Parfit Knight (25 page)

Having risen
rather later than usual, his Grace of Rockliffe was just finishing
his breakfast when the Marquis strode unceremoniously in to rest
his fingers on the table-edge and fix him with a grim, white-faced
stare.

Rockliffe
looked back with an air of gentle bewilderment and said
plaintively, ‘My dear Dominic – I am naturally delighted to see you
at any hour but I really must beg you to sit down. I have the
greatest aversion to being loomed over at breakfast. It affects my
digestion.’

Amberley
ignored this speech and remained where he was. ‘Is it true that
you’re on the point of offering for Rosalind Vernon?’ he asked in a
voice curiously unlike his own.

A gleam of
interest crept into the saturnine eyes.

‘And if it
is?’

‘Don’t play
games, Rock – I’m not in the mood.’

‘Ah.’ With a
rare, lightning smile and, for once, without his usual
affectations, his Grace said hopefully, ‘Fight me for her,
Nick?’

The Marquis
gave a bitter laugh and collapsed neatly into a chair.

‘No. Neither
you nor anyone else.’

Rockliffe
sighed. ‘What a pity. May one ask why?’

‘Because it
wouldn’t help.’ Amberley plainly had scant interest in the point.
‘You haven’t answered my question.’

His Grace
helped himself to another cup of coffee and poured one for his
guest.

‘The answer,’
he said languidly, ‘is no. She is entirely charming, of course and
I’ve rarely seen a more beautiful girl. But I’ve no ambition to wed
her.’

‘Because she’s
blind?’ asked the Marquis dryly.

‘No. Because I
am not … in love with her.’ Rockliffe’s tone was equally dry but a
faint tinge of colour stained his cheekbones. ‘You should be
glad.’

Amberley leant
on the table, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

‘Oh God. I
am
glad. And I beg your pardon.’

‘Unnecessary,
my dear.’ The heavy-lidded gaze dwelt on him thoughtfully. ‘So
where did you acquire this extraordinary notion?’

‘From Lord
Philip.’ He looked up. ‘He was quite definite about it.’

‘Was he indeed?
I really cannot imagine why. I’ve given him no cause to think
it.’

The Marquis
gestured impatiently. ‘What he thinks doesn’t interest me. I’d
rather know what Rosalind thinks.’

‘Who can tell
what any woman thinks - or even if they do,’ drawled the Duke. And
then, meeting Amberley’s eye, ‘Calm down, Dominic. I have neither
trifled with the lady’s affections nor raised false hopes in her
breast – and I doubt very much that I could have done so even if
I’d tried. I am a diversion. Nothing more.’

‘You’re very
sure.’

‘I know the
game,’ explained Rockliffe, half-smiling, ‘and the onlooker always
sees most of it. In short, I’d have staked my reputation upon the
premise that, if she married anyone, it would be yourself. Would I
have been wrong?’

For a moment
Amberley stared at him and then, rising, he turned away, saying
abruptly, ‘Yes. You would. She won’t have me. And there’s nothing I
can do about it – even if I was calm enough to do anything. Which,
of course, I’m not.’

‘I see.’ A
faint frown creased his Grace’s brow. ‘There is, I imagine, a
reason?’

‘Yes.’ The
Marquis gazed unseeingly into the street. ‘There’s always been a
reason … and the irony of it is that if I’d spoken last night she
would probably have accepted me. Today, she won’t even receive me.
But don’t ask me to explain. Perhaps later I may do so – but not
yet. I think,’ he concluded with careful lightness, ‘that I’ve had
enough for one day. And what I really need is something else to
think of.’

‘Such as
what?’

Amberley turned
and gave a metallic smile. ‘Oh – nothing much. A town to take or a
night ride behind enemy lines. Just some little thing to occupy my
mind. I’m very flexible.’

The Duke
surveyed him consideringly and then got up, tossing his napkin on
to the table.

‘I’m afraid I
can’t provide you with a small war. But how do you feel about a
race to Newmarket – my blacks against your greys?’

The brittle
look was replaced with a glimmer of appreciative warmth.

‘I should
probably enjoy it. But I’m sure you have other plans for
today.’

