The Tyrant (18 page)

“Poor fellow,” said Phoebe, sliding from the saddle. “Is he ill?”

“Not as young as he used to be—like Joseph.” He lifted the right front paw to inspect it narrowly. “I
told
my man not to let him out, for I knew he'd follow. He hurt this article recently and it was near healed.” He tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wrap it around the torn pad while the big dog sprawled helplessly and tried to lick his hand.

Phoebe asked, “Can he walk all the way home?”

“I suppose he could, but I'd prefer he not do so.” He stood, glancing around. “If I carry Justice to that stand of oaks at the foot of the hill, would you object to waiting with him while I ride on to my farm? It's quite close by and should not take above a quarter of an hour. I'll bring one of the lads with a cart, and he can convey the old fellow back to the Hall.” He glanced eastward and added uneasily, “Those clouds are really blowing, in; we may not be able to get to the village after all. I'm dashed sorry, but he really shouldn't walk on that paw, so if you don't mind—”

“Oh, do stop talking such fustian, Meredith! Of course I don't mind.”

Carruthers grinned at her, and gathered the dog into his arms. She had wondered how he meant to accomplish this, for Justice was a big animal and she fancied he might be alarmed and struggle against being lifted. Carruthers managed it quite easily. Justice's paws rested on his master's shoulders, and Carruthers supported his hind quarters. The dog's soulful eyes regarded Phoebe with calm placidity, as though he thought, ‘What did you expect?'

“Jove, but I'm a thimblewit,” groaned Carruthers. “I should have helped you mount up first, but it's not very far. Can you bring Showers, ma'am? Never worry about Spring—she'll follow me.”

The mare was grazing and apparently paying no attention to them, but they had gone a very little way before her muzzle was at Carruthers's neck, and she stayed close beside him until he had set the dog down in the shelter of the trees. “I'll be as quick as I can,” he promised. “This is miserable for you, but—”

Phoebe jabbed a finger in the direction of the waiting horse, and Carruthers chuckled, said, “Aye, aye, ma'am,” and threw her a brisk salute. The wind moaned and the branches swayed agitatedly. “Are you cold?” he asked, and began to shrug out of his coat.

“I am not cold. I am perfectly well. I think I will not perish of hunger or thirst whilst you are gone, and I fancy Justice will protect me from any lurking brigands,” she replied, twinkling at him. “Be off with you, sir!”

He mounted up, said firmly, “Justice—
stay!
” and with a flourish of his tricorne was away at the gallop.

Watching horse and rider streak across the meadow, Phoebe found that she was still smiling. Meredith Carruthers was a stern gentleman with a daunting manner, but he was very obviously obsessed by a need to protect any creature for whom he felt responsible. It was, she reflected, rather an endearing quality.

After a few minutes she started to wander about a little, but Justice immediately began to struggle to his feet, so she went instead to sit beside him. He lolled against her companionably, and she fondled his head, pulling the great folds of loose skin into ripples around his face and then telling him how silly he looked. He thumped his tail to show that he did not at all object, but cringed as thunder rattled distantly. The moments drifted past; the wind seemed to rise a little, and the dark clouds slid ever nearer. Justice gave a faint moan as lightning flashed, and Phoebe ducked her head against him as the following thunder boomed out. “A fine pair of cravens we are,” she said, then jumped up eagerly. It did not seem as if fifteen minutes had gone by, but a rider was approaching. A moment later, she saw a familiar bay mare and the erect figure of Brooks Lambert, and she waved and called to him.

He turned his mare to the trees. “Phoebe! What the deuce are you about?”

Justice gave a deep bay and wagged his tail in welcome. Lambert swung down, tethered his mare loosely, and hurried to take Phoebe's hands.

She explained rapidly, then asked, “Were you looking for us?”

“Yes. I'm recalled, curse it! That confounded Colonel has roped me in, and I've to report at once. I'll be damned if I will leave you here without I've told Carruthers how matters stand, so came to find him and lay our cards on the table.”

She said uneasily, “Brooks, I wish you would let me tell him.”

