Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (5 page)

Yolande smiled. "It is Miss—Drummond. Yolande Drummond. My
father is Sir Martin Drummond of Park Parapine. And I can sympathize
with you about ocean travel, Mr. Winters, for I've another cousin who
becomes violently ill if only crossing our little English Channel,
though to look at him you would fancy him quite above such miseries."

How straightforward she was, he thought. No missish airs and
feigned shyness because she was alone with a stranger. And had the good
Lord ever created a more exquisite little creature? "I suspect," he
ventured, "that you have a great many cousins and brothers, and such."

The deep eyes were steady and held an expression that made her
feel unaccustomedly flustered, but she managed a teasing, "Why, yes.
Everybody does, you know."

His smile held a trace of wistfulness. She asked curiously,
"Have not you, sir?"

"To say truth, ma'am, I—"

A rapid drumming of hooves along the lane ceased abruptly, and
Alain Devenish burst through a break in the hedgerow and ran towards
them. "Yolande!" he cried, his face pale and strained. "Good God! You
are hurt!"

"She is unharmed, sir," said Winters, standing with the fluid
ease of the athlete. "I must—"

"Who the devil asked you?" gritted Devenish, glaring briefly
at him and dropping to one knee beside Yolande. "My dearest girl! Are
you all right? Mrs. Drummond said you were as good as killed. I have
been fairly beside myself!"

"Oh, heavens!" Guilt-ridden, Yolande gasped, "I had quite
forgot the poor soul, and the last I saw of her, she was flying through
the air into some lupins."

Immediately diverted, Devenish grinned. "No, was she? I'll
wager she was complaining all the way! Never fret, love, she's bruised
and shaken, but no bones broken." He turned a suspicious stare upon
Winters. "By Jove! Could I but lay my hands on the looby who jumped his
horse over that hedgerow…"

"I should explain," began Yolande.

"That looby is right here," Winters drawled.

"What?" Leaping up, his hot temper flaring, Devenish raged,
"You damnable hedgebird!" He at once regretted his choice of words,
especially when he saw the responsive twinkle that came into the other
man's eyes. "You'll answer to me for this atrocity!" he said, one hand
lifting purposefully.

"No!" Yolande scrambled up and gripped his upraised wrist.
"Alain, if you will but—"

"I'll slaughter any swine who endangers your sweet life!" he
snarled.

Winters sobered. He glanced from Yolande's pale, anxious face
to this astonishingly handsome young firebrand, and the hopes that had
bloomed so suddenly, faded. "I quite understand your concern, sir," he
said earnestly. "I can only beg you will accept my—"

"Well, do not, because I won't, damn your eyes! What the devil
d'you mean by jumping your stupid hack onto a lady's carriage? Are you—"

"If you think—" Winters began, with the trace of a frown.

"He saved my life!" intervened Yolande, tugging at Devenish's
arm. "He was superb! If—"

"If he hadn't pranced over the hedge, there wouldn't have been
no cause to save your life! It's good that he did so, of course, but
that don't excuse it! Fella must be disguised!" He glanced down at
Yolande and appended a contrite, "Poor girl, you look worn to a shade."

"And shall be conveyed home at once," Winters declared, his
own gaze lingering on Yolande.

Devenish noted that appreciative look. "Miss Drummond," he
gritted, pacing a step closer to the much taller and more sturdily
built Winters, "will
assuredly
be conveyed to her
home. By me. And you, sir, will convey yourself off! And be damned glad
I've the lady to care for, else I would undertake to beat some sense
into your feeble brain!"

Winters' mouth tightened. "You would do well to temper your
language before a lady, sir."

Devenish spluttered and his fist clenched.

Quickly turning her back on Winters, Yolande placed one small
hand on her volatile cousin's arm. "Please do take me home, Alain, for
I feel quite poorly."

His rage was forgotten at once. "Of course—what a gudgeon I
am! Lean on me, m'dear. Or perhaps I should carry you? Very well—this
way, then…"

He guided her tenderly to the break in the hedge.

Winters watched them go, then stooped, gathered up the rug,
and followed.