Rockliffe
shrugged. ‘Nothing I should not be happy to cancel. And please rid
your mind of the mawkish suspicion that I suggest it out of
sympathy – I don’t. It is merely,’ he explained reflectively, ‘that
I would like my revenge for our last race.
Voilà tout
. Shall
we go?’

*

Partly from a
desire to avoid her brother and partly so that she could be free to
think, Rosalind took the precaution of instructing her maid to
inform her the instant Lord Amberley arrived and then elected to
wait upstairs in her boudoir. Her mind was in chaos; a tangle of
soaring hope and churning fear that made her long for him to come
but dread what he might say. And, though she recognised the
injustice of it, she felt that she almost hated Philip for turning
what should have been a time of joy into this maelstrom of
doubt.

For a while she
paced restlessly to and fro; then, realising the futility of this,
she sat near the window where she would hear a carriage if it
stopped at the door, arranged the folds of pearl-trimmed amethyst
tiffany neatly around her and settled herself down to wait with
what patience she could muster.

She remembered
the evening she’d told Amberley about the accident. It had been the
night he’d been teaching her to dance … until something had made
him release her hand and back away from her as if burned. Then he’d
talked of Richmond and that had brought them to the subject of the
day her life had changed. She recalled telling him what she
remembered … and immediately sensing that something was wrong but
having no idea what it was. He’d retired quite abruptly that night
and, on the following morning, had said he must leave. And during
the whole of that last day, nothing had been the same as before.
Now, finally, she knew why – but not why he hadn’t told her.

Her thoughts
moved on to the previous evening. He’d spoken of something that
needed to be said – that should have been said before he kissed
her. And she’d assumed, because with his arms still about her she
hadn’t been thinking very clearly, that he was referring to a
proposal of marriage. But, of course, it hadn’t been that – or not
just that. And this morning when he came, he was going to tell her
that it was his coach that had run her down twelve years ago. He
would tell her and then they would be done with it; done with that
unfortunate twist of Fate that was no one’s fault and of no
consequence at all.

For the only
thing that was not open to argument and that was the fact that,
beyond pride or reason, she loved the Marquis; that she loved him
so much that nothing else signified – neither the accident, nor his
failure to speak of it, nor anything else. He need not even tell
her why he had remained silent if only he would say he cared for
her. And that, of course, was the rub – for even last night when he
had held her in his arms, he had not spoken of love.

‘But neither
did I,’ Rosalind reminded herself. ‘And I knew. I’ve known since
Isabel made me see it on the day he sent the poems. Only it didn’t
seem necessary to put it into words when it was there, warm and
living, between us. And surely he couldn’t have kissed me like that
if he hadn’t meant it?’ She flushed a little at the memory of her
own response and then smiled at the thought that she ought to feel
shocked – but didn’t.

But the
uncertainly persisted and was reinforced, against her will, by the
one thing Philip had said which she could not forget.

‘
How will
you ever be sure he didn’t do so from pity or guilt
?’

‘I can’t and
won’t believe it,’ she thought resolutely. ‘He couldn’t be so
foolish and he isn’t sorry for me – not a scrap. He never has been.
As for guilt – why should he feel that? He wasn’t driving so it
wasn’t his fault. Oh
damn
Philip! Why did he have to put the
idea into my head? I won’t think about it.’

Yet, as the
hours dragged slowly by bringing no sign of the Marquis, she did
think about it and with increasing frequency. And gradually the
sweet memories she had cherished and the rosy dreams she had
nurtured for so short a time, withered and crumbled until they were
dust at her feet. Like the princess in her high, stone tower, she
waited in vain for her lover to come … until at last the chiming
clock told her that there was nothing left to wait for.

By early
evening and after a day of unparalleled tedium with only Broody for
company, Lord Philip decided it safe to assume that Amberley had
heeded his warning and set off to pour his troubles into the
sympathetic ear of his betrothed.

He found
Mistress Dacre on the point of going up to change her dress for
dinner but had no difficulty in persuading her to accompany him
instead to a small parlour at the back of the house where they
could be private. There was, as usual, no sign of Lord or Lady
Linton and Philip who, if the truth was known, had no desire to see
either of them, frowned irritably and thought that it was
remarkably typical of this ramshackle household.

