The Prince of Ravenscar (21 page)

Corinne walked briskly to the right. “Pouffer, may we please have some of Mrs. Coltrak's tea and saffron cake? Come into the drawing room, girls.” She took off her lavender leather gloves as she walked into a long, narrow room, a fireplace in the middle, wide glass windows looking out onto the front courtyard.

Vicky said, “I have always believed Ravenscar to be the most beautiful house in all of England. I always wanted to live here.”

Then why did you stop coming here?
Sophie wanted to ask but didn't. Who knew what would come out of Vicky's mouth with that question?

Corinne smiled. “My dear, there are many beautiful houses in England. Have you ever been out of Cornwall?”

“No, but I do know what is what, your grace, and my father has given me books with drawings in them. I have read many travel journals. I have visited the world.”

The ladies watched Pouffer, his shoulders back, make his stately way into the room, a huge Georgian silver tray on his arms.

“But most of all I love saffron cake,” Vicky said, sat forward on the green brocade chair, and watched Pouffer closely. The old man smiled, knowing he had an audience.

Corinne said, “I can't smell the smoke here. Luckily, the wind is sending the smoke away in the other direction.”

“It wafts toward the village, your grace,” Pouffer said, and gave Corinne a beautiful bow, “which is a pity.”

Roxanne said, “The house was nearly gutted when we stopped, the flame was that virulent. We believe someone must have set it afire. What do you think?”

The old man didn't immediately answer her, but she saw that his hands shook a bit as he served the cake. “Oh, dear, this is bad, so very bad. I do not know who could have done something so bad, miss, but there are so many cloven-hoofed young'uns about, it fair to curdles Major Dawkins's precious Glenda's milk.”

Roxanne said, “Cloven-hoofed, Pouffer? You mean you have Devil worshippers here? Near Ravenscar?”

The old man slowly straightened. “Her grace will tell you, miss. They light fires in the meadows and dance and cause mischief when it pleases them to do so.”

“Like what?” Sophie asked.

“Like stealing a cow's milk,” Pouffer said, “or digging up vines and throwing them through windows. This is the first time they have destroyed something that belonged to the prince. Bad things coming, miss, bad things coming.”

“Thank you, Pouffer. You may leave, now that you have scared the liver out of our young ladies.”

Pouffer gave Corinne another magnificent bow and took himself out of the room.

“Only a fool would be frightened of the witches,” Vicky said, a slice of saffron cake in each hand. “I would join them, but I don't know who they are. I have never even seen them. Sometimes I don't believe they even exist, it is all a fairy tale to frighten children. Can you imagine dancing around a fire in a meadow, moonlight spilling down to glitter off your white shift? Now, the Dower House, now it will be a romantic ruin—once the smoke smell is gone.”

Witches and cloven-hoofed young'uns?
How, Roxanne wondered, would they deal with a vampire in their midst? She smiled as she rose. “I believe I shall see if the gentlemen are here yet. Ma'am, I'll bring them in for tea.” And she left the drawing room with her long-legged stride.

Sophie frowned after her. What was Roxanne up to?

They heard voices. When Julian and Devlin came into the drawing room, their clothes covered with smoke and ashes, their faces black, Corinne jumped to her feet, eyed both of them carefully, realized they were fine, and said, “Come over here, but do not sit down. You may drink your tea standing smartly by the fireplace.”

Both men turned down the offer of tea and took themselves off to clean up. It was some time before Julian and Devlin presented themselves again to the ladies and spoke about the fire.

“There were no obvious signs that someone set the fire,” Devlin said. “But we all know someone did.”

Julian rose when Sophie asked if he would take them about the house—no, the palace, she corrected, and he smiled. He turned to Vicky. “You wish to accompany us? You know every nook and cranny in this pile of stones.”

“No, Julian, I don't wish to walk anymore today,” Vicky said, and took a small bite of yet another slice of saffron cake. “Ravenscar is not a pile of stones. There are water closets in the new family wing. Six of them, I believe. Later, I wish to inspect the ruin.”