“Why should you have to do it? The only reason I delayed was that I hope to catch him in a good mood and enlist his aid. I've no wish to antagonize him, nor,” he added with a grin, “to lose the allowance he makes me.”

“I see that, of course,” she said rather dubiously. “Although I own—”

A shout interrupted her, and Carruthers rode up at the gallop. He dismounted, looped the reins around the pommel, and turned Spring loose. Justice limped eagerly to meet him, and he patted the hound while glancing curiously at Lambert.

Her heart beginning to leap about with nervousness, Phoebe said, “Captain Lambert came seeking us.”

“So I see. One of my people is bringing a cart to take this silly rascal back to the Hall. We'll be fortunate are we not rained on before we reach home. Now, what's to do, Brooks?” With a faint smile, he said teasingly, “I think I do not like to find you alone here with my lady.”

Lambert said, “Well, that's the point, you see. Phoebe is
my
lady.”

VIII

It was said. Phoebe thought numbly, ‘I could have handled it more diplomatically than that!' and felt utterly wretched.

Carruthers stood motionless, staring at Lambert's wry smile in silence.

Thunder growled, closer this time.

Lambert asked anxiously, “You don't object, do you, Merry? Phoebe said neither of you wanted this betrothal.”

“
You
…?” said Carruthers in a very soft voice. “
You
are her—fine brave gentleman?”

Well—er, yes,” answered Lambert, flushing slightly.

The pale eyes darted to Phoebe, and she was reminded of Sinclair's remark about being transfixed. “Truth?” he demanded.

Her voice cracking in a ridiculous way, she said, “Brooks and—er, I—”

“Yes, it is truth,” interpolated Lambert, irked. “Do you think I—”

“Be silent!” The words were flung at him, and he stared uneasily.

“Miss Ramsay,” Carruthers grated, “I am at a loss to understand why you saw fit to conceal this—attachment. Perhaps you will be so good as to explain.”

“Don't take that tone with her,” protested Lambert. “She—”

“I asked …
her!
”

“The devil,” said Lambert, bristling. “There's no—”

Phoebe interposed desperately, “I told you, Mr. Carruthers, that my family has not given their approval.”

“That don't explain why you'd have failed to mention that your admirer was my nephew.” He turned a smouldering gaze on Lambert. “You instructed her to keep silent, is that it?”

“Yes. Had I known about it beforehand, you may believe I'd have come to you at once. As it was already a
fait accompli,
I thought it better to wait until I could come down and explain things, and ask your help.”

Carruthers echoed rather incredulously, “My—
help?
”

“Well, after all, old fellow,
you
don't want to wed Miss Ramsay, and
she
don't want to wed you. On the other hand,
I
want very much to wed her.”

At this point a cart came rattling into view, a tanned youth driving the sturdy cob. Carruthers lifted Justice once more and carried the dog to the rear of the cart, the youth jumping down to lower the back.

Lambert muttered, “He's in a flame. Dammitall, I might've known he'd take one look at you, and—”

“No, no, Lamb! 'Tis only that he is cross because I did not tell him at once. I wish I had!”

“I didn't want you to have to tell him. He has such a ferocious temper, there's never any knowing—” He broke off as Carruthers instructed the youth to “take it carefully,” waved the cart off, and returned to them.

“Well,” he said briskly. “Let's try and come at the straight of this. You want me to draw back, I take it.”

Relieved because the steely look had eased, Phoebe nodded. “You said you were willing to do so.”

“No, ma'am. I said if it was humanly possible to escape this—ah, contretemps, I would do so. I begin to think it may not be possible.”

“What?”
shouted Lambert furiously.

“Why?” demanded Phoebe.

“Firstly, ma'am, although neither you nor I want to wed, both our families are delighted by our betrothal.”

“Yes, but you knew when we were obliged to—” She bit her lip as his eyes flashed a warning.

He went on, “Secondly, since I cannot jilt you without ruining you, the only way out that I can see is for you to jilt me.”

“Yes, of course,” said Lambert.

“Oh …
dear!
” gasped Phoebe, genuinely dismayed. “Is there no other way?”

