Give All to Love (22 page)

Josie thanked “the restorers” with real delight, and Devenish exclaimed, “My little Elf, your ball must be a great success! How could it fail, now that it is to be set in such sumptuous surroundings?”

“And launched with such an impressive alliteration!” teased Craig Tyndale.

They all laughed, but, glancing at Mrs. Bliss, Devenish wondered if it was just his imagination, or if for a moment her eyes had reflected the same foreboding that had inexplicably taken possession of his own mind. He detached the black and white kitten from his shoe, and stroked it absently.

Chapter 10

The last of the new servants had reached Devencourt on Tuesday, and by Thursday many of those guests who had travelled long distances to attend the ball were arriving. Notable among these were most of the men the King had dubbed his Nine Knights, these being Lord Mitchell Redmond, as controversial as he was admired; his brother, Sir Harry Redmond, who had earned such a splendid reputation with his Regiment during the Peninsular Wars; the Reverend Mordecai Langridge, uncle to the brothers Redmond, who looked very mild and middle-aged in his clerical garb and not at all like the fine fighting man he was; golden-haired Lord Jeremy Bolster, unfailingly amiable and good-natured—until aroused; and Justin Strand, fair-haired, wiry, and intense, his blue eyes as alert, his manner as brisk as ever. These gentlemen and their wives soon gathered together with those of their number already present, and there was much back-thumping and hand-shaking among the gentlemen, and hugs, kisses, and merry chatter among the ladies. All were concerned for Lord Mitchell, whose handsome head had made such violent contact with the brick, and who, although rather pale still, assured his friends that he was “perfectly fit” and had in fact been readying his next blast to be delivered before the House of Lords. The laughter that followed this blithe remark was struck to dead silence by a piercing whistle.

All heads turned. A tall, untidy footman stood at the open doors.

“What the devil…?” demanded Devenish angrily.

“Sorry, guv,” said Cornish with his leering grin. “Couldn't get through and you've got another lot toddlin' up the drive-path.”

Mitchell Redmond exchanged grins with his brother, and several ladies hid amusement behind their fans.

Cornish, however, saw the look in his master's sparking eyes. “Cor, lumme!” he muttered, and beat a hasty retreat.

Josie went out with her guardian and, slipping her hand into his, heard Devenish's muttered oaths. She said cheerfully, “Isn't it lovely, dearest, to have our good friends here with us?”

“It'd be a dashed sight lovelier,” he grumbled, limping rapidly along the hall, “if we'd one or two halfway human servants to receive 'em. I tell you, Josie, I dread to think what may happen! Do you apprehend that we've the Duke of Vaille and his Duchess invited, to say nothing of—”

“Yes, but Vaille's not a
royal
Duke, dear,” she interpolated soothingly.

“To say nothing,” he went on, slanting a stern look at her, “of a Marquis—”

“Who—Camille Damon? Why, he's the very dearest thing and not at all stiff-rumped.”

“Good God! Don't let anyone hear you make such a remark!” he gasped, his scold losing some of its effect as he went on. “Cam can be deuced stiff-rumped when he chooses, I'll have you know! At least four Earls, a brace of Generals, three Countesses, and a couple of lowly Viscounts! And if your assortment of bizarreries—”

“But only think of all the starched-up new servants we've brought in, Dev. I met a footman this morning who was so icy, he scared me to death!”

He chuckled, squeezed her hand, and then was welcoming the elegant Philip, Duke of Vaille, and his lovely Duchess, Charlotte. Scarcely had these august aristocrats been ushered to their rooms than Josie, with a little squeak of joy, had thrown herself into the arms of one of her favourites, Vaille's only son, the darkly handsome Camille, Marquis of Damon, his Marchioness, Lady Sophia, laughing merrily as she, too, was hugged and exclaimed over.

“Dev,” said Camille, shaking hands with his host, “I see you haven't beaten all the spontaneity out of your Elf as yet.”

Gingerly separating his whitened fingers, Devenish groaned, “Which is more than I can say for my poor hand! You might remember I'm a frail human being, Cam, and no match for your solid steel grip!”

