Give All to Love (38 page)

“Jupiter,” he exclaimed, ceasing his depredations and sitting straighter. “Whatever would my people think did they chance to wander in here?”

Faintly irritated, she protested, “We are, after all, betrothed.”

“Yes, but not wed, dear lady. Speaking of which, give me your pretty hand.”

Watching him slip the ring on her finger, she gave a gasp. “Oh! It is superb!”

He said with an odd little smile, “I was sure you would like it. And I especially wanted it to be something you would enjoy. You're quite a woman, Bella.”

It seemed an odd remark, but he was leaning to her again, and with that glorious ring on her finger she capitulated so willingly that her submission was almost an attack.

An hour later, Isabella watched the wintry countryside slide past the windows of her luxurious carriage and wondered whatever she was to tell Taine. She had come to Devencourt armed with strict instructions to beguile her love into issuing an invitation for both her brother and herself to stay at her future home. Not that she intended to make many visits to the horrid old pile, once she was wed. Dev had seemed agreeable, but had been obliged to put them off for a week while he went over the marriage settlements with his man of business. A nuisance, but as he'd pointed out, he also wanted to get Josie packed off to Sussex, besides which the guestrooms were sadly damaged by smoke and water, and he must be sure his adored Bella would experience only the height of elegance when she came to him. It was as well he understood the standards to which she was accustomed. He would have more to learn when she got him to Town and showed him the house she wanted.

She frowned. There was the business of that revolting girl. If she told her brother of the unexpected and apparently certain betrothal, Lord only knew what he would do! She had the frightening suspicion that the only thing that kept him from calling Devenish out and killing him was his determination to wed the chit. She drew off her glove thoughtfully. She'd not tell him. Perhaps, by the time the betrothal was published, he would have found another interest. And after all, the Chevalier was very likely to request that any announcement be delayed until he'd had time to get to know his long-lost niece. That would be logical enough. A devastatingly handsome man, the French fellow … And unmarried. Very rich, too … It might be worthwhile to take him for her lover once she was wed …

She turned the ring in the ray of a sunbeam, and gloried in the resultant rainbow of sparkles that lit the carriage. What a lovely thing. And only the beginning.

It was silly to feel that Devenish was not as devoted as he seemed. She had him, as so many women had longed to do, and he in turn had won a beautiful and much-courted lady. Yet, how odd that she could not escape the feeling that although they had trapped Dev, they had played right into his hands.

*   *   *

John Drummond found Devenish in his study with Josie. John was elated. His parents, he told them, had been delighted by the news of Josie's good fortune. Always they had loved her. Now they were eager to welcome her into the family as their daughter. All his father asked was that any announcement be deferred until the Chevalier could be properly approached.

His eyes devouring his beloved, whom he thought adorable in the gown of pale orange wool trimmed with cream fur, John confessed, “I'd forgot he is the head of your house now, m'dear.”

“Very true,” Devenish agreed. “In which case, this would be the very best of times for you to visit Park Parapine, little Elf, and renew acquaintance with your prospective in-laws.” He slanted a grin at Drummond. “Best not lose precious time, John. Josie has other admirers who are fairly yearning to steal her away from you.”

Drummond gave him a rather startled smile.

Her heart contracting painfully, Josie laughed. “Dev is trying to hurry us off, John. He wants to be alone here with his lady.”

Drummond had some reservations about his cousin's sudden betrothal, but said he was only too willing to set forth. “Now, if you wish,” he said eagerly. His enthusiasm diminished a little when Mrs. Grenfell returned from Gloucester and announced that she would go along so as to visit her sister, Mrs. Alastair Tyndale. By far too well mannered to betray disappointment, John agreed with apparent pleasure, and went off to the stables to arrange for a fresh team to be put to his mother's travelling coach, which he had borrowed, thinking it would ensure a comfortable journey for his love. Josie went upstairs to prepare for the journey, and Mrs. Grenfell and Devenish were left alone.

He expected her to also go and make her preparations to depart, but she had waited for just such a moment and lost no time in bringing all her guns to bear. She refused his polite attempt to seat her, and folded her arms as she pierced him with a steady stare.

