Parfit Knight (8 page)

‘Shall I
apologise?’ he asked, strolling across the hall and taking the hand
she offered him. ‘Or shall I simply plead the excuse of inspecting
the weather?’

She shook her
head. ‘Neither. Just tell me if it’s true that the snow has covered
the steps.’

‘Quite
true.’

‘So the road
may well be blocked?’

‘That is a
distinct possibility,’ responded his lordship unhelpfully.

‘And a journey
out of the question?’

‘A long one,
certainly.’

‘A short one
too, I should think.’

‘That, Mistress
Vernon would depend on the skill of the driver.’

The dimple
quivered and was gone. ‘You are trying to provoke me, sir.’

‘
I
,
Madam?’ Somewhere in the affronted tone was a hint of the mischief
dancing in his eyes. ‘Surely not!’

‘And now,’ she
said sternly, ‘you are laughing and that is worse.’

‘You malign
me.’

‘Do I? Really?’
The violet eyes gleamed a challenge. ‘It that’s so, then no doubt
you’ll be happy to prove it?’

The Marquis
swept a flourishing bow and laid one hand over his heart.

‘In any way you
choose,’ he announced dramatically. ‘You have but to name it.’

‘Then I shall
do so. It is a very small thing,’ she said in a dulcet tone. ‘You
may tell me – without further prevarication – whether you consider
it safe to travel at all today.’

‘
Eh
bien
.’ He shrugged resignedly. ‘No, Mistress Vernon. I do not
consider it safe to travel today.’

She was
suddenly radiant. ‘Then you’ll stay?’

His lordship
bowed over her hand and raised it to his lips.

‘Please. If I
may?’

*

During the
course of the morning Rosalind made three attempts to lure the
Marquis into disclosing the nature of his acquaintance with her
brother. The first two he skilfully evaded and the third he met
with open amusement.

‘Not again,
Mistress Persistence! Why does it fascinate you so?’

‘Because you
won’t tell me,’ came the truthful reply. ‘And if you aren’t going
to explain, you shouldn’t have laughed like that.’

He grinned.
‘That is indisputably true. Very well – but I’ll wager that you
will be disappointed. I have met your brother just once and that
was last Wednesday. The encounter wasn’t what you might call
fortuitous and I rather suspect that Lord Philip may have taken a
dislike to me.’

Rosalind folded
her hands and thought for a moment.

‘You mean that
Phil’s particular demon prompted him to jump to conclusions – and
yours prompted you to let him?’

His lordship
gave a choke of startled laughter.

‘Very shrewd!
Though I feel it’s only fair to say that the circumstances rather
conspired against us.’

‘And what do
you think Philip would say?’

The Marquis
collapsed neatly into a chair. ‘That I’m an adventurer in search of
a fortune. He thinks … ‘

‘Yes?’

‘That I’m more
than half-way to the debtor’s ward at Newgate,’ he finished
flippantly.

‘My goodness.
And why would he think that?’ asked Rosalind, seizing an apparent
advantage.

‘Oh no, my
dear. It’s nice try but you’ll draw no more from me,’ he said
pleasantly. ‘The rest of the story is neither mine nor Lord
Philip’s and I’ve no taste for idle gossip. Instead, you may tell
me if you are acquainted with Mistress Dacre and her family.’

Rosalind gave a
tiny sigh and capitulated with a good grace.

‘No. She’s
never been here and I, of course, have never been to London. I had
hoped that Philip would bring her with him when he came at
Christmas – but I suppose it wouldn’t have been proper. And, as
things turned out, it would probably have been more bother than it
was worth because he was only able to stay three days himself.’

The grey-green
eyes narrowed and grew suddenly hard but Amberley’s voice remained
levelly conversational as he said, ‘Do I detect an element of doubt
over this betrothal?’

‘Just a
little,’ she admitted. ‘You see, it was arranged between Viscount
Linton and my uncle and I don’t think Philip really knows Mistress
Isabel very well. I daresay it’s foolish of me but I’d have
preferred him to make a … a less
bloodless
alliance; and the
very nature of this one makes me wonder if Isabel isn’t bloodless
too. All Philip will say is that she’s quietly-behaved and pretty –
which could mean practically anything.’