Damon, a notable musician renowned for his brilliance at the harpsichord, apologized and inspected the remains with such exaggerated concern that Devenish was moved to cuff him, drawing forth his deep laugh.

Lady Sophia, holding Josie back a little as the men walked across the Great Hall together, whispered, “Josie dear, forgive me, but—is it true that you number one of the Sanguinets among your guests?”

Fond of this beautiful lady, Josie caught her breath and admitted it was truth.

“Oh, dear,” murmured Sophia, looking troubled.

“Do you know Guy?” asked Josie, at once irked.

“No. And Camille and I are persuaded you would never have invited him unless he was a fine gentleman. The thing is—well, my papa-in-law is—er, rather set against him. And if Geoffrey Harland should come—good heavens!”

“The Earl has accepted the invitation, as has Lucian.” Josie paused, and turned to scan her guest's violet eyes. “You do not think they would leave us because of Guy's presence?” she asked anxiously.

Sophia hesitated. “I fear they will cut him—at the very least. Cam said he knows his father would not have come had he dreamed Sanguinet would be here. Vaille is the dearest man imaginable, Josie, but when he is angered, oh my!”

Josie's heart sank.

The guests came thick and fast after that; the great house rang with cheerful talk and laughter, for most of these distinguished people moved in the same circles and were well acquainted, if not close personal friends. Josie was beside Devenish to welcome her guests, and warned him of her conversation with Lady Sophia.

Immediately furious, Devenish was also dismayed. He realized belatedly that Guy's presence might cast a cloud over the ball that was the most important event of his ward's young life. Nothing must hurt Josie, yet Guy was much too good a friend to be shamed or driven to leaving the festivities. Worried, Devenish managed a word with Jeremy Bolster, as a result of which the two young men cornered Philip, Duke of Vaille, and had a private conversation with him. Nothing was said in violation of their given word, but sufficient was implied as to leave his Grace considerably astonished and promising to do whatever he might to prevent trouble.

That the trouble did not materialize that day was largely due to Guy himself. He slipped away on his usual afternoon drive and, returning rather later than was expected, was drenched to the skin so that Lyon insisted he go at once to his bed. A tray was carried up to his room. Josie, full of concern for her beloved Guy, worried that he was keeping himself out of sight so as to spare her any possible embarrassment, but since it really had been raining hard and Guy had been very wet, she palliated her conscience by sending a lackey to the head gardener with the request that a large bouquet of whatever flowers were still available in the gardens or greenhouses be brought to her. The footman she had found so chilling once before brought the message that the flowers had arrived. He conducted her with grand condescension up the stairs to her sewing room, where lay the blooms and a basket of assorted fern. Several vases, a large pitcher of water, and a pair of shears had been provided. When Josie asked why the flowers had not been left in the scullery, the footman replied that the scullery and potting room were “very full of persons, and the chef full of vexation.”

“Oh, of course.” She smiled at him sunnily. “These are lovely. Please convey my thanks to Addicott.”

He bowed and took himself off, not once having looked directly at her.

“Brrr!” she exclaimed softly, and applied herself to the flowers. The house was bright with the bouquets provided by the florists, but these were for Guy and must be their own blooms. She chose a broad-mouthed vase of Chinese porcelain and was completing her arrangement, when the door opened and her guardian stuck in his fair head. “What's to do?” he enquired.

“I should be with our guests, I know, but this won't take long. They're for Guy.” She stood back, surveying her creation with head on one side.

Devenish came over to slip an arm about her. “Jolly nice. And a kind thought, m'dear.” He smiled down at her. Then, putting one slim finger under her chin, tilted her head up and said, “You can do something for another of our guests, if you will.”

She was fairly sure of what the request would be and at once irritated, returned her attention to the vase, adding a spray of fern to the blooms.

“It's about Yolande,” Devenish began, eyeing her warily. “What a surprise,” she said with rare sarcasm.

He frowned and turned to the door.

Whirling about, she said, “No, do not go off in a huff. What is it?”

He leaned back against the door, watching her. “Craig and I are perhaps closer than most cousins, since his sire was twin to my mama. Besides which, I owe him my life. I cannot like to see his wife treated unkindly in my home, Josie.”