Once in the entrance hall, Devlin paused in front of a suit of armor. “Look at this one knight, Roxanne. Can you imagine a man inside that thing? He would die of heat prostration.”

“Look at this rust, Devlin. Do you believe it to be ancient dried blood?”

Sophie and Julian left them to the discussion of waging battle while entombed in armor and walked toward the back of the house.

“You still smell like smoke,” Sophie said, sniffing Julian. “I suppose it will take a while to wash it all out. At least you did not burn yourself. Did you?”

He shook his head. “My valet, Pliny, does not take such a sanguine view, I'm afraid. He is currently moaning and wringing his hands, blaming me at great sustained volume for ruining a good set of clothes. He is quite enjoying the drama.”

“Have him take the clothes and toss them on the embers at the Dower House.”

“Destroy the evidence?”

“That's right. No proof left.”

He eyed her, smiling. “A good idea.”

“So everyone here calls you prince?”

He laughed. “Don't unsheathe your wit on me. I promise I have no plans to become an insufferable fat idiot who orders everyone about. To be honest, I really don't pay it any attention anymore, since everyone has called me that all my life.”

When Julian paused in front of a large portrait of a gentleman in a ruff and velvet pants, Sophie said, “Pouffer says cloven-hoofed young'uns set the fire.”

“I doubt that, particularly since I've never seen a single cloven hoof in the area.”

“It was Richard, of course,” Sophie said dispassionately. “He probably hired a local to do it for him. I really do wish to stick a blade through his gullet, Julian. I smelled dog when we came in. Where are the spaniels?”

“They're very probably in the estate room; that's where they spend most of their time. Unlike the Hardcross estate room with its small, enclosed garden, here there is no garden but rather a stretch that goes to the cliffs, walled in on either side. It's been a dog run for years. The spaniels bark their heads off as they race directly to the edge of the cliff, a very low cliff. It's as if they are daring each other to see who will get closest to the edge before stopping. No, not one of them has ever slipped over the edge, not that they would get hurt.”

“I'd like to meet them. My pug died last year from extreme old age. I have missed him.”

“All right.” Julian turned them down a corridor that led into another wing of the house. “They're King Charles spaniels, from the same litter and only a year old. You will take care of your gown. Even though they are well behaved, you are new and thus a possible enemy. They seek only to protect me.”

“Well, why not? You are their prince.”

He arched a dark eyebrow at her.

They heard frantic barking before Julian opened the stout oak door. Four floppy-eared spaniels ran madly to Julian, paused, then danced around him, barking their heads off, their tails waving so fast they were blurs. They ignored Sophie completely. They were some protectors, she thought. She watched Julian tug on ears, call out names, and pet each one—scratching bellies as he accepted frantic licks. Then he rose. “Sit!” All four of the spaniels dutifully sat in a line in front of him. “This is Sophie. She is a girl, so be kind and patient with her. Say hello now. Sophie, this is Cletus, Oliver, Hortense, and Beatrice.”

They didn't dance and leap around her, they lightly sniffed at her skirts, gave soft little barks, then returned to their line in front of Julian.

“Pouffer has continued to train them,” Julian said. “He is magic with them. If he told them to spit out a well-cooked piece of meat, they probably would. They were learning when I left to go to London with Mama. Sit down, Sophie.”

When she did, one of the spaniels jumped up and licked her hand. Soon Sophie was sitting on the Aubusson carpet, her skirts spread about her, the spaniels vying for her attention.

Julian stood by the small fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, watching. He saw her pleasure, heard her laughter, and felt something he had no wish to feel at all move deep inside him. She was a child, nothing more than a charming, innocent child. That was it, she charmed him with her candor, her openness, her utter lack of artifice and deceit. She knew nothing of the world, of his world in particular. She was meant to be protected, to be cherished. He said, “Cletus, stop chewing on her hair.”

Sophie, laughing, pulled Cletus into her arms and held him close, rocking him. “So you are Cletus, are you?”

