged
countenance with a shocked expression, and Damon grinned. "Well—almost!"

The valet drew an arm across his eyes and gulped, "Her ladyship…"

"Where is she?"

"The music room," said Mrs. Hatters. "Hurry, sir!"

Damon cuffed Thompson lightly on the chin and hurried away. In the
Great Hall, a crash and a muffled scream greeted him, and he leapt to
catch Feather, who swayed beside the stairs, a tray and a broken glass
of milk at her feet. She hugged his bruised ribs so hard he was forced
to beg for mercy, and when he had kissed and reassured her and told her
there had not been, nor was like to be, any duel, she sobbed
gratefully, "I was just taking some warm milk to poor Sophia. Oh,
Camille—never stand here comforting a silly old woman! Go to her!"

A dark-visaged man, wearing black clothing, said, "Your lordship, there is some questions wot I must put to—"

"Bow Street?"

For answer, the man held out his small baton of office. "Hif I may 'ave—"

"You may, indeed. In half an hour, exactly."

"Yus, sir. But first—"

"And not before," said Damon curtly, and strode past him.

The music room door was open. It was very quiet inside, , with no
sign of that beloved, golden head. He pushed the door wider and entered
cautiously. Sophia lay huddled on the sofa, one tear-stained cheek
pillowed on her hand. Her eyes were closed, and a glittering drop
coursed slowly down her face. Horatio, fascinated by this strange
behaviour, was creeping toward the girl, and as Damon watched, the
goose nibbled, but very gently, at the fingers of one drooping hand,
for all the world as though he sought to comfort that terrible grief.

Sophia, opening swimming eyes, said brokenly, "Oh, Horatio… he is
gone from us. My precious love… And soon— poor bird—you will be alone,
for my heart is dying, also…" Her voice broke on a sob. "Oh, Camille…
Camille!"

Overwhelmed by the depth of this sorrow, Damon moved closer but
found her lying as if in agony, both hands clasped over her face. And
he hesitated, fearing to frighten her into a collapse by suddenly
appearing.

Horatio looked up at him, trundled back to the rug, and settled himself. Damon's glance fell upon the wounded harpsichord.

To Sophia, the music sounded faint and far away, so sunk was she in
grief. Perhaps it was the echo of her happiness that rang in her ears.
The memory of her beloved, playing with such tenderness the song he had
written for her and claimed was for his fictional Great Aunt. She
opened tear-dimmed, aching eyes and thought to see him once again,
sitting there, his hair as tumbled as ever, his back so ramrod
straight, his handsome face so terribly battered, and… She sat up and
wiped at her eyes with a desperate eagerness. The music stopped.
Peering, afraid to believe, not daring to accept what she saw, she
crept toward him.

Damon swung around on the bench, his own eyes blurring at the full sight of her woebegone little face.

"Do… do not disappear… my own, my love," she pleaded, chokingly.

"Never!" He stood, and held out his arms.

Sophia gave a strangled cry and flew to him like a bird to its nest.

And in a little while the sun, being past the zenith, sent a pale
but glowing finger down the diminishing clouds and through the side
window, a finger that touched upon two heads very close together, one
black and one golden. The man seated upon the bench before the old
harpsichord, the girl clasped tightly in his arms.

Horatio, aware somehow that all was right with his world once more,
went trundling down the hall in search of food. And never knew that
behind him, he left—paradise.