Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette (31 page)

Harry nodded. "For—money." And the corners of his mouth lifted
into an unpleasant smile.

"Your brother. Mr. Redmond," said Nanette stormily, "has the
very fine sense of humour, no? He finds it droll that a helpless girl
is bullied into wedding someone against her will; that her adored
brother was murdered—cut off at the beginning of a so promising life!
That her stepfather, urging his brother to wed her, looks at her
himself with eyes that… that…" And she stopped, bit her lip, and shook
her head as if refusing a thought too horrible for contemplation.

The mockery vanished from Harry's face. He stepped closer to
her and breathed an aghast, "Little one—what are you implying?"

"That . . " she looked up at him with pathetic entreaty,
"that— heaven help me! I think he—desires me… himself!"

"Now—by God!" whispered Harry.

"It cannot be so!" Mitchell cried. "You do not describe a
human being, Miss Carlson, but a—a veritable monster!"

"I describe a handsome and distinguished gentleman," she said,
her sorrowful gaze still upon Harry. "The man your papa insisted he had
never met—who was
not
his friend. Whom he, in
fact,
disliked
, if only by repute. And yet whose
hospitality he enjoyed— knowing I had named him my brother's murderer!
I describe my illustrious stepfather—M. Parnell Sanguinet!"

"To justice!" said Harry with taut intensity. The three tin
cups clanked together. "To justice!" echoed his companions, and the
toast having been drunk, they all sat down; Mitchell, cross-legged upon
the blanket; Nanette on the stool; and Harry perched against the table,
close enough to catch the fragrance of her, yet not quite touching her.

The wild jubilation that had followed her disclosure had both
delighted and astounded Nanette, for when her true identity had been
revealed she had supposed them also to be aware she was Sanguinet's
stepdaughter. There was no questioning her story now. Elated because at
last they had a clue to the mystery surrounding their father's death,
the brothers had whooped and embraced and pounded at one another before
apologizing most humbly for having doubted her. Mitchell's face had
been alight and open as he bowed to her. Harry's had contained an
element of reserve, and if she trembled at what that reserve might
imply, she was too relieved to dwell on it. For the time being it was
sufficient that they believed her.

Mitchell's initial suggestion was chat they at once proceed to
Chichester, and Nanette enthusiastically endorsed such a course of
action. Harry, however, pointed out that neither Daniel nor Andy had as
yet returned from the tavern.

"Andy?" said Mitchell in astonishment. "But—he's at
Cancrizans."

"He was. He found us and left here only moments before you
arrived, seeking you. And Daniel went after you earlier. Did you meet
neither?"

A flush burned Mitchell's cheeks and he admitted shamefacedly
that he had "sort of wandered off" with his emigre and forgotten the
tavern entirely.

"No matter," Harry nodded. "They'll be back directly, I
daresay. Meanwhile, may we beg that you tell us your story, ma'am?"

"Very politely, Sir Harry?" Nanette twinkled, praying for an
answering smile.

He bowed. "Very politely—Miss Carlson, or may I say Miss
Annabelle?"

"My name is Annabelle," she said, her hopes fading as she met
his grave regard. "But Mama preferred the French version— Nanette."

"I see. And when you told me that Parnell Sanguinet sought to
force you into a marriage for money, you meant for
your
money,
n'est-ce pas
?"

She nodded, her small hands gripped tightly together because
this cool, judicial air was frightening her. "That was one of the
reasons, at least."

"And you believe your brother was killed because he sought to
prevent your marriage to Guy?"

"Yes." Her eyes darted from one to the other of them. "Always,
I feared it might happen, for my stepfather has a—a way of dealing with
those who oppose him."

Mitchell frowned, and Harry said slowly, "I'd think he would
have kept you in France and not allowed you to attend the Seminary, did
he intend to wed you to his brother."

"I doubt he so much as thought of me then. He despises
children and stayed away from us for years after Mama's death. Which
was as well because Frederick loathed him—and as for his brother,
Claude . . !" She shuddered. "I used to dread lest my brother would say
something—or even
look
, merely. Frederick had
such a way with his eyes." Her own became sad and nostalgic, and for a
moment she was silent, then went on, "My aunt Amelia in Devonshire had
loved Mama dearly and wrote to ask that I be sent to the same Convent
school she had attended. Frederick was at Eton by that time, and I
missed him terribly and was wild to come. Papa's man of business
agreed; so I came, and we were able to see one another occasionally,
until he bought a pair of colours."

