Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (27 page)

His expression halted her hopeful utterance, and he shook his
head, his lips tight. "Ernestine likes being Lady Simon Buchanan. She
likes Buchanan Court and the house I bought her on Grosvenor Square.
And she despises notoriety. But, even if she did not, do you fancy me
the type of ramshackle ne'er-do-well who would go to your brother and
beg to be bought from a marriage?"

He led her to the wall, and they sat close together, huddled
against it, out of the wind. Stephanie noted the grim line of Simon's
mouth, the eyes that avoided her own so steadily, and, knowing she must
fight for her chance at happiness, sighed, "Then we both face a life of
loneliness. Only, you at least, have your children."

He said bitterly, "One of whom is my own, I do believe."

Tears came into her eyes. She could not speak, but leaned her
cheek against his sleeve in mute sympathy. Buchanan did not dare to
look down at that fair head and, staring at the ragged trees, managed
to say with assumed lightness, "Now tell me of yourself and your plans
for the future."

For a moment she did not move. Then, sitting up and folding
her hands in her lap, she answered slowly, "People say I am gentle,
Simon. Perhaps what they mean is that I am conformable. I only know I
am… not very brave."

He scanned her sad, sweet face, the fine curve of the brow,
the soft blowing curls, and argued tenderly, "Of course you are.
Euphemia says—"

"Dear Euphemia," she interjected and, taking up a small stick,
began to poke at the earth with it. "And oh, how I envy her. To have
travelled: To have seen far-away places and peoples, and such a
diversity of customs."

"You would not be averse to travelling a good deal?" he asked,
recalling Ernestine's indignant refusal to accompany him to Spain.

"Good gracious, no! I love England dearly, but I long to see
the rest of the world. To be able to do so beside one's love must be—"
The stick snapped under her fingers. Casting it away, she said, "That,
alas, is denied to me. Some ladies, losing the man they love, find the
strength to go on living and perhaps, in time, love again. But I have
always known that I would only ever love once."

"Do not," he begged, his voice low with misery. "You will
marry."

"No. Not now. Which is sad, because I think I might have made
quite a good mother."

Her calmness was beginning to frighten him, and searching her
face, he demanded, "What do you mean? Tell me!"

"There is only one answer, for I couldn't endure to grow old
and—"

"My dear God! Stephie! What are you saying? You do not… you
cannot
mean you… you would—"

"Kill myself? No, foolish boy." She reached up to caress
lovingly his cheek and murmur, "I shall enter a convent, where I can be
of some use, but shall not have to watch other ladies and… their
children… around me."

His face drawn and frantic, he grasped her by the arms. "
No
!
You must
not
! There are those for whom it is the
perfect answer. But, not you! You were made for loving and cherishing,
for motherhood! Stephanie! Promise me, I beg of you.
Promise
me that you will not."

"On the day you leave," she said, in a remote but resolute
voice, "I leave also. I could not bear to live on at Dominer. To see
the rooms where you once were, the paths we have walked and ridden
together." Her voice cracked a little, but she finished, "Never grieve
so, my darling. At least my life will not have been lived to no
purpose."

He gazed into her eyes for a long moment, then bowed his head
into his hands and, wracked with anguish and guilt, knowing there was
no way out, no possible solution for them, groaned, "My God! What have
I done?"

Stephanie touched his curling hair, love rendering all other
considerations of little moment "You have shown me how beautiful life
could be…" She paused a second, then, playing her last card, breathed,
"… how beautiful it
still
might be, if only…
Simon, beloved… Take me with you!"

"
What
?" His head flung upward and looking
at her in stark disbelief, he gasped, "No! And…
no
!
Never! What manner of crudity do you fancy me?"

Her lips a kiss away, her eyes pools of yearning, she
murmured, "I know only what
I
am. If Ernestine
loved you, or if you loved her, I would let you go, and if I must die
of grief—so be it. But she does
not
love you and
has given you only sorrow. Simon, my own, take me with you."

White-faced, appalled, he drew away from her. "You do not know
what you ask of me! You cannot realize what our life would be like!"

"Paget did it! He ran off with Wellington's own sister-in-law,
when she already had four children! Yet you still respect him!"

