Feather Castles (32 page)

Eyes narrow slits, lips tight over near-closed teeth, Claude gritted, “Insolent whelp! How
dare
you! How dare you use such a tone to me? You—” And he stopped. His tightly clenched fists relaxed and the passion that contorted his features faded. He drew a long, deep breath, and murmured, “By heaven! You made me lose my temper, little bastard. I should have removed my ring, I see; my apologies.”

Guy took out his handkerchief. An angry welt was bright on his face and blood trickled slowly from a cut across his cheekbone. His head lowered, he said nothing, but regarded his brother from under his brows.

Meeting that glare, Claude laughed softly. “Sometimes, my dear Guy—seldom, I admit—I entertain a little hope for you.”

*   *   *

The rumble of wheels upon the drivepath woke Rachel, as it seemed, a very short time after she had at last fallen asleep. She lay drowsily through several moments of subdued turmoil, but the arrival of a second wagon broke through her consciousness sufficiently to remind her that today was the day of the ball. After the dinner party tonight, her own plan would be put into effect! Her eyes opened very wide and stared blindly at the silken canopy above her.

The door was softly opened, then light flooded the room as the window curtains were drawn. In another second the draperies of the great bed were parted, and Agatha's anxious face peered in at her.

“You're awake, Miss Rachel. Did you sleep, my poor soul? I could not close my eyes! Oh, miss—say you never mean to do it. Say you will not!”

“But I must, Agatha. Else the Colonel will certainly manage to get himself killed.” She sat up and, as the abigail plumped the pillows behind her, said with forced lightness, “Well, I see the sun is out. The guests will be arriving soon. All will be chaos downstairs, I am sure.”

“Like bedlam,” Agatha agreed, placing the breakfast tray across her mistress's lap. “What with preparing all the guest rooms, and the two extra chefs already quarrelling, and that crawly Monsewer Gerard's nose into everything!”

“It will be a busy day for everyone,” nodded Rachel. It was a day she had come to dread because for some reason this ball had loomed in her mind as the point beyond which her marriage to Claude was irrevocable. Now, it would, she prayed, mark Tristram's escape from the chateau. Later, somehow, she and Charity and Agatha would slip away. In a day or two—perhaps. She would not consider the alternative.… This morning, at least, she might be able to go for her ride. Agatha dispelled that hope however, by informing her that Monsewer Claude was up and had requested she come to his study so soon as was convenient.

Resigned, Rachel donned her prettiest morning dress, a pale pink muslin with white velvet ribbons edging the puff sleeves and threaded through the low neckline. She went downstairs, knowing that she looked well, even if her heart was heavy as lead, and fear her constant companion.

In the study, Claude greeted her affably, but with no sign of the passion that so appalled her. Her hand was kissed, her cheek stroked in almost absent fashion, though his eyes seemed oddly intent. After assuring himself that his bride-to-be had enjoyed a refreshing night's rest, he took up a letter from his desk. “Parnell,” he murmured, “asks that I convey his kindest regards to you. Unhappily, he will not be with us tonight. He is in Scotland.”

“How unfortunate,” she said, while thinking this a happy circumstance. “Is he hunting?” And, glancing from the letter he held to his face, was taken aback by the intent stare he levelled at her.

For a moment he did not respond. Then, folding the letter carefully, he said, “No. He is fishing. Regrettable, for I had hoped he would bring Annabelle.”

Rachel received an odd impression that she was on very thin ice, though why, she could not tell. “What a pity. She is his ward, I understand. She was ill for a long time, was she not? And then abroad?”

He nodded. “Her brother died in a coaching accident. Purest folly. But the girl was heart-broken and went into a decline. Parnell sent her abroad, and she only recently returned. She has refused all invitations, however, and is now in fact, staying at the Seminary where she received much of her education. I believe,” he smiled at Rachel blandly, “you were a pupil there, also. Perhaps your friend—ah—the nun…?”

“Sister Maria Evangeline?”

“Yes. Perhaps the lady told you something of Annabelle?”

Rachel knit her brows in genuine mystification. “No—I cannot recall she ever mentioned her. How odd. I wonder why she would not have spoken to me of her.”