“Let's take them out.” When the four spaniels were racing hellbent for the cliff edge some sixty feet distant, Julian drew Sophie to a stop.

“I know what you are planning, I can see it in your face. I cannot prove Richard burned the Dower House, so I do not wish you to accuse him, all right?”

“Do you know, Prince, as I believe I've said before, if I knew I wouldn't be hanged, I should delight in sticking a stiletto between his ribs.”

So much for protecting and cherishing this one,
he thought. He told her about his childhood here, all the dogs he'd watched race toward the cliff. He told her about Pouffer, how he loved the old man, how he'd been in his life since he'd been born. Finally, he called out, “Come, let us go back inside.” All four spaniels came pelting back to them, tongues lolling, tails wagging. “You do not have to call me Prince.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, looking up at him. “I do.”

D
evlin said, “I prefer cats to Julian's brood of spaniels. I do not like to be licked.” He paused for a moment, cleared his throat. “Well, I must amend that. I should have said I do not like dogs scouring my face. As for licking—well, never mind that. What do you think?”

Roxanne, who was pulling out a weed that threatened to choke a rosebush, looked up at him over her shoulder. “So you prefer cats to do the licking?”

“Yes, of course, cats. My two princesses, Maybelle and Penelope, are small and white, and each one so sure of her own superiority I many times have to beg them to sleep with me. But eventually they come to bed and wrap themselves around my neck, or snuggle in behind my knees.”

“Wouldn't it be rather crowded?”

“Crowded? What do you mean?”

Roxanne said in a distant voice, “I have heard it said you have mistresses, my lord. What do your ladies think of your cats sleeping around your neck?”

He said, “Wherever did you hear such a thing, Roxanne?”

She heard his voice change, deepen, grow more austere. She shrugged. “It seems to be common knowledge. You, my lord, are known as a man of the world, as well as a man of possible other worlds as well, given your avoidance of the sun.”

“Isn't it also common knowledge that mistresses never sleep in a gentleman's house?”

Roxanne rose, dusted her hands on her skirts. She looked him straight in the eyes. “However should I know that?”

He waved a hand. “You are twenty-seven years old, you were raised in society, albeit the salons of York, and I don't believe you've ever even visited a convent. Ah, enough of that. I asked Sophie if you preferred cats or dogs, and she told me you worshipped cats as well. Is this true?”

“Yes. I miss Mathilda and William dreadfully. However, my father also adores cats. I wouldn't doubt they are warming him at night now that I've deserted them. Where are Maybelle and Penelope?”

He pulled her up, drew her hand through his arm. “My housekeeper at Holly Hill spoils them shamelessly both when I am there and when I am not. Let's walk to the cliff edge and observe the movement of the waves on the shore.”

The breeze was balmy, the day cloudy enough so that Devlin was not constrained to wear a hat. Roxanne saw a dozen palm trees and couldn't help smiling. This place was amazing, and there was something of magic in the air. Finally, she couldn't help herself. “Do you still love Corrie Sherbrooke?”

Devlin stopped dead in his tracks, turned to face her. “Do you know, my dear, that inquiry throttles all attempts at sparkling conversation in my throat? Why ever would you ask me that?”

Why, indeed?
Shutting her mouth occasionally might be a wise course to follow, but she didn't. “I believe you asked her uncle to marry her.”

“Did I? That was more than six months ago. Perhaps, at the time, upon reflection, I felt compelled to give her a choice, and she made it. She is a married woman now, so revoltingly happy with James it makes me shake my head in wonder. Yes, yes, I know he looks like a god, but who cares? Who wants a face that makes ladies swoon in your path?”

“I cannot believe you said that.”

Devlin sighed. “I can't either, truth be told.”

“You are not a troll, Devlin.”

“No?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“You are even more handsome than your half-uncle, and he is renowned for his good looks.”

“His mother started that rumor.”

She grinned up at him shamelessly.

He said, “Now, my girl, look out over the channel. It is calm today, so you know the fire was set at strategic spots in the Dower House, since there is no wind to whip up flames.”