Lord Amberley
kept to himself the inevitable reflection that, since Lord Linton’s
finances were well-known to be at a perpetually low ebb, his
daughter might conceivably believe it her duty to accept any offer
from a respectably wealthy quarter. It was unlikely, he thought
wryly, that Rosalind would find this information comforting and he
could scarcely ask outright if Philip was rich enough to qualify.
He said mildly, ‘I appreciate your misgivings but such marriages
are the custom, you know.’

‘That’s all
very well,’ she objected, ‘but would
you
do it?’

His lordship
smiled and yielded to temptation. ‘How do you know that I
haven’t?’

The violet eyes
widened. ‘I don’t. I must say that it never occurred to me. Have
you?’

‘Have I what?
Made a marriage of convenience – or any marriage at all?’

‘Both.’

He laughed.
‘No. And the truth is that Lord Philip’s way would not be
mine.’

‘Nor mine
either,’ she replied thoughtfully. ‘Not, of course, that it’s at
all likely to be asked of me.’

‘Why not?’
asked Amberley, his manner deceptively casual. ‘Or will your
brother permit you to make your own choice?’

Rosalind looked
faintly surprised. ‘Well, I daresay he would but – since it’s
doubtful that the matter will ever arise – we’ve never spoken of
it.’ She paused and then went on with dry reproof, ‘You can’t have
considered, sir. Away from this house I should have to be
constantly accompanied and watched – a thing which I should dislike
quite as much as the person whose duty it was. That makes me
something of a liability and I can’t imagine any man in full
possession of his faculties desiring such a poor bargain. As for
the remote possibility of some gallant gentleman becoming so
besotted that he’d be willing to put up with the inconvenience –
I’m unlikely ever to meet him.’

The stark truth
of this succinct and dispassionately-stated evaluation seemed
unanswerable and for a moment the Marquis stared silently across as
her, his mouth grim. Finally, he said curtly, ‘Have you never been
away from here?’

‘Not since … ‘
She stopped abruptly and began again. ‘Not for a long time. After
Papa died, we lived at my uncle’s home in Surrey for a while to
make it easier for Mama to accustom herself.’ She paused and when
she spoke again her voice held a hint of strain. ‘That was when I
was nine. The year the portrait was painted.’

Amberley raised
his eyes to encompass the vital, glowing face in the frame and made
a sudden discovery – a discovery so mind-blowingly obvious that he
couldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen it straight away. The child
in the picture could see.

He looked
sharply back at Rosalind and said lightly, ‘And then you came back
here?’

‘Yes.’ The word
was curiously flat.

But by then
you were blind
. He knew as surely as if he’d been told. What he
didn’t know was how it had happened; but that must wait, for she
was clearly not ready to talk of it yet – and might never be. He
said gently, ‘And your mother?’

Rosalind’s
hands lay tightly gripped in her lap but her voice was still
perfectly controlled. ‘She died when I was sixteen. Philip was
twenty and already in the army so Uncle George continued to
administer the land and I took over the running of the house. That
was six years ago.’ She managed a tight little smile. ‘And from
that quite unnecessary piece of information, you’ll have gathered
that I’m all of twenty-two years old.’

The effort
behind that smile brought an unfamiliar ache to his lordship’s
throat and, for a moment, the urge to take her hands was almost
overwhelming. What held him back was the knowledge that, to her,
this emotion he could not quite identify would appear to be the
thing she most dreaded – pity; and he had no right to break the
rigidly maintained composure which was her only defence.
Consequently, because there seemed to be nothing else left, he took
refuge in levity.

‘Before you go
any further,’ he said, ‘I feel that it is in my own interests to
point out that I am all of four-and thirty. And I absolutely refuse
to be classed as a dotard!’

The tension
vanished as if by magic.

‘I wouldn’t
dream of it,’ she assured him. And then, comfortingly, ‘Besides –
you must be very well-preserved for your age because Nurse only put
you at turned thirty. And no one could accuse
her
of
flattery.’

The grey-green
eyes dwelt on her appreciatively.

‘No – nor you
either. But don’t stop there. I feel sure there’s more.’

‘No. Truly
there isn’t. I didn’t ask, you see.’

The Marquis
winced. ‘Well, I asked for that one, didn’t I?’

