Practice to Deceive (18 page)

But the coachman was not whipping up his horses. A hand was upon her arm; a deep, courteous voice was saying, “There is not the need for introductions, my little Penelope. I have heard sufficient of the beauty of Lady Delavale to know who this ravishing creature must be.”

Penelope gasped an instinctive, “No!” but Quentin stepped past her.

“Do not be ridiculous, niece,” said Lady Sybil, looking with favour upon this discerning gentleman. A fine pair of shoulders, for all that he leaned so heavily upon that cane. And what mischievous green eyes. A rascal, if ever she'd met one! “I am unmasked,” she said, extending her white hand and smiling because the gentleman's lips lingered a shade too long upon her fingers. “I think we have not met…?”

“I am John Macauley Somerville,” said Quentin blandly. “You doubtless will have heard of my brother Andrew. A charming fellow, but—famous brothers can be so tiresome. He sent me forth to poke about in search of traitors. A most taxing endeavour, ma'am, which has resulted in a recurrence of gout. Since I found myself close to some relations, I decided to inflict myself upon you. But my grand-niece tells me that poor Hector has passed to his reward.”

Penelope stared at him, marvelling at the ease with which his inventive mind had fabricated a new identity, wishing with all her heart that he had gone when he might have, yet foolishly grateful that he'd not abandoned her to face alone the nightmare that must have followed. In the carriage the Corporal waited, listening frowningly and with one large hand gripped about the pistol in his belt. Daffy had started her dash for the carriage, only to retreat even more precipitately when she heard Lady Sybil's voice. Peeping through the leaves, she set Jasper's cage down and watched breathlessly.

“Do you say you are related to my husband?” asked Lady Sybil. “I have not heard him mention a Somerville branch, I think.”

“Likely not, dear lady,” Quentin acknowledged, his eyes travelling her with frank admiration. “My mother was aunt to the mother of the late Lady Hector. My wretched brother seldom stirs from his desk at Whitehall, and I have been much abroad of recent years, on affairs of State, you know.” He sighed. “Pray accept my condolences upon poor Hector's passing. I had best be on my way now, and will leave you with—”

“No such thing,” said my lady, taking his arm and smiling up at him coquettishly. “You must stay as our honoured guest. At least until my dear husband returns.”

From the corner of his eye Quentin saw Penelope's aghast expression. He had, he thought ruefully, overdone it again! “I wish I might, lovely lady.” He patted the small hand on his arm. “But—alas, my brother—” And Fate thwarted him, for as he drew back a wave of dizziness caused him to stagger.

“You there!” shrilled my lady, considerably alarmed as she slipped a steadying arm about ‘John Macauley Somerville.' “Come and help your poor master! His gout troubles him.”

Recovering her scattered wits, Penelope said, “Aunt, really I think Lord Joseph would not wish to keep my great-uncle from his mission. Perhaps—”

“For shame,” cried my lady with splendid vehemence. “Would
you
turn an ailing kinsman from our door, I assure you your sainted papa would never have done so! Whatever must Mr. Somerville—” She paused. “It
is
—Mr.?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Quentin, not one to settle for half-measures, “it is Sir John.”

Lady Sybil beamed. So much better to entertain a titled relative than a commoner. And besides, once her dinner guests left she would be bored again.

She led the way up the steps, Quentin, very tired, following with Killiam's assistance, and Penelope bringing up the rear, plagued by apprehension over what this unexpected development might lead to.

About to cross the threshold, my lady halted, flinging up one white hand. From the shrubs beside the house had burst forth a silver ripple of song; a full-throated paean of praise.

‘Jasper, you little beast!' thought Penelope, terrified.

“Only listen,” said my lady, her voice throbbing with emotion. “Only listen to the
dear
birdie!”

In the shrubs, Daffy dealt the dear birdie's cage a sharp rap which effectively put a stop to his ill-timed serenade. She threw on her cloak, striving to conceal as much as possible of her burden beneath it, and retreated to the south door.