He began with a
slightly garbled account of what appeared to have taken place in
Vauxhall Gardens – to which Isabel listened with confusion verging
on suspicion. She had, in fact, already tried to coax this
information out of Robert but he had proved surlily reticent and
refused to do more than admit that he owed his bruised and swollen
jaw to the Marquis of Amberley. Isabel put two and two together,
arrived at some shrewd but unpleasant conclusions and wondered,
inwardly shuddering, if she ought, in fairness, to share them with
his lordship.

But Philip did
not give her the chance. Like water rushing through a floodgate, he
swiftly went on to pour out last night’s shocking discovery, the
interview with Rosalind that had followed it and the pungent logic
behind his own attitudes. And that was as far as he got before,
unable to stay silent any longer, Isabel steeled herself to
interrupt him.

‘But you can’t
assume that!’ she said aghast. ‘He must feel absolutely dreadful
about it. And perhaps Rosalind is right and he doesn’t know. After
all,
you
only discovered it last night.’

‘He knows,’
responded Philip grimly. ‘I saw him this morning and he didn’t
trouble to deny it. What he did do – eventually – was ask my
permission to pay his addresses.’

The brown eyes
flew wide. ‘He wants to marry her? Really?’

‘So he
said.’

His tone told
Isabel that his response to the Marquis hadn’t been encouraging.
She said carefully, ‘And what answer did you give him?’

‘I told him I’d
sooner see her dead at my feet.’

This was worse
than she had expected. ‘But why? If they love each other – ‘

‘He doesn’t
love her,’ said Philip flatly. ‘If he did, he’d have told her the
truth about the accident as soon as he realised it.’

‘Perhaps.’ She
eyed him dubiously. ‘But did he tell you why he hasn’t done
so?’

‘He didn’t need
to. It’s perfectly obvious, isn’t it?’

‘Not to me –
though I suppose he may have been afraid.’

‘Afraid?
Amberley
?’ Philip forgot he had called the Marquis a coward
and gave a brief, derisive laugh. ‘Never!’

Isabel thought
it over and said seriously, ‘Not in the normal way, perhaps. But if
he blames himself, then he may well think that Rosalind would too.’
She paused and then asked somewhat wistfully, ‘If – if you were in
a position like that, how easy would you find it to tell the
truth?’

Philip
shrugged. ‘Oh God – I don’t know. But it’s all supposition anyway –
and, if it isn’t, why didn’t he say so to me this morning?’

She smiled a
little. ‘Would you have believed him?’

‘No. But he
knew damned well what I was thinking and if he had an explanation,
he should have offered it.
I
would have done so. Anything
rather than let someone believe me wilfully dishonest.’

Isabel stared
at her hands. She had very little hope of being attended to but,
because she liked the Marquis and felt that the least she owed him
was some sort of defence, she was determined to try.

‘Yes. But you
set more store by the world’s opinion than I suspect Lord Amberley
does. He … I think you’ll find that he lives by a code of his own;
and, in many ways, it is a good deal stricter than – than – ‘

‘Than mine?’
snapped his lordship, nettled. ‘
Merci du compliment
! Perhaps
you’ll be good enough to explain how?’

She flushed.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that precisely. But I think – largely
because of Robert – you do the Marquis an injustice. He does what
he thinks is right; and he’s the only person I’ve ever met who
never says anything that reflects unfavourably on anyone else. He’d
rather let people think badly of
him
– and that must take a
special sort of courage, don’t you think?’

Lord Philip did
not – and neither, he discovered, did he care for the gentle
admiration in Isabel’s tone or the concern in her eyes. With a
sudden sense of shock, he realised that he had never known her
display either one on his own account – and the thought did more
than rankle. It hurt.

‘Not courage,’
he replied blightingly, ‘just arrogance. And he has plenty of that
and to spare. I’m only surprised that he took me at my word and
stayed away today.’

The brown gaze
sharpened a little.

‘Did you tell
him that Rosalind didn’t want to see him?’

‘Not exactly.’
He hesitated, not particularly proud of this admission. ‘I merely …
implied it.’