Give All to Love (4 page)

But he was not one to hold anger and, before she reached the door, he had hastened to swing it open for her. She smiled up at him and swept past with a rustle of draperies and a drift of her fragrance.

“Josie,” he said, “you forgot to kiss me goodnight.”

She paused. “So I did,” she said, then walked quickly into her bedchamber.

Devenish found it difficult to sleep that night. Sometimes, her behaviour so blatantly denied the sixteen he claimed. ‘I shall have to choose one soon…' she'd said. Devencourt—without Josie. A prospect he had always known must come and to which he must become accustomed, perhaps sooner than he had anticipated …

Long after he had fallen into a troubled sleep, his ward lay in bed staring into the darkness. She did not see the dim outline of the clothes press, or the shadows the street lamp cast through the lacy curtains. Before her eyes was Devenish holding a lovely, laughing young woman to his heart, and saying joyously, “You did like my gift, after all! You shameless—” And a splendid ruby pendant she had not been meant to see, and that had certainly not been purchased for—a “child.”

Chapter 2

Despite the fact that Sir Martin Drummond was now—as his wife fondly teased—grey as a badger, his tall, large-framed person was as trim, his eyes as alert, and his carriage as erect now that he was nearing sixty, as it had been twenty years earlier. He was a strong-minded man, firm in his opinions, proud of his house and his children, and happy in his marriage. Lady Louisa had not been a beauty when he'd married her, and there had been those who, impressed by his handsome appearance, had wondered if his parents had chosen wisely for him. Louisa had kept her looks, however, long after many accredited Toasts had lost theirs, her serene nature and happy disposition combining with the fact that she adored her husband to make her appear and feel a good ten years younger than she was.

On this unseasonably warm October afternoon, Sir Martin was irked because he had misplaced his spouse. He wandered about the house without success, ambled through the pleasure gardens, and made his way around to the vegetable gardens before he discovered her.

The impatience in his green eyes faded into amusement. He crept up behind the unsuspecting lady, and demanded, “And what are you about, ma'am?”

Lady Louisa gave a gasp and whirled around so swiftly that several of the chrysanthemums in her basket tumbled onto the path. The guilt in her hazel eyes gave her away, and her husband grinned and lowered his voice to accuse, “Infamous creature! You were spying on our guests.”

“And our son, sir,” she admitted, lifting her cheek for his kiss as he slipped an arm about her.

Sir Martin picked up the fallen blossoms, then directed his own gaze through the break in the hedge that allowed a clear view of the shrubbery. “I see Josie,” he said haltingly. “And John. And—oh, I was not aware Fontaine had come.”

“John likes him.”

“Which shows I was right about your son, Louisa. I'd hoped the boy's sojourn in Canada might have given him some sense of discrimination. He'll go along better with an out and outer like Fontaine than with that set of rum touches he was used to associate with.”

“To say truth, dear,” his wife murmured with a smile, “I do not believe Elliot Fontaine came to see John.”

Startled, he exclaimed, “Josie?”

“Now, Martin, you must have noticed at Jeremy and Amanda's ball how particular he was in his attentions.”

He said nothing, but his face grew troubled and her own unease deepened.

“My love, if you think I should say something to her…”

He gave a small gesture of impatience. “Say what? That Fontaine is a jolly good chap but has an—er, questionable reputation with the ladies? Oh, never look at me so askance, ma'am. You don't like him, I'm aware.”

“True. But—I could not say why. I just feel…” She paused, slipped her hand through her husband's arm, and started off with him. “I think,” she mused, “it is the way he has with his eyes. Have you ever noticed? Sometimes, when he is talking and a thought strikes him, he will turn his head towards the person he's thinking of, without blinking.”

Incredulous, he looked down at her. “Without
blinking?
What the plague has that to say to anything? Would you like him better, my lady, did he blink like candles in a stiff breeze?”

She said simply, “It puts me in mind of an adder.”

Sir Martin frowned, but was silent.

“I wish,” sighed Lady Louisa, “that he did not so gravitate to John. I wonder why he does.”

“Why should he not?” Mildly amused, he asked, “D'ye fear his reputation for duelling? No reason for him to call John out, I fancy.”