“You do not deceive us, Alain,” she announced.

He had developed a healthy respect for her perception, and said uneasily, “I had no intention—”

“We do not know why you have embarked on this foolish and ill-judged course.” She flung up one hand as he attempted to speak. “We are not just come from the schoolroom,” she observed with a good deal of justification, “and it has been, for some years, very clear which way the wind blew. Your reasons for denying your own heart were admirable. To offer for the child to whom you stood guardian was not to be thought of. No! Do not attempt to flim-flam me, Alain!” He quailed into silence, and she boomed on. “We are out of all patience with you! You have learned beyond disputation that Josie is
not
half your age, as you had supposed, but is instead only about thirteen years younger than yourself, which cannot be held objectionable. Further, since she has her own family, she will be removed from your guardianship. That you reject her, just as the barriers have been swept away, allows but one conclusion. Your fortune is no more than adequate, whereas hers will be very considerable. Your pride will not allow you to offer. Nobility, Alain, has its place. But to pack the child off, breaking her heart for you—to form an alliance with that—that
deplorable
Scott-Matthias”—her eyes flashed fire—“is carrying martyrdom too far!”

“Martyrdom!” gasped Devenish, stung. “No, really, ma'am! You cannot think so!”

She advanced until she stood directly in front of him. She was taller than he, and, with the feathers of her turban waving above her high-held head, was so formidable that he recoiled until he was leaning against the desk. “What else may we think?” she demanded. “Josie is lovely in a way that far transcends mere beauty. We doubt she will wed Drummond, for she don't love the boy. More likely she will devote herself to her lonely and most endearing new uncle. Certainly, the Chevalier will delight in lavishing gifts upon her; on making her into the darling of all Europe. In time, she will love again, for she is too warm-natured a creature to waste her years in useless yearnings.”

Devenish jerked away and wandered to stand at the end of the desk, turned from her, head down and silent.

She went on remorselessly. “You have broke her heart, but it is a young heart and will mend. It is for you that we fear, Alain. That beautiful bird of prey you have won is the evil product of an evil line. She will destroy you within a year of your marriage, for she loves only herself.” He returned no answer, continuing to stand very still, one slim hand lightly resting on the desk top. In a last desperate effort, she stepped closer. “Why?” she pleaded in a very different tone. “Dear lad—
why
?”

His shoulders pulled back. He faced her, smiling, but with his eyes perfectly blank. “Sweet soul, I beg you will not grieve for me. I promise you I am not so big a fool as you suppose. I shall not wed Lady Isabella.”

She gave a gasp. “Not—not
wed
her? But—dearest boy, how can you possibly escape it?”

Emboldened to take the hand she stretched out, he pressed it to his lips. “All arranged,” he said lightly. “Take my word for it.”

*   *   *

By four o'clock the great house was silent. Working at his desk with deep concentration, Devenish was surrounded. Scorning the rug before the dying fire that was customarily her favourite spot, Lady Godiva sat leaning against him so that he was twice obliged to move his foot before it was too numbed for him to do so. The white cat lay on the desk, his tail frequently draping itself across the sheet of closely written lines so that Devenish had to as often lift it out of the way. The ginger cat had taken up residence in a half-open desk drawer and lay with front paws hanging over the edge, kneading at the empty air, while she watched the master and purred grittily. Bits and Pieces had curled up on Devenish's lap and constituted a hazard, for each time he moved, the kitten almost was precipitated to the floor, so that he had to make a grab to catch it in time.

Completing his epistle at last, he read it over, absently placing the sliding kitten in the tray on the side of the desk, where he deposited any finished correspondence destined for the Post Office.

It seemed all right. He put the page aside and took up another, much less involved, sheet. Having scanned that also, he folded and sealed both, and impressed his monogram into the hot wax. He then enclosed both letters in a larger sheet, which he had already directed in his somewhat less than neat hand to a learned gentleman of the law who maintained chambers in Bristol. This last cover having been duly and repeatedly sealed, Devenish laid it in the centre of his surprisingly tidy desk top and sat staring at it.

