The Ruby Pendant (9 page)

At the far end
of the park, she turned to go back, striking out across the grass to cut off
the corner and thus return to her starting place. Ahead of her she could see a
group of trees and a white building surrounded by an overgrown garden that she
needed to pass. She approached carefully, wondering if it were inhabited and if
there might be ferocious guard dogs.

There were no
dogs, but there were two men standing beside a large pond on which a family of
ducks swam. The men had their backs to her and were deep in conversation, but
she recognised James Martindale as one of them; the other she did not know. He
was most assuredly not one of their party, being unshaven and dressed in an
ill-fitting greatcoat with torn flap pockets and layers of
 
shoulder capes. Beneath it she glimpsed
grubby blue trousers.

Half-afraid to
be seen, she darted behind the shelter of an oak and peered out to watch them.
She saw James hand the man a bundle of papers and receive in exchange something
that looked remarkably like banknotes which he stuffed into his coat pocket.
They spoke for a few more minutes, then James strode off and the man scuttled
away in the opposite direction.

Juliette waited
several minutes before coming out from her hiding place and following James,
who was undoubtedly returning to the picnic. That money had changed hands she
was certain, but for what reason she could only guess - a gamble won, a debt
repaid, though it seemed inconceivable that James should gamble with such a
one, or lend him money; he had looked decidedly shifty.

She thought of
bribery and blackmail and spying, and though she told herself such ideas were
absurd, they stuck in her mind. The idea of the picnic had only been mooted
three days before, so how had the man known James would be at that particular
spot at that time? And then she remembered it had been James's idea in the
first place. `Let's all go to Richmond on Sunday,' he had said, when she and
Lucinda, escorted by Philip, had met him in Hookham's Library. 'I am advised it
will be a fine day and we could take a picnic.'

It had taken
little persuasion and the party had soon grown to include several of their
friends. 'The more the merrier,' James had said jovially. He had even refrained
from grumbling when Mr Devonshire had asked to be included.

According to
Lady Carstairs, James had been trying to borrow from her husband a week ago and
since then had acquired a top-of-the-trees equipage. Had he taken money from
the man before? Was that how he had paid for it? It was all very curious and
worrying. Ought she to tell someone? But who? Philip Devonshire came
immediately to mind, but that would seem as though she were playing one man
against the other and she did not want anyone to think that. Besides, family
loyalty forbade it. Or was she making something out of nothing? Just because
she was not enamoured of her cousin, did not mean lie was the kind to consort
with criminals, did it? But deep inside her, she felt a quiver of apprehension
and fear which she could not shake off.

Immersed in
thought, she did not hear the footsteps behind her and the voice made her
almost jump from her skin. 'There you are, Miss Martindale, I had thought you
might have lost your way. I came to find you.'

She twisted
round, her heart pumping at twice its usual rate. `Oh, Mr Devonshire, you
startled me.'

He fell into
step beside her. 'I beg your pardon, but you know you should not wander off
alone. There are some very unsavoury characters about these days.'

`Did Mama send
you to look for me?' she asked, wondering if he had also seen the man with
James and that had prompted his reference to unsavoury characters. She was
tempted to ask him, but his next words drove all thought of her cousin from her
head.

`No, I missed
you.'

He had missed
her! If there was ever a time to declare himself it was now. Her heart missed a
beat and she stumbled. He put out a hand to steady her, but did not speak.

`I have not
been far,' she said, endeavouring to control the tremor in her voice. 'I wanted
to walk and everyone else was otherwise disposed.'

`I would have
accompanied you, had you asked.'

She gave a
cracked laugh. 'You were busy hitting a cricket ball all over the place and if
I had mentioned a walk everyone would have decided to come.'

`You did not
wish for company?'

`No. I wanted
to think.' .

`Oh. A knotty
problem to solve?'

`Yes.'

`And have you the
answer?'

`The answer
seems to be to go back to Hartlea and pretend we never came to London.'

`Have you not
enjoyed your stay in town?'

`I might have
done if...' She stopped. If he had obeyed his instinct and kissed her, instead
of drawing back? If James was not so obviously after her dowry?

`Oh, I do not
like the marriage mart. Marriage should come as a result of two people finding
they have everything in common, a meeting of souls, a feeling in each that to
live without the other would be unbearable.' She stopped and laughed in an
embarrassed way. 'Now tell me again I have been reading too much fiction.'

`No, I would
not do that,' he said softly. 'I find myself in agreement.'

She turned
startled eyes on him. 'You are?'

`Oh, yes.'

`Mr Devonshire,
you surprise me. I had thought you might be a man of the world.'

'And may a man
of the world not fall in love?'

`Are you in
love?'

`I think,
perhaps, I might be.'

`Does the lady
know of it?'

`There are
reasons why I cannot offer for her. One day perhaps...' He stopped speaking
suddenly.

She held her
breath waiting for him to go on, wanting him to explain himself, to tell her
why he escorted her so frequently when he could not make an offer. Could he
possibly be acting under instructions? Was he part of what she saw as a
conspiracy to keep her away from the French lieutenant? She could not imagine
him agreeing to that; he was too independent to be coerced, too honourable to
deceive a lady in that fashion. She smiled inwardly, wondering what had given
her that impression. Could it be that he had refrained from kissing her when he
might have done? She had behaved badly herself and he could have been forgiven
for thinking she had wanted to be kissed. Was she falling in love with this
enigmatic man? It was too soon, too soon after the incident over the portrait
to unscramble her feelings, but of all the men she had met, he was the one she
felt she could lean on, knowing he would not let her down. Was that the
beginning of falling in love? She wanted desperately to find something light to
say, to diminish the huge knot of confused thoughts and emotions which
constricted her chest, so that she could breathe easily again, but nothing came
out of a mouth which had suddenly gone dry.