"
He
did?" Harry interjected shrewdly.

"Well, Papa bought them for him. It was one of the few times
he had ever agreed to anything Frederick asked. We were, in fact,
surprised."

Harry was not in the least surprised and, glancing up, saw in
Mitchell's grim expression an echo of his own conclusion. "Nan— er,
Miss Carlson," he said quietly, "forgive me, but—your mama was a lady
of vast wealth, I understand. Did her fortune pass to her husband—or to
her son?"

"To Frederick. And then, if he left no heirs, to me. But
Parnell Sanguinet was far more wealthy than Mama. I don't think he
married her for her fortune but because she was very lovely and much
sought after and admired."

"When I was at the chateau," Mitchell interposed thoughtfully,
"I gained an impression of great wealth. They look to be living as high
as coachhorses. Do you believe the fortunes of the Sanguinets have been
depleted by such extravagances, Miss Nanette?"

"I don't know. Something happened." She shrugged expressively.
"I heard that Claude—he is the eldest brother—had some disastrous
financial ventures. And I knew his political connivings were terribly
costly, for he was always into this or that intrigue. Also, he bought a
huge old manor house on one of the Scottish islands and poured money
into it, though I did not know of that until recently."

Mitchell's fine brows lifted. 'That's odd. What on earth would
a French aristocrat want with a Scottish manor house?"

"Does Claude control the family coffers, then?" asked Harry,
impatient with this digression.

"Yes. I have very seldom met him, thank heaven, for he is most
horrid. I heard him once talking to Guy. He spoke so softly, and
laughed many times; but Guy was white as death, and me—I was purely
terrified!"

She looked as if even the memory frightened her, and Harry at
once changed the subject. "Did you have a come-out? I don't seem to
recall hearing of it."

"I was to be presented and have a London Season when I turned
seventeen. I was—oh, so excited, and Frederick enormously proud of me.
But then…" The animation faded from her vivid face, and she shook her
head. "Papa came."

And Parnell, thought Harry, found that the child he'd
virtually abandoned had blossomed into a beautiful girl. A girl
undoubtedly judged the finest prize in the matrimonial sweepstakes.
Frowning, he said, "I wonder you didn't accept an offer before he began
to interfere. Girls marry at sixteen, often."

"Well, I was at the Seminary, you see—or with Aunt Amelia, who
is very strict. Still—there was one boy of whom I became quite fond.
Aunt Amelia approved, but—Papa would have none of him. He told me it—it
was the gold that put the shine into his eyes. Not love for me."

Harry swore under his breath, and Mitchell uttered a scornful,
"What fustian! I'll wager the poor fellow was scared off, if the truth
be told!"

"No, Mr. Redmond," Nanette contradicted in a sad, small voice.
"He was bought off. Papa paid him quite a large sum to—remove his
attentions. And then boasted to me of it."

She kept her eyes lowered, but Harry sensed how much that
piece of deviltry had hurt her, and his right hand clenched tight.

"Good God!" Mitchell ejaculated. "Surely your brother could
have done something?"

"When he came home from Spain and learned what was going on,
he was enraged. He went roaring into Papa's study." Her eyes looked
back into the past and she said softly, "I heard Papa tell him I would
marry Guy. Frederick became even angrier, and Papa played with him…
laughed at him… mocked him, in his cruel, clever way. When it was over
at last, Frederick came up to my room. I expected him to be in a
passion, but instead he seemed almost elated. He said that I was not to
worry any more, because at last he had found a way to put a spoke in
the wheel of M. Diabolique."

Harry asked intently, "What did he mean?"

"Would that he told me. I suppose it was some scheme to
prevent my marrying Guy. He went out, in a great hurry…" Her voice
cracked a little. "He was killed—that very night." She blinked up at
Harry and said beseechingly, "Can you wonder I suspect my papa? But—I
have no proof! Nothing! And—no one will listen."

The brothers glanced grimly at one another. Mitchell said with
indignation, "I would have thought one of your many admirers would—"
but his words faded before the stricken look that flashed across her
face.