“If there is, I wish you may tell me of it. And since there has already been a touch of scandal in my family, for my mama's sake I'd as soon not add to our reputation. Even so, I'd allow you to jilt me were there a possibility you and Brooks could wed. But—”

Lambert interrupted angrily, “But you have begun to think you'd not be averse to take Phoebe for your bride, eh?”

Carruthers looked at him steadily. “I begin to see that to get out of this is going to result in pain to a number of people, and disgrace for me.”

“But, dammitall, she—don't
want
you!”

“True,” said Carruthers agreeably. “But the chances of her being able to marry
you
are remote, and I find myself unwilling to face ostracism and censure in so uncertain a cause.”

“I'll win 'em over!” Lambert declared. “I'll
find
a way! I'll go to your grandmama at Pineridge, Phoebe. On my
knees,
if I must!”

“Grandmama is coming
here,
” she said.

“Excelsior! Only let me
try,
Merry! You know you've always maintained you mean to remain a bachelor. If I can win the old lady over, Sir George will not dispute it, and your mama likes me, doesn't she, Phoebe?”

“Yes. You know she does.”

“There must be
some
way to get into Lady Martha's good graces,” said Lambert. “If you would only help us, Merry.”

Carruthers regarded Phoebe speculatively. “On a condition—perhaps. Miss Ramsay, if you are forbidden to wed Lambert, you will be obliged to marry someone, no?”

She nodded.

“In that unhappy event, would it be repugnant to you to become my wife? No—do not answer quickly, out of courtesy. I want the truth. I know I am not a handsome fellow and inclined to be quick-tempered. You must not hesitate to be honest if marriage to me would repel you.”

Firing up again, Lambert cried, “Now, see here!”

“Well, of course it would not!” exclaimed Phoebe.

She looked so indignant that Carruthers's lips quirked into his sideways grin. “Then I think I will not allow you to jilt me; at least for a while. However, before you explode, Lambert, let me say that I appreciate your predicament, and mean to do my best for you. If you can win Lady Martha Ramsay over within a month, I will find some pretext and withdraw my offer. If not—the spurious betrothal will become a genuine one.”

Phoebe searched his face, but his expression was unreadable.

“A month!” Brooks cried, triumphantly. “I'll think of
something,
Phoebe, I swear it! Surely, between the three of us, we should be able to find a way out! Merry, you're a dashed good fellow. I know how difficult it will be for you. Thank you!”

Carruthers said, “Save your thanks till the twenty-ninth of August, Brooks.”

The lightning flash was brilliant, and the thunder spoke an instant response. Lambert's mare shied skittishly, and he said, “Jove, I must go, or my fiendish Colonel will have me facing a firing squad. Merry—you'll see that Phoebe gets back safely?”

“Marplot! Here I had thought to toss her into the Quarry for her betrayal of me.” Carruthers threw Phoebe up into her saddle. “Shall you return tonight, Brooks?”

“I hope so, but I rather doubt it. Fotheringay's a stern taskmaster!”

Carruthers jerked around. “
Fotheringay?
Major Mariner Fotheringay?”

“Lieutenant Colonel now, dear boy. You know him?”

“I do. He's a tartar. Have a care. If you are demoted your chances will lessen, you know.”

Lambert groaned, waved, and rode off through the spattering rain.

Phoebe murmured, “If only I could tell him how we entrapped you into this, Mr. Carr—”

“Meredith.” He stripped off his coat and handed it up to her. “No, do not argue. As you can see by this brown face of mine, I'm accustomed to being out in the weather.”

She pulled it around her shoulders. It was still warm, and smelled of him: soap and leather, and the faintest hint of a clean, masculine fragrance. She felt snug and, oddly, secure.

Carruthers was grinning at her. “What became of your arms?”

She waved one.

“That will not do, ma'am. We're in for a downpour, and you must put it all the way on.” He mounted up, leaned over and helped her slip her arms into the sleeves and fold back the great cuffs. “There, that's better.”

She put her hand on his wrist, then shrank as the lightning flared garishly and the thunder cracked, seemingly just above the tree-tops. Carruthers's hand turned to claim hers and hold it strongly. “Don't be scared, but I think we'd best get out from under these trees.”