It was done. He pushed back his chair, and at once the members of his group were wide awake. The ginger cat leapt from the drawer to wind in and out around his ankles; the white cat stood and sprang up to rest his front paws against Devenish's waistcoat and butt his head against the hand that came to caress him; Lady Godiva scrambled up and wandered about the room for a minute in a confused way, until she made a sudden dart back to lean against the master's left calf, thus earning an indignant hiss from the ginger cat who met her nose to nose.

“Peace, my children,” said Devenish. He had guessed they would know, and had planned accordingly. He caressed each one individually, almost forgetting Bits and Pieces until she suddenly leapt from the tray and attacked his letter ferociously. He smiled and reached for her, but she chose to be terrified and shot straight up in the air, succeeding, as she landed, in knocking over the vase of flowers.

Devenish made a grab for it, and gazed down at the bright blooms Josie had found for him from among the few remaining in the greenhouses. He put the vase down hurriedly, and told Bits and Pieces that she was a bad cat. She paid no attention to this mild scold, as she was frenziedly attending to the tip of her tail which she had accidentally deposited in the puddle the toppling vase had left.

Devenish allowed his gaze to drift around the room in which he had spent so many happy hours these past years. There was where she had so often sat, pestering him with her studies and her chatter; there was the scratch on the wall made by the andirons that had toppled when she threw the cushion at him last summer, and missed, catching the heavy brass set instead. He would not let himself look at her portrait.

He took the several pieces of cheese from his pocket, wafted them under the noses of his interested and addicted companions, and limped across the room. At the door he scattered his largesse and they all scrambled in pursuit. His eyes fell on the vase again. He swore, but made a lunge for the desk, grabbed a handful of flowers, and ran for the door. He got out and slammed the door in the nick of time.

Ignoring the uproar, he limped as rapidly as possible along the hall. Wolfe stood waiting at the side door. The old man looked at him anxiously, and Hutchinson started down the stairs, carrying a valise and Devenish's new Garrick travelling coat. The valet assisted him to put it on, the blue tweed and long length making him look taller, and the three capes across the shoulders bestowing the appearance of a gentleman of fashion on this man who had never given a hoot for such matters, and would have been astonished if told he looked very dashing.

Patting the shoulder of the coat, which had dared to settle with a slight fold, Wolfe pretended not to notice the flowers the master thrust into a buttonhole, and asked, “When may we expect you, sir?”

“Haven't decided,” said Devenish breezily. “A week, perhaps longer.”

Taken aback, Hutchinson exclaimed, “But—sir, you said two days, so I only packed—”

“Never mind, never mind. If I decide to stay longer, I'll send a note and you can bring whatever I need.”

“As you wish, sir,” said Hutchinson, smarting both because of the brusque tone and the fact that he was not to accompany his employer.

“You will likely overnight in Swindon, sir,” murmured Wolfe, handing Devenish his gloves. “In view of the fact you're getting such a late start.”

“Probably,” said Devenish, who had no intention of taking the Swindon road. “Now, Wolfe, I've left a very important letter on my desk. It has to do with the fire, and I want it hand-delivered to Bristol first thing in the morning.”

Mr. Wolfe murmured his understanding and glanced to the right. “Good gracious! Only listen to those cats!”

“I shall rely on you to take care of them.”

He looked unusually stern, and both men were shocked. The master knew perfectly well that they all were fond of his creatures. Wolfe said stiffly, “Naturally, Mr. Devenish.”

Devenish recognized the affronted tone, and his mouth twitched. “Good man,” he said, and let his hand rest for an instant on the butler's shoulder. They were both staring at him. He said hurriedly, “Put my valise in the carriage, Hutch, if you please,” and wandered off as jauntily as possible.

He was almost undone at the door, for Mrs. Robinson came bustling in, carrying her shopping basket, and her cheeks rosy from the cold. They collided, and Devenish staggered. She caught his arm. “Oh! 'Scuse me, sir.”