He shrugged. “It is of no importance. Now—many of the guests are expected by noon, and I must greet them. But not for the world would I deny you your morning outing, so you need not have donned that charming gown instead of your riding habit. I have asked Guy to escort you and your sister and our two British guests on a drive. My brother knows much of the history of the estate and can be quite entertaining, and I hope he may amuse Charity. Poor little child—it quite wrings my heart to see her so pale. The fresh air and sunshine will be good for her, do you not agree?”

“Yes, and it is most kind of you. But—surely I should be here with you?”

“And so you shall be—at luncheon, and this evening. I know how you enjoy your ride so—off with you, my dear. And never worry about Guy—he will be
enchanté.
”

When the door closed behind his affianced, Claude leaned back in his chair, one hand propping his chin and a speculative light in his eyes. “You heard?” he asked.

Shotten emerged from behind an exquisite Coromandel screen in a corner of the room. “Yussir. Don't sound like she knows nothing.”

“Hmmmn, perhaps my suspicions of the nun are unwarranted.”

“Well, you wasn't wrong about that there soldier, sir. He's got a eye fer—”

“The man who did not find Miss Strand a lovely sight, would be an idiot, Shotten. If that is the Captain's only reason for being here, he presents a very small problem indeed. Meanwhile, however, I'll have him out of the way when Monteil and Garvey arrive—I must warn them, just in case—” He started as someone knocked on the door, and jerked his head to the screen. Shotten hurriedly retreated behind it, and Claude called, “
Entrez, s'il vous plaît.
”

Guy entered. He endured in silence an inspection of his cheek and expressions of remorse he knew to be as insincere as they were effusive. When he was next informed of his morning's duties, he appeared far from
“enchanté,”
for his dark brows twitched into a frown.

“You are displeased?” Claude observed mildly. “May one ask if you are greatly inconvenienced? I can require Gerard to do the pretty, if this is the case.”

The idea of the acid Gerard “doing the pretty” drew a derisive snort from Guy. “I will go. But—one thing puzzles me. Why throw them together if you think him enamoured of her?”

“Because, my dear,” smiled Claude, “you will be there to—er—safeguard my interests, and I should be
most
interested to learn of our Captain's behaviour towards my betrothed. Besides, I am a generous man. They may say their farewells in peace.”

“What do you mean? Have you learned something?”

“It is merely that I prefer my affianced bride not be distressed—
before
our ball. Afterwards, when the guests are all gone, carrying with them the picture of my happy English lady, why—then—” He shrugged, his eyes taking on the red glow that had so frightened Rachel. “Then we will see the end of it.”

“The end of what?” Guy watched his brother uneasily. “I'll not stand still for more murders, and so I warn you!”

“Then—ride, my boy. The curricle awaits, for the little invalid's sake. And our poor lover-like Captain must be chafing at the bit.”

Frowning still, Guy moved to the door. “Incidentally,” he said over his shoulder, “you are wrong about his rank. I once asked him, and he could not recall what it had been—save only that he was not a Captain.”

Creeping out from his hiding place as the door closed, Shotten saw the scowl on the face of his employer and asked in his crude fashion, “Now wot's put the cat in wi' the chicks?”

“One can but marvel,” said Claude caustically, “that my dim-witted kinsman did not into my bowl drop that
on dit
before this!”

“Wot, sir? About the soldier? It won't make no difference whether he was a Captain or a Lieutenant or dog's meat, when we're done wi' the perisher!”

“Fool! Have you not seen how the man carries himself? The arrogance? The pride of bearing? Our soldier no Lieutenant was! If he is not a Captain, his rank is one or two steps above it. And if
this
is so, we play a more complex game than I had hoped. I fear, Shotten, that he a British spy may be—sent here from Whitehall!”

Shotten cursed. “And—if he is?”

“Alas,” sighed Claude. “I will not the alternative have, eh? Before our gallant Englishman and his so charming friend—er, leave us, they must tell me all about it.”

Chapter 14

“But, the temple and the pagoda,” said Charity, a becoming colour in her cheeks as she leaned forward on the seat of the curricle, “were they both constructed at the same time, Guy?”