Neither spoke
and the silence stretched between them like a tangible thing, a taut wire that,
if it were stretched too far, would break and whirl about their heads, cutting
them to pieces. She dare not speak and he would not. The moment had gone.
Suddenly a cloud obscured the sun and made her shiver.

`You are cold,
Miss Martindale?'

She pulled
herself together. She was reading too much into what was, after all, a
perfectly ordinary conversation. Only a little.'

He took off his
jacket and put it across her shoulders, leaving him in his white linen shirt
and kerseymere waistcoat. His touch was like fire, even through the cloth of
the coat. How could she admit even to herself that the sign she had been
waiting for, the knowledge that here was a man she could fall in love with, had
come and passed like a flash of lightning and now nothing would ever be the
same again. He had found the woman he wished to marry and it was not her or he
would have declared himself. She did not have two handsome men vying for her
hand, only one. And it was the wrong one! She did not love James Martindale,
could not even begin to think of him as a husband while this disturbing man was
anywhere near her. All at once she felt tears prick her eyes and she had to
turn away from him.

They returned
to the picnic spot without exchanging another word. Juliette retrieved her
shawl from her mother and returned the coat with a polite 'Thank-you.'
 
The servants packed up the napery, the
cutlery and the empty dishes and set off in the town coach back to London.

The cricket bat
and ball were retrieved from under the tree where they had been discarded;
coats, bonnets and hats were donned, shawls and reticules gathered up and
everyone climbed into their carriages or saddles for the return journey.

Juliette,
sitting beside her mama in the barouche, found herself watching the straight
back of Philip Devonshire as he rode alongside, with a huge feeling of loss.
Her stomach was tied into a hard knot of discomfort, which she could not
persuade herself was anything to do with eating on the ground. It was made up
of disappointment and not a little anger that she should have allowed herself
to believe that he was interested in her. His interest in her was no more than
his way of executing the task her father had set him, to keep an eye on her.
Well, he need not bother!

As the
cavalcade drew up at the junction of Park Lane and Mount Street from where
everyone would disperse to their homes, she noticed James had remained demurely
with them the whole way. Perversely she smiled at him and he jumped down from
his phaeton and strode over to her.

`Miss
Martindale, a successful outing, do you not agree?'

`Yes, indeed.'

`Perhaps you
would consider a ride in the phaeton. I would drive very carefully, I promise
you.'

`If Mama
consented, then I should like that,' she said, favouring him with a dazzling
smile, which Mr Devonshire was meant to see.

`Then may I
call for you tomorrow afternoon? We could take a turn in the park, very
sedately, of course.'

`Mama?' She
turned to her mother. Lady Martindale appeared to be daydreaming. Hearing
Juliette's voice she pulled herself together.

`Yes, yes, but
I think Thomas should ride alongside.'

There was no
room in the phaeton for three people and agreeing to ride with a gentleman,
even on a crowded carriageway where everyone could see them, almost constituted
a declaration. It was not exactly an offer but it would be tacitly assumed that
one was inevitable and would be accepted. Juliette was aware of this and she
had no idea why she let it happen. Thomas's presence on the cob would be no
more than a fop to convention. It was folly to agree, but Mr Devonshire had
just dismounted and was standing beside the carriage watching them, and she
certainly did not want him to think he had upset her. It was an act of
defiance, of self-defence.

`I shall expect
you at two o'clock,' she told James, then turned to bid Philip Devonshire
goodbye in the coolest voice she could manage, a gesture which apparently left
him unruffled but caused a smirk of satisfaction on James's face.

James arrived with the phaeton in good time the following
afternoon, boyishly eager, and in less than fifteen minutes they had turned in
at the park gates. Juliette felt quite regal sitting in the phaeton high above
everyone else; though the ride was not exactly comfortable, it was invigorating
and James was at his charming best, keeping the horses to a walk and bowing and
smiling to everyone they met.

`I am the envy
of the ton today,' he said, turning to look at her. She was dressed in a gown
that had a powder-blue bodice of jaconet and a skirt of white muslin over a
blue silk slip. A little jacket of matching blue velvet and a bonnet whose
underbrim was trimmed with tiny blue flowers, set off her pale complexion and
silvery hair to perfection. Beneath her silk parasol she looked like a goddess.

`Thank you.'

`Would you care
to drive?'

Juliette, who
had been wondering if she dare ask him to let her take over the ribbons, turned
to face him, her eagerness undisguised. `Oh, may I?'

`Naturally, you
may.' She closed her parasol and laid it on the seat beside her. He handed over
the reins, though he kept his own hands over hers. 'Gently, see, they are
high-spirited beasts and respond to the slightest pressure.'

`Yes, I
understand. I had a pair like that once, at Hartlea, though I did not have a
high-perch phaeton, but a curricle. I had no difficulty managing it and used to
drive all round the estate until one of the horses injured himself in his stall
and Papa was obliged to shoot him. Then we found the other would not go with
any of the other horses and he was sold. I still miss them.'

`Then you shall
have these.'

She turned to
him in delighted astonishment. 'A gift?'

`Of course.'

Sanity returned
almost instantly. 'No, it is not possible. I cannot accept such a gift, it
would be misconstrued and...'

`There is a
solution, you know,' he said, noticing the colour flare in her cheeks. 'You
could call it an engagement gift.'