The Riddle of Alabaster Royal (44 page)

She stood very still and her long lashes swept down to conceal her eyes. “Does it, Jack?”

“And even if he should discover his—his true identity, he has precious little to offer.”

“For instance?”

He sighed. “This old house. An estate I—he—hopes to turn to good account. A comfortable inheritance from his maternal grandparents. Not a magnificent list, I'm afraid.”

“No.” Still looking down, she murmured, “Is that all he could offer?”

His heart sank. “I fear it is. And I know it would be a paltry prospect for a very special lady, but … I'd like to think that, if the time should ever come that he could—improve upon it, he might be—considered?”

“It would take a great deal of—improvement, but,” she smiled up at him, “who can tell what the future holds?”

Lady Francesca called peevishly that she was freezing, and Consuela smiled and put out a small gloved hand. “Good-night, and God bless you, my dear Captain Jack.”

He kissed her fingers, glove and all, and watched as she hurried to the coach. Strickley assisted her up the carriage steps, and she turned and waved, the lamps lighting her face framed by the snowflakes that clung to the hood of her cloak.

Waving back, he knew he'd had no right to speak at all, under the circumstances. But to the extent he could do so, he had at least declared himself. She'd said his prospects would have to be improved upon. They would be, by George! And then, he'd try again.

He watched the coach rumble away, and turned back to the house. Broderick's quotation came to mind. His own battle had been won—in a sense; but so much had been lost. The brother he'd loved; the ‘father' he'd idolized.

Thornhill came up to pull the cloak tighter about his shoulders and tell him with proprietary concern that it was “too cold out here, Captain.”

Walking into the warm house with Corporal prancing along beside him, Jack thought, ‘And so much gained.' Loyal friends, faithful servants and a pixie of a girl who seemed to get prettier and more desirable every day, who had nursed and cared for him with such selfless devotion. And who was almost certainly going to be courted by a dashing and all too likable Colonel of Dragoon Guards! Deuce take the fellow!

He limped slowly towards the drawing room.

Broderick was saying, “Of course it was Shakespeare! Whom did you suppose it to be? Thucydides?”

“Certainly not,” said Manderville. “Never heard of the fellow.”

“How could you
possibly
have got through school without having heard of Thucydides? He was an Athenian, who lived about four centuries
B.C.
, and wrote the history of the Peloponnesian War. A bit long-winded, but—”

“Long-winded!” groaned Manderville.

Jack chuckled, and went to join them.

*   *   *

In the carriage, Consuela gave a small sniff.

Lady Francesca reached into her granddaughter's muff and clasped her hand.

“Colonel Adair,” she pointed out, “is a man of breeding, my meadowlark.”

“Yes.”

“And it is that he will inherit a nice fortune. He is, besides, of the handsomeness, do not you agree?”

“Oh yes, I do.”

“And the gleam is in his eye for you, I think.”

“I thought that, too.”

“And you…?”

“Don't be silly, dear Grandmama!”

Lady Francesca sighed. After a minute, she tried again. “Captain Jack, he is the very best of men, Consuela. This I admit it without preservation. The kind that adversity and grief cannot crush, but only refine and make stronger.”

“Yes,” said Consuela, overlooking the grammatical slip, her voice very tender now.

“Ah, my sweet one, consider! His heart—it is given, and he is not the kind to give lightly, nor forget lightly. He will not love again, child.”

“He will! It would have been more difficult had he decided to leave Alabaster, but even so, I would have found a way!”

Consuela turned her head, and the light of the carriage lamps revealed such a troubled expression on the old lady's face that she swooped to kiss her. “Poor dearest one! I know what you fear. That having known grief, I do but invite more. It is not so! He hasn't even seen—her, for over a year, and he loves me a little bit already—he as good as told me so, just now.”

“Then this was most improper of him, not having my first permission!”

“I know, and quite unlike such a gentlemanly gentleman, though it was not an offer exactly. The poor dear thinks that, because of his hideous father, who was not a father at all, he is unworthy. Such stuff!”

“Then he should not have spoke!”

Consuela giggled. “I think he did so much against his will. He is afraid, Grandmama. Is it not delicious? Our handsome Colonel inspired him to—enter the lists, as it were.”

“And what of you, my poor child?”

“I told him he must improve upon his offer. He did not say he loves me, and I will marry no man whose heart I do not own.”

“But—dearest girl, surely—”

“I know. But I shall make him love Marietta Warrington as—as an old friend, only! I shall make him love
me!
” She gave a little trill of laughter. “Did you see how he scowled at Colonel Adair? My poor darling Jack—he is doomed, and doesn't even know it!”

Lady Francesca squeezed her hand, and knew she must talk sternly to St. Peter.

OTHER NOVELS BY PATRICIA VERYAN

Lanterns

The Mandarin of Mayfair

Never Doubt I Love

A Shadow's Bliss

Ask Me No Questions

Had We Never Loved

Time's Fool

Logic of the Heart

The Dedicated Villain

Cherished Enemy

Love Alters Not

Give All to Love

The Tyrant

Journey to Enchantment

Practice to Deceive

Sanguinet's Crown

The Wagered Widow

The Noblest Frailty

Married Past Redemption

Feather Castles

Some Brief Folly

Nanette

Mistress of Willowvale

Love's Duet

The Lord and the Gypsy

THE RIDDLE OF ALABASTER ROYAL.
Copyright © 1997 by Patricia Veryan. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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First Edition: November 1997

eISBN 9781466884311

First eBook edition: September 2014