Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (3 page)

"Me?" With a sort of leap, Devenish rose. "Good God, sir! I
know nought of children. And as for a brat who likely comes complete
with leathern fringes and a furred cap… ! Uncle Alastair! How can you
even think—"

Tyndale stood up straight and, from his superior height,
smiled into his nephew's aghast eyes. "You underestimate yourself,
Alain. If you are capable of having aided Tristram Leith to outwit and
outmanoeuvre one of the most dangerous madmen of our time, you are
certainly capable of handling a backwoods child. Now, I have other
matters requiring my attention, and must beg that you excuse me." He
lifted one hand as his nephew attempted a remonstrance, and returning
to sit at his desk, said gently, "We will talk at dinner, Alain."

Devenish hesitated. The old fellow was devilish grumpy today.
Probably the news of his brother's death had upset him, which was
natural enough. What a clodcrusher, not to have thought of it! He
murmured, "I am very sorry, sir. About my Uncle Jonas, I mean. I'll be
only too glad to help the boy."

Tyndale voiced his thanks, but did not look up from the papers
he was scanning. Devenish crept to the door and closed it softly behind
him.

The instant he was alone the Colonel threw down the papers and
sank his head into his hands. "Good God!" he whispered. "Perhaps I
should tell him the truth
now
, and be done with
it!" For a long while he stared, haggard-eyed, at the quill pen,
turning the problem over in his mind. But in the end he decided his
initial plan must be followed. "I will wait," he thought, "until he
meets the child. It would be just like the young rascal to become
deeply attached to the boy. Then, it will not be so hard to tell him."

From having known Mr. Alain Devenish since he was in short
coats, none of the Drummonds fancied he would fall into a decline by
reason of Yolande's scold. However, since he had announced at the
conclusion of that unhappy interview that he meant to go on a walking
tour, Yolande was mildly surprised to see him coming cantering up the
rear drivepath the following afternoon. She had been gainfully employed
for the previous quarter-hour in assisting her Aunt Arabella to unravel
a piece of knitting and, glancing up, said a not displeased, "Oh, it's
Devenish."

Mrs. Drummond uttered a despairing little wail. "But it can
not be, for you quite distinctly told me he was going away! Alas, so it
is! And now he will take you from me so that I shall never finish this
jacket for your dear papa! You are so
very
clever
at understanding complex instructions, Yolande. And I—as usual—am such
a dunce."

A small, bird-like woman, Mrs. Arabella Drummond had been
married when scarcely out of the schoolroom to Sir Martin's elder
brother, Paul. She had early wilted before her husband's forceful
personality, deferring to him in all things, and upon his sudden death
on the hunting field at the age of two and thirty had fallen into a
deep decline from which for a time it had been feared she would never
recover. Lady Louisa had insisted on caring for the childless widow,
and had nursed her so well that Arabella soon regained her health. The
prospect of living alone in the Dower House had appalled her, however,
and she had implored Sir Martin to be allowed to stay at Park Parapine,
just until she was over the shock of her bereavement. She was not an
invigorating companion, and her brother-in-law not only considered her
a dead bore but marvelled often through the following years that his
wife could endure so lachrymose a personality. His occasional efforts
to dislodge her had invariably brought on an attack of the vapours, or
palpitations, or a resumption of Mrs. Drummond's famous "weak spells,"
so that still the Dower House remained unoccupied.

Her aunt having been a fixture in the house for as long as she
could remember, Yolande could not imagine Park Parapine without her
and, although quite often she contemplated deliriously fiendish acts of
retribution upon her vexing relative, she was nonetheless fond of her
and said, with her kind smile, "You most certainly are not a dunce! You
knit very evenly, dear, and if you will just be sure you do not turn to
the wrong page of your instruction papers, all will be well."

Mrs. Drummond was little encouraged by these remarks. She hove
a deep sigh and allowed the garment she held to fall into her lap,
folding her hands upon it and saying mournfully, "I try so hard. And
this time I really did think I might succeed. I own I fancied it odd to
have that strange bump suddenly appearing in the middle of the back of
your papa's jacket, but then I thought it was to allow for the width of
the shoulders."