“No. Several years apart, actually. The pagoda was designed by a Chinese scholar—the temple by a Greek. The whole was in the making for the better part of thirty years, and Claude still is improving it.”

“And the pool beside the pagoda,” Tristram put in, reining his horse closer to the curricle, “is bottomless, I'm told.”

“Correct,” said Guy, his mouth becoming grim.

Devenish retrieved Mrs. O'Crumbs from between Charity's feet and put her into the basket he'd borrowed for the purpose of taking his pet about. “A poor fellow tumbled in, eh?” he asked innocently.

“Two men, to my knowledge,” Guy admitted.

“How horrid!” shuddered Charity. “Must we go there?”

“Mais non!”
Guy turned on the driver's seat to smile back at her and ask kindly, “Where would you wish to go, little lady?”

“To the meadows where Rachel rode a day or so ago. Oh, how I should love to ride again.”

“Then so you shall!” said Tristram. “Stop, if you please, monsieur.”

The carriage halted. Tristram swung from the saddle, walked to Charity's side and reached up invitingly. She gave a little squeak of excitement.

Rachel gasped, “No! You must not! The doctor said—”

“Oh,
please,
Rachel!” cried Charity imploringly. “I should like it of all things! Please.” Not waiting for a response, she leaned to Tristram, was swept up effortlessly, lifted to the saddle and settled there. Inwardly dismayed because she weighed so little, Tristram mounted behind her and, having put one strong arm firmly about her, asked, “Comfortable, Miss Charity?”

“Yes! Oh, yes! Oh—how splendid this is!”

She was not afraid, he realized admiringly. In spite of the accident that had crippled her, she was able to mount a horse without fear and trembling!

He touched his spurs lightly to his horse's sides. Nothing loath, the roan broke into an easy canter. Up the hill they went and down the far side, and were far across the rolling meadow before Tristram reined to a walk. “Forgive me,” he smiled in response to the girl's cry of disappointment. “But—I deceived you, you know. I had reasons of my own for spiriting you away. Could we talk for a moment?” A wary light came into Charity's eyes. Seeing it, he took up her hand and pleaded, “Will you not trust me? I care only for your sister's happiness—and safety. If I could be assured she truly cares for Sanguinet, I would—” He stopped speaking, his lips tightening.

“You would give her up—whatever your own feelings?” prompted Charity.

He nodded glumly. “I'd have no other choice. Nor would I mind so much, if I knew she was happy. But—”

Her frail hand clasped his more firmly. She searched his eyes and saw such a depth of sorrow there that her mind was made up. “She is breaking her heart for you,” she said recklessly.

Tristram gave a gasp, and the incredulous joy that lit his face brought a lump to her throat.

“Ma'am! Do you mean it? Are you quite— You must know my affections are—” He ceased this exuberant if disjointed utterance, and burst out eagerly, “Oh, the devil! I love her, Miss Charity!”

“Yes. I know. And I believe your feelings are fully returned, sir.”

“My lord!” Beaming, he said, “I'd begun to suspect she played a part, but— Ah!” A shadow touching his happiness, he asked, “She is here for England, then?”

“No. Not originally, at least. She is here for my sake. When Papa died, she swore to care for me, you see. And I have been an endless worry and a fearful expense. Dear Rachel struggled bravely to meet the bills, but it was a losing battle. When Claude offered, I suspect she thought her acceptance would ensure my future. But, now—Colonel, she strives to hide it, but she is so very unhappy, and longs to go home.”

The weight of the world had lifted from Tristram's shoulders. Repressing the urge to cheer, he instead murmured, “Little idiot. Why did she not tell me?”

“Because she thinks there is no hope for you to get us away, and she knows you would try. She fears Monsieur Claude now, and dreads lest you should be hurt or—worse, in the attempt.”

“Now, by God!” he breathed, his eyes shining. He raised Charity's hand and kissed it. “I am eternally in your debt, ma'am. You are not to fret, now. We'll come about and win safely free, never fear.”

The curricle came up with them, and there was no chance for further confidences. Tristram, his world aglow, could scarcely keep his eyes from Rachel's lovely face, but he did not address her, remaining blissfully silent while Charity and Devenish chattered.