“Heaven forbid! Is he really as dangerous as they say?”

They had progressed around the hedge and were making their way down the bank. His eyes upon the slim, elegant figure of the man they discussed, Sir Martin said thoughtfully, “I've seen him take the pips out of a playing card at twenty paces. Must have eyes like a hawk. I'd not care to face him, I can tell you.” Woman's intuition made him uneasy, and he added, “He likes John, as you said, m'dear.”

“Yes. Only—they both admire the same lady.”

His eyes widened. “Josie Storm? The devil!”

My lady halted and said with mild reproach, “She is a darling child.”

“And a foundling,” he observed grimly. “Lord only knows what's in her blood. Oh, do not think I dislike the chit. But I'll not have my son wed a girl of no family, no background. Lord, I'd sooner he wed some cit's daughter!”

She sighed and, walking on beside him, said, “There is likely nothing more to it than my silly imagination romancing on as usual. They have only now renewed their acquaintanceship.” And she thought, ‘And already, my poor John looks entranced.'

“We must hope that if your imagination is reliable, Fontaine will win the day. Although—whatever he has in mind will not include a wedding ring.”

Irked, my lady said sharply, “And whatever her background, our Josie would settle for nothing less! And as for Dev … heavens!”

“My God!” he shook his head. “Fontaine would be wise to look elsewhere!”

Lady Louisa said slowly, “It is my impression that did Elliot Fontaine once decide he wanted something, he would stop at very little to possess it.”

By mutual accord, they did not join the young people, but turned aside and returned to the house.

*   *   *

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” Laughing, Josie placed one hand on the chest of each of the young men who faced each other argumentatively. “No, really. I cannot be the cause of a quarrel between two good friends.”

Viscount Elliot Fontaine seized her hand and bowed to kiss it.

Slightly flushed, John Drummond relaxed the tight set of his jaw. Unlike his elder brother, Arthur, he was neither dashing nor handsome. He bore a strong resemblance to his mother, for he had her kind smile, unremarkable but pleasant features, and straight, light brown hair. From his father he had inherited a fine pair of green eyes, a tall, sturdy frame, and a tendency to stubbornness. All in all, however, he was an amiable young man, and now he said coolly, “There is no cause for a quarrel, Josie. I was the first to ask if I might take you to the Tyndales' garden party at Aspenhill.”

“Ah,” murmured Lord Elliot in his soft, gentle voice, “but the race does not always go to the swift, my John.”

“Nor to the most adroit,” said Josie, smiling, but reclaiming her hand.

Fontaine's head lowered a trifle as his eyes darted to her. “Alas,” he mourned. “Are we both to be cast into despair, fair lady? Only tell us with whom you
do
mean to attend the party, so that we may dispose of the wretch.”

She was not a vain girl, but she could not fail to be pleased to have these eligible gentlemen in her court, especially since her birth was clouded and she knew she was not a beauty. Amused, she looked from one to the other. John, so kind and gentle and dependable. The Viscount, so full of jollity and yet so elegant and sophisticated. Her gaze lingered on him for an instant. No one could deny that he was much better looking than John Drummond. His features were finer, and framed by thick, dark red hair that was not quite auburn and inclined to curl at the ends. His light blue eyes were very clear and piercing under well-shaped brows, and his nose and chin were firm without being aggressive. She thought his mouth rather small and girlishly full-lipped, but that slight flaw often became his most winning feature, for he was aware of it and sometimes, when provoked, would pout in an exaggerated and most amusing fashion, thus winning friends to laughter or acquiescence.

“She is comparing us,” he now said, digging his elbow into Drummond's ribs. “You should consider, my Fair, what a handsome couple we shall make when you choose me as your escort. Indeed, I do not see how you could do anything else. Allow me to show you my profile. I shall turn thus—against the sky. Now, only look, does it not cause your heart to flutter?”

His profile was certainly impressive as he posed, motionless, while Josie watched, giggling, and Drummond stared at him incredulously.