"Yes, I do. But was there
ever
such a
scandal! The dreadful things that were said of the poor lady in the
newspapers! And Hookey for years deprived of one of his finest cavalry
officers."

"Yet they survived it! People forgave them—even Wellington.
Oh, my love, it is our only hope. Unless—" She scanned him in new
anxiety. "Would your career be ruined? Totally?"

"I don't think so. I doubt he'd boot me out, not now. He needs
trained officers too badly. And Colborne would stand by me, I
know—Devil take it! What am I saying? No, Stephie, I cannot! I love you
too much to—Oh, sweetheart, don't you see? Even if I agreed to disgrace
you so shamefully, Hawk saved my life! It would be utterly
reprehensible!"

"If you really loved me…" she faltered, her lips quivering
pathetically.

"How can you say that?" He drew her to him and, resting his
cheek against her fragrant hair, groaned, "I adore you, heaven help me.
And you know it."

"And yet," tears began to creep down her cheeks, "… care more
about your pride, than whether I must dwell in a convent for the rest
of my… days."

Tormented, Buchanan's lips silenced those heartbroken words.
And when their bittersweet embrace ended, she whispered, "My darling,
say you will at least think about it. Promise me!"

He shook his head desperately. Approaching hoofbeats announced
the return of Bryce. With a gasp of relief, Buchanan moved back, but
Stephanie clung to him, weeping, "Simon,
promise
!
Oh, beloved, do not break my poor heart… like this."

Lieutenant Sir Simon Buchanan ignored the dictates of his own
heart and strove valiantly.

It was a doomed effort.

At about the same moment that Stephanie was working her
feminine wiles against the hapless Buchanan, Lady Bryce sang to herself
and bustled down the hall for one last check of the music room. Not
that she expected to find it one whit changed from the calm
tranquillity it had radiated an hour since, but merely to gaze fondly
around the gracious chamber, imagining it crowded with her proud and
influential guests. The mellow notes of the grandfather clock were
striking twelve as she flung open the door, only to check with a
strangled squawk and stand as one paralyzed. A veritable sea of
greenery met her eyes: potted palms, ferns, and juniper were
everywhere, and through a screen of fronds, servants moved busily
about. A familiar aroma assailing her nostrils, she found her voice to
shriek, "
Dora
! Whatever are you about?"

Hawkhurst, attracted by his aunt's pained yowl, wandered up to
grin appreciatively at the verdant panorama. Mrs. Graham hove nervously
into view from having placed a large aspidistra plant on a stand beside
the harp. Her sudden movement sent the plant toppling, and, wringing
her hands as she eyed the debris, she stammered, "I—I was only—"

"Good God! The room looks like a jungle! And… what in the name
of—An
unclad male
! In my Musicale? Have you
entirely lost your wits?"

"It… it's only Adonis. I thought, perhaps—"

"And near lifesize! Oh, I shall suffer a spasm! I know it!"

"Come now, ma'am," said Hawkhurst, turning from his amused
contemplation of the luxuriant indoor garden. "I'm sure that at her
time of life Mrs. Hughes-Dering has seen an unclad—"

"Hawk… hurst… !" cried his Aunt Carlotta awfully.

He chuckled, motioned to a lackey, and together they took up
the shameless Greek and bore him into the hall, Dora trotting anxiously
after them.

"What the devil have you there?" the Admiral enquired,
wandering down the stairs, quizzing glass levelled.

"Adonis," grinned Hawkhurst. "
Sans bienséance
!"

"Of course. So… ?"

"Aunt Carlotta feels that clothes make the man, sir."

"Do you suppose," began Dora hopefully.

"No, I do not!" Hawkhurst laughed. "My clothes would not suit.
And I'll not insult him by swathing him in a sheet!"

"Oh, pray
do
put him down, Garret!" she
pleaded, tripping over his foot in her agitation and almost bringing
them down, all three.

"Fine-looking chap," said the Admiral, viewing the statue
critically. "Where'd you come by him?"

"Lord knows. Miss Buchanan! Hide your eyes, ma'am! This is not
fit sight for a single lady!"

Euphemia, wearing a pale-green, long-sleeved gown and with a
jade band holding back her ringlets, was such a sight as to bring a
softness to his own eyes, however, wherefore he turned his attention to
the relocation of Adonis beside a tall display cabinet.