This produced a
ripple of laughter. ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t intended as a snub. I
merely meant that it didn’t seem important.’

‘Worse and
worse!’

‘Oh you’re
impossible!’ Her attempt at severity was a hopeless failure and she
turned away in desperation. ‘I don’t
need
to ask. You’d
probably be astounded by how much I know without it.’

‘Go on then,’
he invited cordially. ‘Astound me.’

‘I will.’
Rosalind tilted her head pensively and began a brisk and faintly
teasing appraisal. ‘You have a good voice. It’s light and crisp and
it – it laughs. And it’s distinctive; I’d know it anywhere. Your
hands are cool and you have long fingers. At a guess, I’d say
they’re a good deal stronger than they look. You are quite tall but
not heavily built because you move too quietly. Except, of course,
when you cross the hall flag-stones in heeled shoes,’ she added
wickedly. ‘Am I right so far?’

A curious smile
lurked in Amberley’s eyes but he said merely, ‘Quite right. Is
there more?’

‘A little.
Since your voice is rarely serious, I imagine your eyes are
probably the same. You don’t use paint – if you did, I’d be able to
smell it; but something about you carries a mild scent of ambergris
… I should think it’s your handkerchief. You like wearing velvet
and choose the best quality – which is also true of the lace at
your wrists – and if you wear any rings, they must be on your left
hand.’ She paused for a moment, thinking, and then added
triumphantly, ‘Oh yes – I nearly forgot. You wear your own hair
without powder.’

There was a
long pause and then, ‘You’re sure it’s not a wig?’

‘Positive.’ She
sent him a slanting, provocative smile. ‘Well? Are you
impressed?’

‘Impressed –
and terrified,’ was the laughing reply. ‘I had no idea that you
were a cross between a bloodhound and – and a ferret.’

Rosalind
choked. ‘You say the nicest things to me.’

‘Don’t I
though?’ He paused meditatively. ‘I feel like a Chinese puzzle in
urgent need of re-assembly … and I hardly dare move for fear of
what you’ll deduce next. Not that there seems to be anything
left.’

‘Oh there is –
quite a lot, really. I haven’t a clue about your colouring or the
cast of your features. And, of course, I don’t know if you’re
considered handsome or not. But I don’t suppose you’ll tell me
that, will you?’

Amberley gave a
tiny gasp and his shoulders began to shake. He said, ‘Not a chance!
I’ll tell you that my hair is fair and my eyes a sort of grey. But
beyond that … beyond that, you’ll just have to ask Nurse!’

All that day
and far into the next the snow continued to fall, whirling down
from a leaden sky in large, soft flakes until the manor was
marooned in a silent and deserted wilderness of white. Hour by
hour, the outside world receded further into the realm of things
forgotten and unregretted while time itself seemed to hang
motionless in the frosty air; and the Marquis, strangely content to
let it be so, spoke no more of departure.

Indeed, for him
as much as for Rosalind, the days of effortless conversation and
small, shared pleasures were of the stuff that fills the golden
treasure house of memory; but while his lordship unconsciously
recognised their implicit transience, Rosalind lived only for the
moment and gave no thought for the morrow.

Experiencing
for the first time a companionship in which her blindness existed
only as a minor obstacle to be largely ignored and occasionally
overcome, she developed an almost dizzying sense of freedom. But
after twelve years of captivity, release can be a frightening thing
and courage is as easily forgotten as lost; so there were times
when, with the best will in the world, she found herself imprisoned
by her own doubts – or would have done so had she been left
alone.

But it seemed
that the Marquis, having turned the key, had no mind to leave the
door closed and Rosalind’s regretful, ‘I can’t’, invariably met
with a coolly challenging, ‘Why not?’ that effectively turned
acquiescence into the line of least resistance.

The first major
instance occurred when the snow finally stopped. His lordship
discerned a few pale rays of wintry sunshine, saw that a team of
grooms and gardeners were busily clearing paths around the house
and calmly announced that it was high time Mistress Vernon went out
for some air.

Not
unnaturally, Mistress Vernon, for whom present conditions made
every step a hazard, responded with an instinctive denial; Amberley
demanded reasons and, when she reluctantly provided them, proceeded
to demolish them by means of laughter and wilful incomprehension.
Ten minutes later they were outside.