"No, dear," said Yolande, noting how cautiously Devenish swung
from the saddle and thinking that his leg must trouble him, still. "It
was for the heel of a sock."

Mrs. Drummond moaned. "You will be thinking I should have
known," she sighed, becoming even more dejected. "But how could I, when
I never have attempted a jacket before? You will recall the bedsocks I
made for your mama last Christmas? Those were nice, were they not?"

Yolande had a clear picture of her father wiping tears of
mirth from his eyes in Mama's parlour, when first Lady Louisa had tried
on her new bedsocks. "They're big enough… for two men— and a boy!" he
had choked. Struggling to preserve her countenance, Yolande assured her
aunt that the bedsocks had been charming, and finished, "Pray excuse
me, ma'am. I must go and welcome Dev."

She made her escape and found Devenish in the garden, holding
a basket that her mother was filling with early flowers. Lady Louisa,
wearing a becoming broad-brimmed straw bonnet, was saying, "… even just
a few blooms will so brighten a room, especially if one is not feeling
quite the thing. Oh, hello, my love! Here is Devenish come to visit
you, and I have been telling him about little Rosemary."

Yolande smiled upon her suitor and gave him her hand. "Good
afternoon, Dev. Is Rosemary still poorly, Mama? I had thought she just
ate too many cheese tarts yesterday."

"I wish you may be right." Lady Louisa placed a daisy in the
basket. "But Nurse says she is feverish. I do hope she is not sickening
for one of those endless childhood ailments." And with a worried smile,
a nod to Devenish, and a caution that her daughter stay out of the sun,
she took the basket and made her graceful way into the house.

Yolande turned to Devenish and succeeded in releasing the hand
he had firmly retained during her mother's remarks. "Really, Dev!" she
scolded primly.

He grinned at her. "Still in a pucker, are you?"

"
Me
! You were the one went riding off
yesterday like a thundercloud!"

A spark came into his eyes, but he had determined not to
quarrel with her and, with an extravagant gesture, invited, "Madam—will
you perambulate with me?"

She slipped her hand in his arm and they began to walk amongst
the flower beds together. She knew that he watched her, but managed to
appear unconscious of that fact, pausing to admire various blooms as
they strolled along. "Only look at the poppies," she said. "Miller has
such a sure touch and always knows just what will thrive in just which
spot. Are they not a picture?"

His immediate, "Not so pretty a picture as you," shocked her.
She must, she realized, have really alarmed him yesterday. The
awareness that he was trying very hard to please, in some perverse way
dismayed her, and she whirled away from him so that they were standing
back to back. "Since you admire me so," she teased, "tell me, sir, what
am I wearing?"

"Why—a dress of course, sweet henwit."

"Describe it."

Devenish groaned. "Oh, gad! It is—er, blue, I think. Yes.
Blue!"

"And has it a ruffle? Are the sleeves long, or short?"

"Thunder and— What the deuce has that to say to the purpose?"

"You don't know!"

He gritted his teeth. " 'Course I do. Blast it! There is—ah,
no ruffle. And the sleeves are those fat little things you women wear."

"You mean puff, I presume, Mr. Devenish?"

"My apologies, Miss Drummond! Yes. Puff."

"And have I a necklace today? Or ribbons in my hair?"

He was sure there had been no ribbons, so said triumphantly,
"You wear a necklace. A blue necklace. To match your eyes."

"Oh!" With a cry of chagrin, Yolande spun to face him. She
wore a gown of palest green muslin, the deeply scooped neckline having
a demure inset white yoke laced together with matching green ribbons.
The sleeves were tiny little puffs, as he had said, nor did she wear
ribbons in her rich tresses. Horrifyingly, about her white throat was a
necklace of jade beads. Which emphasized the green of her eyes.

"Oh— Lord!" Devenish clutched his fair curls in despair. "I am
sunk quite beneath reproach!"

"Be assured of it! I could have forgiven you the colour of the
dress, and my necklace, but—have you known me all my life and never
noticed that my eyes are green?"

"I am the complete gudgeon," he admitted, peering at her from
under his hand. "You would be perfectly right to reject me entirely."

