Ariadne's Diadem (14 page)

“Oh, you must mean the White Boar.”

“Yes, I believe that was its name.” Gervase watched her place his hat and gloves neatly on the table. The candlelight burnished her hair, and the soft lavender velvet of her gown clung to her figure as she moved.

She felt she had to make idle conversation in order to counteract the emotions that streamed so treacherously through her veins. She had to be on guard against her own weakness, for he made her feel more aware of her femininity than any other man had ever done. “I’m sure you’ll find the White Boar most agreeable, Mr. Danby. Did you know that it is said to be the only inn of that name in the whole of the country?”

“The only one?”

“I believe it dates back to 1485 and the Battle of Bosworth. Richard III’s badge was the white boar, and on his defeat all inns of that name thought it prudent to become Blue Boars overnight.”

“Except this one?” He smiled into her eyes.

“Yes, except this one. The then lords of Llandower remained loyal to the Yorkists. That was before the duke’s ancestors owned the castle, I believe.”

“I suppose so.” Still he gazed into her eyes—oh, such beautiful, soft, arresting eyes. “So in this neck of the woods Richard’s plea for a horse would have been met gladly?”

“A horse...? Oh, yes.” Her self-consciousness was affecting as she touched her loose hair. “You sought my forgiveness for your appearance, Mr. Danby, and I fear I must beg the same of you. I thought your business in Monmouth would take much longer, and not only am I on my own, but also completely unprepared for guests.”

He longed to tell her that her unpreparedness endeared her to him all the more, but restricted things to more politenesses. “I think unpinned hair is most charming. Miss Willowby, and besides, you were not alone in expecting my other business to take longer, for I was under the same impression. In the end it proved quite trivial. I still have other appointments to keep in the next day or so, but decided to call upon you first. The lateness of the hour is perhaps a little thoughtless on my part, and for that I again crave your tolerance.”

“You are a somewhat unconventional lawyer, Mr. Danby.”

“And you are a refreshingly unaffected future Duchess of Wroxford, Miss Willowy,” he replied in a tone that was gentler than it should have been.

A spark of electricity seemed to pass between them, but although Gervase knew she was as attracted to him as he was to her, he also knew that she would never admit it because there was still the small matter of her loyalty to Hugh. Anger and frustration burned through him as he thought of his cousin, who did not deserve even a kind thought from her, let alone loyalty! He glanced around the hall, trying to think of something to say. “I, er, imagine you will be very sad to leave Llandower, Miss Willowby.”

“Leave?”

“On your marriage to His Grace.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, I will be sad to leave here.” Again their eyes met with a charge that almost seemed to crackle.

“You will be a perfect duchess, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

She looked away. “I think you flatter me, Mr. Danby.”

“I do not seek to flatter, merely to speak the truth.”

“You’re too kind, sir, which draws me to wonder if it is because you wish to charm me into surrendering my father’s accounts?”

It hadn’t occurred to him that she might think such a thing; indeed he’d almost forgotten he’d mentioned the accounts at all. “Miss Willowby, I assure you I’m not given to uttering false compliments for ulterior motives.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you, sir, but I find it hard to believe that anyone who is acquainted with London society could actually believe I will be a resounding success as Duchess of Wroxford. I am dull and unaccomplished compared with the numerous ladies of the
ton
who might have become the next duchess, and since you represent the duke’s lawyers, you must know full well that the forthcoming betrothal is a matter of convenience, nothing more.”

“You are clearly not looking forward to the future. Miss Willowby.”

“No, I am not, sir, although I confess the advent of Hugh Mowbray gives me cause for some relief, for I cannot pretend to grieve over the passing of his late cousin, whose disagreeable manners and character were only too evident in his letters.” Gathering her skirts, she proceeded toward the staircase. “Please come up to the study, sir, for you will be relieved to learn that I have decided to show you my father’s accounts after all.”