Having stepped gracefully into the entrance hall meanwhile, Lady Sybil sent one lackey running for Hargrave and another for Mrs. King. When those retainers arrived, they were notified that Sir John Macauley Somerville, one of my lord's distinguished relations, was to be shown at once to the best guest chamber, and a bed installed in his dressing room so that his man could remain close by. A lackey was despatched to arrange suitable accommodations for his cattle and servants. Her invitation that Sir John join her dinner guests having been politely refused, my lady sank into a stately curtsey.

“You will honour us, Sir John,” she cooed, “if you treat this house as your own. Should you desire anything, you have only to pull your bellrope and my servants will wait upon you.”

‘Sir John' responded appropriately. My lady desired Penelope to ensure all was as she herself would have wanted because he was
her
great-uncle, after all, and having wished her new guest a sweet good night, she rustled off to rejoin the guests she neglected.

She was smiling as she entered the drawing room. It had not been her dear husband whose coach she had fancied to have heard, she told them. It had instead been one of Joseph's kinsmen. An emissary, in fact, of Sir Andrew Somerville—of whose exploits
everybody
knew. She perceived that her guests were impressed and when one of them asked dutifully just what it might be that Sir John was ‘emissary-ing,' Sybil answered with a delicious shiver that he stood very high in government circles, and that his task had to do with “these wretched traitors in our midst.” The explanation would, she thought, please her husband, for if a Jacobite hunter stayed at Highview, no one could suspect anything underhanded of being conducted here.

The guests exchanged sober glances. Sybil all but purred as she seated herself amongst them. Behind her gracious smile and her easy chatter, she was titillated. The gown she wore tonight was very décolleté. When she'd sunk into her curtsey, the old gentleman's eyes had lingered with appreciation upon the view that she was aware revealed most of her breasts. Sir John was quite decrepit, but in his younger days he must have been a very well-featured man. A harmless flirtation with him would help pass the time until Roland came back, and it might brighten the poor old fellow's dull existence for a day or two.…

*   *   *

“A day or two!” Penelope uttered an unladylike and irate snort. “Do you not comprehend, Don Quixote, that in
a day or two
my gentle uncle will return? What shall you do then?”

Lying full length upon the bed, one arm behind his head, Quentin answered with a slow smile, “Be gone, I trust. But—until then…” He laughed softly. “Gad, Penelope Anne—can you not see the lovely irony of it? Here I lie, an honoured guest in the home of the man who without a
soupçon
of conscience planned to torture me to death. The man who, even now, scours the countryside for my valuable head, so as to stick it on a pike! And while he stamps and searches, suffering innumerable inconveniences and privations and furies, here am I, regaining my strength in pampered comfort. Fairly wallowing in luxury; eating his food, drinking his wine, and consorting with his family.” He chuckled and quoted, “‘We need greater virtues to bear good fortune than bad.…'”

There was a glint in his eyes Penelope did not at all like. She said crossly, “Good God, Quentin! You gloat like a naughty little boy. Are you forgetting that my uncle spent much time with you? He'll not be fooled by a wig and a few bits of paint and cotton!”

“True. But never mind about that.” He sobered, and sat up, watching her with a frown. “What's to happen to you if they discover you aided and abetted me in deception?”

“You should've thought of that, sir,” the Corporal pointed out bodingly, “afore you had such a lovely time making up Sir John Somerville.”

“Damn you—you're right,” Quentin said wryly. “At the time, it was all I could come up with, but I see now that Rob's come at the root of it, for I've dragged you into my masquerade, poor lass.”

“What stuff,” she exclaimed, at once on the defensive for him. “I had jumped from the carriage steps. One shout from you and the coachman would have been well away before my aunt could have sent the soldiers after you.”

His thick lashes lowered. “But surely you must know I could not leave once I'd glimpsed that incomparable golden-haired witchery.…”

Penelope glared at him, saw the quirk at the side of his wide mouth, and said, “Wretched creature! I vow you're as much a tease as ever you were! You did not leave because they'd have known then that you were
going,
not coming. And that I had helped you.”

“Lor'!” exclaimed the Corporal, pausing as he hung up a fine green velvet coat with broad, pleated skirts. “I'd not thought o' that. They'd have had you off to the axe in no time, miss!”