“I have not been unkind! I avoid her if I can, but I doubt she notices.”

“You are your usual delightful self to every lady
except
Yolande. She would need to be dense indeed
not
to notice. And I do assure you the lady is not in the least dense.”

“That is a matter of opinion,” she muttered rebelliously.

He said icily, “It is my opinion. Twice I have seen her go out of her way to be friendly, and you were so polite and so distant, I could scarce believe it of you. You are her hostess. It will not do, Josie.”

Perhaps twice in her life had he addressed her in such a tone and with such a look. She felt as if she had been spanked. Tears flooded her eyes and her heart twisted. Somehow, she managed to say in a strangled voice, “I am very sorry, Dev. I—will try to be … better.” She waited for him to come and hold her tight, as he always did when she wept, but with her head bowed through a brief pause, she heard him say a clipped, “Thank you,” and then the door opened and closed.

With a gasp she flung up her head. He had gone. She took up a chrysanthemum and stared at it blankly. He must be very angry indeed. ‘It is that wretched woman,' she thought. ‘She has come to my ball to spoil everything! Well, I won't let her!' She blinked away tears, added the chrysanthemum to the vase, and, realizing it was too much, took it out only to have half the flowers become disarranged in the process. Replacing them rather savagely, she wondered if the Flash House would have been so very dreadful, after all …

Fletcher found her young mistress unexpectedly subdued while she was being dressed for dinner. Longing to restore the happiness to the wan little face, she was relieved when a scratch sounded at the door.

Josie's heart began to beat very fast. Dev had come to apologize and be friends again. She looked up with a shy smile as Fletcher ushered the visitor into the room, and the smile was replaced by dismay. Dismissing her almost equally disappointed abigail, she stood to greet this very unwanted caller.

Yolande Tyndale said quietly, “I have come to ask if you would prefer that Craig and I slip away before your ball tomorrow.”

“Oh, no!” cried Josie, aghast. “Have I been
that
rude?”

Yolande smiled and, occupying a chair, replied, “You have not been rude at all. You never are. Only—a woman can sense when another woman dislikes her, do you not think?”

So it was to be the moment of truth between them. Accepting that, Josie sat on the end of her big bed. She seemed very small and vulnerable, framed by the lofty brocade bedcurtains, her pale orange taffeta with its dainty white embroidery and scalloped flounces giving her an ethereal look. She was, thought Yolande, rather endearingly pretty, and she added, “I wish you did not, you know.”

“I wish I did not, either. But I just cannot help myself. When I try to like you for Dev's sake, I keep remembering how it was, at first. How terribly you hurt him.” Josie put a hand to her lips, knowing she was being outrageous, but then she blurted out, “And you didn't care! You sent him off, breaking his dear heart for you. And you—you didn't give a snap!”

With a rustle of draperies, Yolande ran to sit beside her and take one cold, unwilling little hand. “Oh, my dear! Never think that! I cared—very much. And so did Craig.”

“Dev loved you,” Josie said accusingly.

“And I loved him. Very much. That was what made it so hard. I always had loved him, and I would have married him, probably, had I not met Craig.”

“His own cousin,” said Josie with a curl of the lip. “Poor Dev always says in his loyal way that Craig saved his life. He thinks the world of him. In spite of his … treachery.”

Yolande's back stiffened and she frowned a little.

Noting the change of mood, Josie said, “I'm sorry,” and added forlornly, “There I go again. Dev will be so cross with me.”

For a moment Yolande was quiet. Then she tried again. “Josie—Craig
did
save Dev's life.”

“I know. And Dev saved
his!
I saw it.”

“That is true. There is such a deep bond between them. I used to pray it would be so.” She bent her head, her thick curls of that lovely shade between auburn and brown glowing in the candlelight. And then, looking up from under her arching brows, she said softly, “The problem was, you see—Dev never was in love with me.”

Josie's mouth fell open a little with shock.

Yolande smiled into her stunned eyes. “We had grown up together, as you know, and it always had been understood we would marry. Dev just … took me for granted.” Her smile was wistful. “You will think it silly perhaps, but—I wanted to be courted.”