Her harsh opinion of him was sobering, and for the first time Gervase realized how deeply his previous conduct had hurt her. All he could say in mitigation was that he’d been convinced she was a schemer, but oh, how bitter the pill of hindsight. The sweetness of her perfume lingered in his nostrils as he followed her, and the whisper of her skirts was like a longed-for caress. He was almost overwhelmed by the tumult of emotion she aroused in him, and wanted to beg her forgiveness for the pain he’d caused. Above all he wanted to tell her the truth and show her that Gervase Mowbray was worthy of her after all, but as they neared the top of the staircase, he glanced back and was just in time to see Sylvanus draw sharply out of sight. Tell her the truth? That there was a faun at Llandower? That the statue in the rotunda was really the eighth Duke of Wroxford, upon whom the god Bacchus had imposed punishment? That Ariadne’s diadem actually existed and would soon be brought here? There was no doubt that to even
hint
at all that would be to convince her that Mr. Danby, far from being merely unconventional, was in fact completely mad!

The candle flame guttered as Anne led him into the study. “Please be seated, Mr. Danby,” she said, placing the candle where it would throw the most light. As he sat, she indicated the ledgers, and then looked inquiringly at him. “Where would you like to begin?”

His mind was a void. Begin? He didn’t know. “Well, the beginning, I suppose.” He gave a light laugh.

“The beginning? Mr. Danby, my father has been tenant here for over thirty years, so am I to understand that you wish to examine every book since then?”

“Er, no, of course not. The last five years will do.”

To his relief she nodded. “Yes, that is what I expected, so I have the relevant ledgers here.” She pushed the pile of leather-bound books toward him.

With a weak smile he took the topmost one and opened it. A sea of entries and invoices swam before him, and his heart sank. The inestimable Mr. Willowby was clearly a very methodical man, plague take his honorable hide! Not a single thing had been omitted—there was even a receipt for a shoe buckle purchased in Oxford during a journey from London, and another for a jug of ale at the Three Tuns in Cirencester. Nothing was too insignificant, and Gervase could only be thankful there wasn’t a charge for the air one breathed, for as sure as night followed day, Mr. Willowby of Llandower would have recorded every inhalation!

Anne sat with her back to the open doorway, and after a moment remembered her duties as hostess. “May I offer you some refreshment, Mr. Danby?”

“I don’t wish to put you to any further inconvenience. Miss Willowby. Besides, I ate at the White Boar.” He was actually very hungry indeed, but he was sure she would think it rather odd if he
hadn’t
eaten at the inn before calling.

“Then some brandy, perhaps?” She indicated her father’s decanter.

“Thank you, that would be most agreeable.” He smiled, and then pretended to pore knowledgably over the accounts.

She brought him a liberal measure. “I hope the ledgers are in order, Mr. Danby. I know my father has always been most particular, but I suppose it is possible he has missed something.”

“He is an excellent bookkeeper. Miss Willowby.” Missed something? That would be the day! At any moment Gervase expected to find an exact listing of how many blades of grass were scythed in the park during a particular calendar month— and of exactly how many hours of ruminating the cattle enjoyed from the resultant hay!

“Are you a London man, Mr. Danby?” Anne asked suddenly, resuming her seat.

“Er, no, I come originally from Berkshire. Quite close to Wroxford Park, actually.”

Her eyes brightened with interest. “Indeed? What is it like? Wroxford Park, I mean.”

He was on firm ground here, for he knew all there was to know about the country estate where he’d grown up. As he began to tell her all about it, he saw Sylvanus creep stealthily past on his way to the drawing room.

Chapter Fifteen

Sylvanus paused to tweak his horns and smooth his goat fur, and then strutted boldly across the firelit drawing room to direct the magic words at Penelope. The gauze of her gown hid nothing of her figure as she gracefully put aside her candle tray, and the lustful faun had to physically clasp his hands behind his back to prevent himself from seizing her. Oh, he did like nymphs, especially the dainty ones with silvery hair!

Penelope gave him a haughty look. “I wondered when you would be back. What sort of disturbance do you intend to cause this time?”

He colored. “I didn’t do anything before—it was that stupid cat.”

“Mog is quiet enough usually—she certainly never bothers about me.”

“That’s because you’re just a piece of wood,” he replied sulkily.

“Just wood? Is that really so?” She put a playful hand to his cheek and reached up as if about to kiss him, but then hurried to the window to look out at the Wye, which shone in the newly risen moon. Ever since Joseph had made her, she’d been plagued by the view from this window. Naiads were meant to haunt water, and yet she hadn’t even been able to leave the room. Until now. Her eyes were bright as she turned to Sylvanus again. “Can we go outside?”