"While I was in mourning," she said, "there could be no
thought of marriage, of course. When I came home, Papa saw to it that
only the—what Frederick used to call the 'raff and chaff were allowed
near me. He knew that I'd have none of them. I became the target for
every fortune hunter, military rattle, and libertine at large…"
Mitchell darted a startled glance at his brother, but Harry's face
remained expressionless. "A naval officer I'd met abroad persisted in
courting me," Nanette went on. "Papa disliked him intensely. I knew… I
knew
how dangerous it was… but—I was so lonely, and afraid… I told him all I
suspected." She drew a hand across her eyes. "He was shot to death one
night. By a highwayman—or so they said."

"Jupiter!" gasped Mitchell. "Parnell turned to the High Toby!"

"Or bought the services of such!" Pale with anger, Harry
exploded, "God! It defies belief!"

"The Sanguinets are all-powerful," Nanette sighed. "Papa can
be very charming and persuasive, when he wishes. If people began to
question, he told them that I was 'very ill'—that grief had caused my
intellect to become disordered. It was hopeless. And so at last I
refused all gentlemen callers and went about only with my school
friends, or Guy. Papa was out of the country for much of the time, and
although I was not allowed to live with my aunt any more, gradually, I
began to be happy again. He had… given me a little rope, I suppose. But
last month he came back. And very soon I—I saw how… he looked at me…"

Enraged by her sorrow, yearning to comfort her, and loathing
the man who had so victimized her, Harry grated, "And so you ran away."

She nodded. "I ran to Sister Maria Evangeline. She is a good,
brave woman. But Papa's men found me, and I knew that if they took me
back, he would never again let me out of his sight. I was half out of
my wits with fear. And then Sister Maria Evangeline herself took me to
Diccon—not the clergyman, as I told you, Harry—because she knew him and
said he could be trusted to escort me to my aunt. I put on my maid's
dress and tried to make myself look so that no one would recognize me.
I know it was—a dreadful thing to do, but—I was so desperate, I was
beyond caring." She paused, then finished in a scratchy, pleading
little voice, '"It really
was .
. . quite
dreadful…"

Again the eyes of the brothers met in a mutual rage; then
Mitchell said frowningly, "But—if Guy becomes your husband,
be
will have control of your fortune. From what I saw of him, I'd not
judge him a weakling. Parnell would likely get short shrift."

"Guy loves me," Nanette acknowledged. "But—Claude and Parnell
have some hold over him—I do not know what. Only that he fears them."

"Even so," Harry argued, "if he really loves you I very much
doubt he would allow Parnell to steal your fortune."

Nanette stared down at her hands and muttered, "My fortune… My
mis
fortune, rather. I hate it, for the grief it
has brought upon me and those I love."

"Yet would find life bitter, indeed, without it," Harry
thought cynically, and asked, "Does Guy know—that his brother, er,
desires you?"

"No! This is what I so dread, for he is, as Mr. Redmond
discovered, an honourable man. If Papa so much as laid a hand on me,
and Guy learned of it… Dear God! I know what he would do. And—one way
or another, he would be killed. I could not—I just
could
not… bear…" Her voice broke and she turned away, her lips trembling.

Stunned by such shocking revelations, Mitchell lifted
incredulous eyes to his brother and caught his breath. The look was
there now—the same tender, worshipful adoration he had glimpsed in the
eyes of St. Clair and Camille Damon. His horrified comments were
forgotten and he watched in breathless silence, feeling that he
intruded upon something both private and sacred, yet not daring to
destroy the spell by moving away.

Harry was oblivious to all but the grief of the girl he loved.
The nightmare she had lived through would, he knew, have reduced most
gently bred ladies to total, terrified submission. But Nanette had not
submitted. God love her valiant soul, she'd fought as bravely as she
knew how! A dozen impressions of her flashed through his mind. He could
see her railing at him, laughing at him, ministering to his hurts,
caressing Mr. Fox, wielding that ridiculous oar, singing her husky
little songs by the campfire… A lump rose in his throat and his eyes
misted. How indomitable she was—how warm and sweet, and unutterably
beloved. And—how rich. One of the richest ladies in Europe, while he
was just another 'military rattle'… another fortune hunter. He fought
despair away and his jaw tightened. Whatever else, he could serve her.
He could protect her from that evil, twisted man. And somehow ensure
that she find happiness.