Fontaine's head shifted, his blue eyes, unblinking, transfixing Josie, and his rosebud mouth pursed into so ridiculous a contortion that she burst into a trill of mirth. “Besides,” he said, relaxing and grinning easily, “
I
have a title, m'dear. John's only a commoner.” He slid one hand onto his friend's shoulder as he spoke, his eyes twinkling at him so that Drummond could not repress a smile.

“I think you are a rascal, my lord,” said Josie, her own eyes dancing.

“And you are adorable and have quite stolen my heart.”

“Well, I wish to God I'd never brought you here,” complained Drummond. “And had I known Miss Storm was coming, you may be sure I'd not have done so.”

“You should be grateful.” Fontaine offered Josie his arm as they began to stroll back towards Park Parapine.

The red-brick house was vast and imposing, with turrets in the Jacobean style, its grandeur mellowed by the rich sweep of lawn and the bright colours of the well-tended flower beds which surrounded it.

Quite impervious to the beauty of the mansion, the Viscount pointed out, “Your sojourn in the Colonies has, alas, done nothing to add polish to your manner, Drummond. You may watch me, and learn.”

Josie chuckled, but slipped her free hand through Drummond's arm. He smiled down at her gratefully, and retaliated, “Learn what? How to become an insufferable coxcomb?”

“Prove me wrong, then. Convince the lady. I wait with bated breath.”

“If that means you will be silent, we are reprieved,” said Drummond. “Josie,
will
you give me your answer? I'll not subject you to viewing my profile, I promise you. Nor seek to sway you by puffing off my consequence.”

“I did
not
puff!” inserted his lordship, indignant.

“But merely say that, although I met many charming ladies in Upper Canada, there was not one who”—Drummond's eyes became very serious all at once—“who had a jot of your charm and wit and merry good humour.”

“
Charm
and
wit
and
merry good humour?
” Fontaine cast his eyes upward and uttered a groan. “You are lost, my poor John! You must tell the lady how
beautiful
she is. How
sparkling
her eyes, how
delicate
her sweetly bowed lips, how—”

Vastly amused, Josie cried, “Oh, no! Do stop! I would know it for a hum, for I am not beautiful. No, do stop protesting, gentlemen. And tell me, my lord—”

“Oh, please—never so formal, fairest. My name is Elliot.”

“Lord Elliot,” she corrected, dimpling prettily. “How came you to be in Canada? Has your papa properties there?”

Very briefly, she thought to see so different an expression in the Viscount's eyes that she was startled. Then, he said urbanely, “I was sent off because of a slight disagreement with my revered sire. And—you hedge, I think, Mademoiselle Josephine.”

“He's right, y'know,” Drummond put in earnestly.

She halted. “Since you are both so very charming,” she said with a twinkle, “it would be my great pleasure to go with both of you.”

The Viscount moaned, and clapped a hand despairingly to his brow. Drummond looked downcast. Josie went on mischievously, “Did I intend to go.”

“You never mean to leave us?” cried Drummond. “You only just came!”

“No, no. I have been here for almost two weeks, John. And Dev—my guardian, will be sending for me very soon.”

“If you go, I shall follow!” declared Fontaine dramatically. “‘Faithful in love, and dauntless in war!'”

“Sir Walter Scott!” Josie said, delighted.

Drummond parried resolutely, “Don't forget Scott also has written,

‘The wretch, concentred all in self,

Living, shall forfeit fair renown,

And, doubly dying, shall go down

To the vile dust from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonoured and unsung.'”

For a second, the Viscount was utterly still. Then, he lifted his head to look levelly at Drummond, an expression in the pale eyes that caused Josie to say quickly, “Very well done, John. Tit for tat, Lord Elliot! Come now, you must be a good sportsman, and own it.”

At once his droll smile dawned. “But of course. Do you truly mean to leave these tranquil pastures, dear lady?”

“I do. But I thank you for your kind invitations, gentlemen.” She dropped them a little curtsy, to which the Viscount returned a flourishing bow, while Drummond inclined his head. And away she went; a blithe, slim figure, moving with light, buoyant steps across the rear terrace and into the great house, leaving behind the sunlight that seemed, to both her erstwhile companions, a little dimmer by reason of her having left it.