“Outside?” He was unsure.

“Oh, please.”

When she looked at him like that, he couldn’t deny her anything. Besides, once outside, maybe she would let him do what he was supposed to do! “Oh, all right, but we must take care because we have to pass the humans in the study.”

They peeped warily out into the dark passage, where the faint shaft of candlelight from the study was the only illumination. Gervase saw the two supposedly mythical beings flit silently past the open doorway, but his voice didn’t falter at all as he went on telling Anne about Wroxford Park. Sylvanus held Penelope’s hand as they went down to the hall, then out across the courtyard. They hurried past the maze into the moonlit park, and Penelope laughed delightedly as she let go of Sylvanus’s hand and ran barefoot through the cowslips toward the river.

The faun’s pace checked as the nymph ran onto the jetty, and suddenly he couldn’t bring himself to follow. He lingered at the water’s edge, watching anxiously as she sat down to dangle her feet in the river. “Do be careful,” he cried.

She tossed him a scornful look. “I’m a naiad, no harm can come to me here. I’d go for a swim if the water weren’t so cold. I don’t know where this river rises, but it’s in a place that’s still quite wintery.” She wriggled her toes in the current and glanced upstream. Then she looked downstream at a little fringe of trees on the far bank. ‘There are strong rapids down there and a spring of some sort on the other bank,” she murmured.

The Wye gurgled slightly beneath the jetty, the wind rustled the willows, and the reeds sighed mysteriously. “Please come back on dry land,” Sylvanus pleaded, his voice assuming the bleating note it always did when he was perturbed.

Penelope looked curiously. “Why are you so afraid?”

“I’m not!” he replied hotly.

She surveyed him as he hovered impotently at the beginning of the jetty. “Oh, yes, you are, I can tell. What’s the matter? All fauns can swim, so—” Her voice broke off as she realized the truth. She giggled. “A faun who can’t swim! I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous!”

“It’s not funny—I nearly drowned.” His little goat tail drooped ashamedly, and he kicked disconsolately at a knot of cowslips.

Penelope overcame her amusement. “All right, I promise not to laugh again.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She held a hand out. “Come here.”

“No.”

“I’ll give you a kiss if you do.”

He vacillated on the shore, longing for the kiss, but still filled with dread about the water.

Penelope smiled. “Come on, silly. I’m a water nymph, and if anything happens, I can save you. Don’t you want a kiss?”

“You know I do! I have since I first saw you! And you should be wanting to kiss me!”

“I do.”

“Yes?” His tail perked.

“Well, if I wouldn’t let you kiss me before, it’s because I wasn’t about to do something just because I was
supposed
to. As it happens, I quite like you. You make me laugh.”

His tail drooped again. “I don’t want to be amusing,” he muttered.

“Oh, you are silly. Don’t you know that I was paying you a compliment? So come here now, otherwise I’ll change my mind.” She held her hand out again.

Sylvanus put a nervous hoof on the jetty, testing it carefully before putting the other hoof forward as well. He gazed fearfully down at the water shining between the boards. Oh, may the gods watch over him! With a gulp he pattered swiftly toward her, then closed his eyes tightly as he heard her giggle with laughter. Her little fingers linked with his, and he felt the teasing brush of her lips. Then she released his hands, linked her arms around his neck, and kissed him again.

The faun was so transported that he forgot the river. His lusty goat instincts rose to the occasion, and he tried to grab her, but with a light laugh she ran from the jetty and across the park, with Sylvanus in hot pursuit. She flitted from tree to tree, across the kitchen gardens, and even into the maze, but the faun couldn’t catch her. It was a scene that had been captured on countless classical friezes and vases, but never before in the depths of Monmouthshire!

* * * *

Meanwhile in the study, the ledgers had been forgotten as Anne continued to ply Gervase with questions about Wroxford Park. She was avid for details of the great house of which she would soon be mistress, and she hung on to his every word. At last he smiled. “I think you have exhausted my store of knowledge. Miss Willowby.”