In the lane, Devenish assisted Yolande into the landaulette.
Silently, Winters offered the rug. Devenish snatched it fiercely, then
turned back to his charge. He tucked the rug carefully about her.
Suddenly very weary, Yolande settled back, content to be fussed over.
"Rest and be comfortable, my sweet life," he murmured. "I shall have
you safe home in jig time." He hastened to tie his horse on behind the
carriage, passing Winters, who had located his tall grey and stood
watching. "Should I ever come up with you again, sir," said Devenish in
a low, grim voice, "I will call you to book for this day's work."

Winters swung into the saddle and returned no answer. This
mercurial young man was obviously deeply attached to the lady. Still,
she had said she was a miss. Nor had she indicated a betrothal. He had
learnt her name; it should be a simple matter to discover her
direction. But not today.

Devenish had mounted to the driver's seat of the landaulette,
moving in rather a slow fashion for such a slim and dynamic gentleman.
He stopped only to assure himself that his charge was comfortably
disposed, then took up the reins and, without another glance at
Winters, urged the weary team onward.

For a moment the Canadian sat looking thoughtfully after them.
Then he leaned to stroke the neck of his horse and said fondly, "You
old fool, you can still outrun anything on four legs." The grey turned
to peer back at him, seemingly just as fondly. "Come on." Winters
grinned. "Up and at 'em! We still might find the silly place."

He glanced up at the sun, squinting a little to that
brightness, then turned the grey through the break in the hedge and
across the field to the west.

For the third time since Yolande had been tenderly ushered to
her bed, Mrs. Drummond had recourse to her vinaigrette. "No matter how
he rode to her rescue," she gasped out faintly, "that dreadful
foreigner might as easily have brought about the deaths of us all!
Indeed, I wonder I yet live, for I vow I must be black and blue from
head to toe!"

Devenish, seated in a chair in the bright saloon, eyed the
reclining victim uneasily. Sir Martin, less impressed, said tartly,
'Then you should be laid down upon your bed, ma'am. I'm sure I do not
know why you must persist in lying here on a sofa, when you could be
resting comfortably, above stairs!"

Mrs. Drummond rested a look of long-suffering martyrdom upon
her unfeeling brother-in-law. "I refused," she sighed nobly, "to add to
my dear Louisa's burdens. As though she had not enough to bear with
little Rosemary deep in the throes of a putrid throat—which could very
easily turn into rheumatic fever, you know—and now—"

"Nonsense!" snapped Sir Martin, rising. "The child is
perfectly healthy and there ain't no cause for all your doom and gloom,
Arabella! I'll thank you not to alarm her ladyship with such megrims!"

Struggling to hide a grin, Devenish stood also. Mrs. Drummond
was not at all amused. She said an aggrieved, "As you say, dear sir.
But even so, Louisa will scarce be able to accompany Yolande on her
journey. If the poor child is
able
to undertake
such a long—"

All but snarling his irritation, Sir Martin interrupted, "Your
pardon, ma'am. You are clearly in sorry case, and since you refuse to
go upstairs where you belong, we will leave you in peace. Come,
Devenish."

He strode out before the resentful lady could utter another
word, and stamped along the hall to the book room, muttering fierce
animadversions upon distempered freaks and blasted idiotic martyrs. The
last thing either he or his spouse had wished was that Devenish learn
that Yolande was removing to Scotland for the summer. The boy would
most certainly have pricked up his ears at the blathering Arabella's
indiscreet remarks, so now he must be warned off. An unpleasant task!

"Blast the woman!" he growled, ushering his prospective
son-in-law into the room and slamming the door behind him. "Why my lady
wife tolerates her I shall never—" He caught himself up, took a deep
breath, and, hopeful of turning Devenish's attention, occupied a wing
chair and indicated another. "Sit down, my boy, and tell me more of
this Winters fellow. From what Yolande says, he must be a jolly fine
horseman. That was no mean jump, and how he managed to transfer from
his own mount to a bolting team is more than I have been able to come
at. Did you see it?"

Devenish himself was too keen a sportsman to find anything
unusual in Sir Martin's apparent admiration for the man who had
jeopardized his daughter's life. "I did not, but I saw his horse, sir,
and a more unlovely brute I've seldom beheld. You'd doubt he had the
ability to set one hoof before the next."

"Is that so? Bit of a dark horse, what?"

"Like his owner! They were undoubtedly seeking the nearest
circus so as to exhibit their tricks!"