"After the Battle of Fuentes de Onoro, Mr. Hawkhurst,"
imparted Euphemia serenely, "I saw—"

"Spare my blushes," he smiled, unable to resist another swift
glance at her vivacious countenance.

"By George! Were you at Fuentes, m'dear?" the Admiral asked,
advancing upon her eagerly.

"Will someone
please
send some footmen
to remove all these plants?" wailed Carlotta from the music room. "I
vow our guests shall not be able to see one another in this rain
forest!"

"Oh, dear," mourned Dora. "I had thought it looked quite nice."

"So did I, love," Hawkhurst soothed, sending the imperturbable
lackey to aid Carlotta. "And besides, no one would have noticed if I
fell asleep."

She giggled. "You would not dare! Scoundrel! I must go and
help!" She drew back her shoulders and quoted in a voice of martyrdom,
" 'Here am I who did the deed. Turn your sword on me.' "

Wetherby rolled exasperated eyes at the ceiling. Hawkhurst
shot a meaningful glance at Euphemia, and she immediately slipped her
hand in Mrs. Graham's arm and, all but recoiling from the overpowering
stench of her "perfume," said, "Dear ma'am, I would like so much to
have a small cose with you. Can you spare me a moment or two?"

"Sweet child, I could spare you a month!"

"Does Miss Buchanan intend to stay at Dominer for that length
of time," said Wetherby, "nothing will drag me away!"

Euphemia stayed to drop him a curtsey. "You are too kind, sir.
But we are promised to my aunt in Bath. And Dr. Archer informs me that
Kent may travel on Friday."

The ladies walked away, arms entwined, and the Admiral
muttered, "Then I shall plan on leaving also. Ain't often—" The cutting
words ceased. His grandson, he perceived, had quite obviously forgotten
his existence and was watching the ladies climb the stairs, an
unguarded expression on his face that struck the old gentleman mute. He
followed that gaze thoughtfully and, after a moment, observed, "She has
brought the laughter back into this house." He turned his shrewd eyes
back to Hawkhurst. "She is herself like a bright sunbeam. Do you not
agree?"

"Sunbeam… ?" murmured Hawkhurst, half to himself. "I think of
her more as the light from a candle." His voice lowered so that the
Admiral had to lean closer to discern the words. "One… small candle."

Wetherby purely disliked quotations, if only because his
daughter's habit so irritated him, but, searching his memory for the
rest of that wise old Chinese maxim, felt a stirring of unease. Did the
boy really fancy himself to be "walking forever in darkness"? Hawkhurst
flashed a guilty look at him and, realizing he had spoken an inner
thought aloud, hurried away, his face reddening.

For a moment the Admiral frowned rather blankly at the stairs.
Then, more troubled than he would have cared to admit, he wandered off
in search of Miss Buchanan's page.

"Indeed not." Mrs. Graham's voice was muffled behind the great
pile of papers, periodicals, fashion pages, odds and ends of fabric of
all shades and sizes, and innumerable lengths of embroidery silk which
she had cleared from a chair in her large bedchamber, in order to
enable Euphemia to sit down. "Colley is the dearest boy, but—Oh, drat
that stuff!" And, having stooped three times to recover one wisp of
yarn, she abandoned the entire attempt, allowed the rest of her
collection to follow it to the floor, and, dusting off her hands
triumphantly, said, "Well, that's all shipshape! Now—" She stepped over
the debris, "do sit down, my dear." She wriggled her way into the
approximately eight inches of free space on the littered sofa and
beamed at her amused guest. "Whatever were we talking about?"

"Colley. He shows a deal of promise, I think, and will
doubtless acquit himself well when he inherits Dominer."

"Much he cares for that! The boy would far rather see Hawk
happily wed and with sons of his own to inherit the title and estates.
All he wants for himself—" Dora bit her lip and said quickly, "How
sorry he will be to see you leave, for he has taken quite a fancy to
your brother."

"I suspected as much. But to be truthful I would leave with an
easier mind did I know who was behind these murderous attacks upon your
nephew. I am—we all are—deeply in his debt, ma'am, and for Mr.
Hawkhurst to stand in such danger causes me great anxiety. Only last
night I thought to see something I could not but think most
suspicious." She noted her companion's guilty start, and her heart sank.