She hesitated, but the mischievous quirk beside his lips
brought a frown to her brows, and she tossed her head and started off
alone. Devenish hastened to come up with her. "Yolande—for heaven's
sake! I do not see what difference—"

"Oh, do you not!" She halted, the better to glare up at him.
"Considering, Alain, that you are so deep in love with me—"

"Dash it all! You know I am!"

"I know nothing of the kind! Does a gentleman truly care for a
lady, he most certainly knows the colour of her eyes!"

"Yes—and I do, now."

She sniffed and started off again, and Devenish said with
disastrous honesty, "It is only that I've known you so long, I simply
did not notice."

"Not…
notice
… ?" She turned back,
frowning in that way he thought particularly delicious. "I will have
you know, Devenish, that there have been odes writ to my eyes." The
twinkle that came into his own deeply blue eyes vexed her into adding a
defiant and rather inaccurate, "Dozens!"

"Oho! What a whisker! Only show me two and I shall rush home
and write one myself!"

"How exceeding generous! But I would not so tax your abilities
for words. Thank you very much, just the same!" Flushed, her head held
high and haughty, she walked away, raging. And in a little while,
finding that he did not follow, uttered a muted, "Huh!" and paced on.
But she was deeply fond of him and gradually it dawned on her that they
had been quarrelling like two foolish children, rather than lovers. The
knowledge troubled her, as she had often been troubled of late, and she
glanced back. Devenish was standing where she had left him, staring at
the ground, hands thrust into his pockets. A pang that was as much
remorse as sympathy went through her, and she retraced her steps,
pausing before him.

The bowed, fair head was raised. The humour had left his face,
and for a moment they stood looking at one another in a shared and yet
subtly disparate distress.

Devenish stretched out one hand. "Yolande, my apologies.
Truly, I did not mean to vex you. But—what
do
you
want of me?"

"I do not know." She sighed and with a wry little shrug put
her hand into his. "I—I suppose I want you to be more steady. To have a
purpose in life, and not be always rushing off, helter-skelter."

They began to walk again, and Devenish said defensively, "I do
not rush off! My uncle kicked me out when I was obliged to resign my
commission, and—"

"You do! You know you do, Alain. Only look at—well, today, for
example. You said you were off on a walking tour."

"And so I was."

"You did not walk to Park Parapine, you rode!"

"Oh, don't be a widgeon, Yolande! I changed my mind, is all."

She shook her head at him, then asked curiously, "Why? I
thought you had really meant to go."

They had come to a stone bench, one of several grouped about a
fountain, and she sat down. Devenish rested one booted foot on the
bench and leaned forward. "I did, but—" His brow darkened. "Of all the
bird-witted starts! I've to play nursemaid to some puling infant of a
cousin I never even saw!"

Yolande stared into his indignant face, then broke into a
silvery gurgle of laughter. "
You
? Oh, no! Who is
it?"

"A Colonial." He took down his foot, dusted the bench
carelessly and inefficiently with his riding whip, and sat beside her.
"Some Canadian brat."

"But—how can that be? I thought I knew all the children in the
family. Am I related to him?"

"Must be, I imagine. He is the son of my deceased Uncle Jonas."

Her eyes widening, Yolande breathed, "What, the black sheep?
Oh, how fascinating! I must tell Mama. Now, let me see. The child is
your uncle's son. And my aunt on Papa's side of the family married a
cousin of your mother, so that makes me…" Her brow furrowed. "Oh dear,
I do get bewildered by these family relationships."

"It will be much simpler when we are shackled," he pointed
out. "You will be his cousin, too."

"Shackled! How I despise that odious expression!"

"Egad, how you take me up. Very well—united in the bonds of
holy matrimony."

"Thank you. When is he coming? Or have you to go to Canada,
Dev?"

"Hey! Would that not be famous?" Eyes alight, he said eagerly,
"A great continent to be civilized. A whole new land to be cultivated
and—"

She intervened dryly, "You have a great
estate
to be cultivated," and then, seeing the grimness come into his face,
added, "You never have told me why you do not like Devencourt."

At once, he grinned boyishly. "Because there is nothing to
tell, madam. I positively dote on the place. But I can scarce toddle
off and leave the Old Nunks, now can I? Poor fellow would likely fall
into a deep decline were he deprived of my scintillating companionship
and left lone and lorn."