"Oho!" Sir Martin's eyes widened. "From Yolande's manner I had
thought him a gentleman."

Devenish shrugged. "A Colonial."

"Really? We don't see many of them hereabouts. I heard the
Beau had one on his staff. Fine chap. De-something. Got himself killed,
poor fellow. DeWitt—was it?"

"Oh, you mean DeLancey, sir. Yes, he was American— killed at
Waterloo. This chap is Canadian. An insolent devil."

Sir Martin decided he had done the trick and that it was safe
to now call the discussion to a halt. He said, "Well, I am sure you put
him in his place, eh?" Standing, he put out his hand. "You'll forgive
me, Dev, but I'd best get upstairs and see how Yolande goes on."

Devenish stood reluctantly, and the two men shook hands. "Of
course. But—"

"My regards to Alastair," Sir Martin said hurriedly. "You must
come and take your mutton with us. Er, in a week or so, when we've
quieted down a trifle."

"Thank you, sir. Is Yolande going away?"

The bedevilled father ground his teeth, but answered brightly,
"Not today, at all events." He swung the door open. "As to the future,
who can tell? These ladies of ours change their minds every time the
wind blows from a different quarter. I remember once…"

His memories lasted until the safety of the main staircase was
reached, at which point he clapped his balked companion on the
shoulder, said heartily that there was no call to show him out since
he'd run tame at Park Parapine since he was breeched, and made his
escape up the stairs.

Devenish watched that retreat broodingly. "Humbugged, by God!"
he breathed. Every law of proper behaviour dictated that he politely
accept his dismissal. He had spent most of his life, however, breaking
laws of proper behaviour. He therefore set his classic jaw, turned on
his heel, and marched back to the saloon. There, he tapped gently on
the door, waited through a sudden scurry of movement inside, and turned
the handle.

A little flushed, Mrs. Drummond lay as before, save that the
quilt which had been laid over her was considerably rumpled, and on the
air hung the distinct aroma of peaches. Devenish darted an amused
glance to the teakwood credenza. A jade bowl held some grapes from the
succession houses, but there was no sign of a peach. He thought, "Aunty
nipped over there and found something to sustain her, the crafty
rascal!" But he said, with appropriate if insincere gravity, "I came to
see how you go along, ma'am. You suffered a very nasty fall."

Just as insincerely, Mrs. Drummond murmured, "Dear Devenish.
How very kind. I expect I shall—come through… somehow…"

It was a superb performance, he thought, and said wickedly,
"Gad, ma'am! You are become so pale. May I bring you a morsel of food?
A glass of wine, perhaps? A little sustenance might—"

"No, no!" She shuddered, wrapping the peach pit in her
handkerchief under the shield of the quilt. "The merest thought of food
nauseates me! But you have a kind heart. Pray sit down. Not everyone
does, you know."

He hesitated. "If you prefer that I stand…"

"No," she giggled coyly. "I meant—not everyone has a kind
heart."

He smiled and seated himself, prepared to guide the
conversation to the questions he burned to utter. He was doomed. On the
brink of extinction though she might be, Mrs. Drummond expounded at
length on the evils attendant upon allowing foreigners to cavort
unchecked through Britain, the terrible ills that had befallen several
ladies of her acquaintance following accidents far less severe than the
nightmare she had just experienced, and her belief that "this Winters
man" was in reality an escaped lunatic. "No one in possession of his
faculties," she stated unequivocally, "would have attempted such a
jump, let alone failed to consider that a vehicle might be travelling
along the lane, and although I grant you it is not as well travelled as
it was in my dear husband's day, for then there was a far jollier life
here— Oh, but you should have seen the balls and the boat parties and
garden fetes! I well remember those grand times!" She chose not to
remember that her "dear husband" was known to have all but bankrupted
the estates, so that his brother had been obliged to wage a desperate
struggle to restore Park Parapine to solvency. She became so busied
with her reminiscences, however, that she forgot the initial trend of
her remarks and eventually paused in a little confusion.

It was the opportunity for which Devenish had been waiting
with concealed but fuming impatience. "It must have been grand indeed,
ma'am," he inserted swiftly. "And as for the fiasco today, I am more
than thankful for your concern. But surely, Yolande will not attempt a
journey—under the circumstances?"