The harsh reality of it all suddenly overwhelmed Penelope. She turned quickly to the window, but Quentin had seen her lips tremble, and he was off the bed and striding after her.

She was swung around. The brilliant eyes were smiling down at her. He swept her into a tight, consoling hug. Tears blinded her as a long, gentle hand stroked her hair. “Do you fancy I'd allow them to harm one hair of this funny, untidy little head?” he said.

At once irritated, she pulled away and stood with her back turned.

“Easy enough to say, sir,” Killiam grunted. “But after we're gone it's liable to go cruel hard with Miss Penelope. Like as not they'll blame her for the whole and charge her with treason before you can say—”

With sudden and rare fury, Quentin rounded on him. “Blast your eyes! Do you
never
say anything cheerful? 'Fore God, but I'd be better off alone than listening to you moan and whine day and night! If you are so damnably out of curl, why in hell do you not take yourself off and cast your gloom over some other unlucky fellow?”

His eyes a green blaze in his white face, he glared at Killiam, who bowed his head and stood in silence with the air of a faithful dog inexplicably kicked by his god.

Her heart wrung, Penelope protested, “No, how can you talk to him so, when he has been so very good and loyal to you?” She turned to the stricken Corporal. “Major Chandler is very tired, you know. He did not mean—”

“By your leave, ma'am,” snapped Quentin, “I'll make my own apologies.” He stepped closer to the Corporal, who continued to gaze down at the carpet in abject misery, and said in a contrite voice, “I should be flogged for speaking so, after all you have done, old friend.”

His head still bowed, the Corporal gulped, “Not your fault, sir. I—I'm sure I dunno how you put up with all me miseries. Only…” He lifted pleading eyes. “I allus sort of thought as ye knowed I didn't mean nothing by it. It's—just my silly, stupid way. Can't help it.…” His gaze flashed to Penelope, who had walked over to straighten the bed, her back to the two men. With a small gesture towards her, Killiam mumbled, “I know why you was so provoked, but—”

“There was no cause for me to lose my temper.” Quentin clapped a hand on the Corporal's drooping shoulder and added with his warm and endearing smile, “I ask your pardon, Rob.”

The Corporal said nothing, only he reached up to cover those thin fingers with his own strong clasp.

Fighting tears, Penelope plumped up the pillows. It was silly to be so hurt because he had used that harsh tone with her. He was still very much the invalid and under normal circumstances would have been confined to his bed for several more days at least, before venturing a few steps, much less coping with the exhausting events of this day. It came into her mind that had Geoffrey dealt her such a scold, she would have taken not the least offence. ‘But Geoff loved me,' she thought, ‘and he was my brother.' A sly inner voice taunted, ‘Which is exactly how Quentin Chandler thinks of you, foolish chit! As your fond but careless brother.' Love, she reflected sadly, was a painful business when it was so one-sided.…

She turned from the bed and, trying to keep her voice calm and dispassionate like the bloodless creature he evidently supposed her to be, said, “I suppose this
contretemps
may have one redeeming feature—it will give you another day in which to rest, Major.”

Penelope Anne Montgomery was not noted for the infallibility of her predictions.

Lady Sybil lost no time next morning. A note was delivered with Quentin's cup of hot chocolate, inviting him to join her at ten o'clock in the breakfast parlour. This presented a problem. His ‘age' must be reapplied and, although Daffy, who had brought the chocolate, was able to commence her task at once, it was not a speedy process. When at last she was finished, it was a scramble to don Sir Hector's clothes and a freshly ironed wig, and Quentin was already late when he proceeded cautiously down the stairs.

Clad in a naughty pink silk gown, Lady Sybil waved away his apologies and greeted him warmly. Rather too warmly, he thought uneasily, meeting the flirtatious look she bestowed on him after he kissed her hand.

My lady's coquettishness vanished when Penelope joined them. She could see that her niece was shocked because she'd not gone into her blacks again, and she became rather irritable. It very soon dawned on her, however, that Penelope, with her pale face, mousy hair, and quiet manners, presented a delightfully dowdy contrast to her own blooming beauty, and she cheered up enormously.