Cherished Enemy (24 page)

“I must say again that this is delightful,” remarked Victor. “Do you keep a large staff of gardeners, sir?”

Pleased, the colonel thanked him and explained, while ushering Mrs. Estelle to a chair, that he only employed one man as a full-time gardener. “But Charles and I both enjoy it and I call on my groom occasionally.”

“He will never admit anyone of the female gender helps,” murmured his sister-in-law, with a bright-eyed look at Victor.

“
Helps,
is it!” The colonel gave a snort, and counterattacked, “First time I've sat down late to my lunch since you left for Europe, m'dear. Women,” he added, as the doctor, who had escorted Rosamond, sat beside her. “Take my advice and steer clear of 'em, you two young fellas!”

“For shame, Lennox,” scolded Estelle.

“Never fear, ma'am,” said Victor with a grin. “'Tis advice I shall not take. With all due respect, sir.”

“Then your future will be littered with unwanted mongrels, uprooted prize rose bushes, and cooks constantly enraged because they've to delay dinner while Madame arranges her coiffure,” warned the colonel, deftly attacking a juicy joint of beef.

“You are unfair, as usual,” said Estelle, allowing him to provide her with some thin slices. “And do you not mend your ways, I shall withhold the very special present I have brought home for a certain fast-approaching day. The
very special
present!”

His eyes lit up. He asked eagerly, “What have you got me, Stella? A hint—the veriest whisper of a hint, and I'll guess!”

“No! Naughty boy, you must not ask. Now keep on carving, do. Poor Charles has no meat yet. He has no
meat.
”

The colonel rectified that omission, then accepted a helping from the platter Miss Seddon offered. Noting the doctor's look of astonishment, he said with a pleased chuckle, “Ah, you thought these was crumpets, I'll warrant. Ain't, sir. Bannocks. The only decent thing to have come down from Scotland!”

Victor smiled languidly. “Oh, I'd not say that, sir.”

Rosamond held her breath.

His knife poised, the colonel checked, fastening a hard look on the younger man. “Indeed?” he said glacially. “Admire the Scots, do you?”

Victor shrugged. “Certainly—” He looked innocently at Mrs. Porchester, who had uttered an audible gasp.

The colonel, whiskers and eyebrows bristling, jaw tightly set, put down his knife. Dismayed, Rosamond looked at Roland Fairleigh, and surprised a delighted grin.

With a very different expression, Charles leaned forward. “Father, I think what Dr. Victor means is—”

The colonel flung up a peremptory hand. “You will kindly allow your—friend—to offer his own explanation.”

“What?” drawled Victor. “Oh—my apologies, sir. Yes. As I was about to say, I certainly admire the Scots…” His thick lashes drooped; from under them he watched his host's strong face begin to take on a purple hue and, timing it to a nicety, finished, “artifacts.”

“Artifacts?”
barked the colonel explosively. “
Artifacts,
you say?”

“Why, yes. Your daughter's necklace, sir. Celtic, unless I mistake it. Very old. Quite a collector's piece, I suspect.”

The colonel's jaws worked. Grabbing his knife in a death grip, he glared into the doctor's bland smile. “Confound you, Victor, I believe you were deliberately baiting me!”

“I am very sure of it,” murmured Fairleigh, his eyes alight with laughter.

“Are you, indeed?” said the colonel. “Well, I'll have you know I don't appreciate such treatment at m'own board! Be dashed if I do!” He flung down his napkin.

“Now—Lennox…” murmured Mrs. Porchester, her own lips twitching. “I'm sure Dr. Victor would not be so naughty.”

“Oh, but I would, ma'am,” said Victor outrageously.

“What?”
roared the colonel. “Dare I ask
why,
sir?”

Charles let out his pent-up breath, leaned back in his chair and stared with baffled resignation at his “school-friend.”

Amused, and quite markedly unintimidated, Victor drawled, “Colonel, you've about the finest set of whiskers I ever saw. I'll not deny I am fascinated to see 'em vibrate so.”

There was an instant of stunned silence. Fairleigh lifted his napkin to his twitching mouth; Rosamond trembled, dreading what might follow; awed, Mrs. Porchester gazed at the doctor.

Abruptly, the colonel threw back his head and uttered a howl of mirth. Relieved, his family joined the following laughter. “By—Jupiter,” he gasped at length, wiping tears from his eyes, “you're an impudent young … rascal, sir! But—I'll attest you have more than your share of spirit! You'd have made a fine career soldier. Damme, but you would! More I can say of no man!”

Victor grinned. “And you're a dashed fine sportsman, sir. I'd no right to tease you so. I hope you will forgive me.”

“On one condition,” said the colonel, beaming at him. “You must play me a game of billiards this afternoon!”

“I'll oblige gladly. But I fear you'll have an easy win. I've no skill at the game.”

“We'll see that, by Gad!” cried the colonel, far from disappointed by the prospect of playing a man he might be able to beat (rather than Charles, who played a poor game but unfailingly managed to win). “And you must stay for my birthday party! The whole family will be here, by—” He paused, his frown returning. “Which reminds me, Charles. You'd best ride over to Willowvale this afternoon, as you proposed, and have a talk with young Troy. What Deborah's about I cannot guess, but you may be sure her mama's worrying, and I'll not have that! Take Fairleigh along for company, an he don't object.”

“I doubt Mr. Fairleigh would find such a ride of interest, sir,” said Charles. “He would likely much prefer to—”

“Not at all, Reverend,” interposed Fairleigh. “I'll be glad to go along and—ah, keep an eye on you.”

Charles looked at him sharply, but a guileless grin removed any hint of double entendre from the words and prompted an answering smile.

“That's settled, then,” said the colonel. “Now, eat up, everyone! Do I know my housekeeper, we've some excellent desserts waiting. Estelle—you must give me a clue now … This ‘special gift' you have brought me, is it inanimate or—” His whiskers vibrated wildly. His eyes starting, he roared, “Fiend seize it! It had better not be that blasted worthless mongrel cur you allowed to destroy my rose bed…!”

*   *   *

Charles having ridden off with Mr. Fairleigh, and the colonel and Dr. Victor adjourned to the billiard room, Rosamond and her aunt went upstairs to prepare the various gifts they had bought for Monday's guest of honour.

Mr. Defoe's
Captain Singleton
had not been very well received by the critics, but when Colonel Albritton had been loaned a copy he had found it a fascinating tale, particularly since the adventuresome hero shared the surname of some of his own relatives. Rosamond had bought a nicely bound copy of the book that she knew would please him. Since he suffered from cold feet at night, she had also knitted him a pair of bedsocks, whereon she had stitched his regimental insignia, a small part of the embroidery still remaining to be completed. She brought her work-basket to the upstairs parlour and added the finishing touches to the socks, affecting to listen to her aunt ramble on about poor Trifle, the missing Deborah, and the forthcoming birthday party.

Estelle's words faded, however, as Rosamond did mental battle with the deadly problem posed by Dr. Victor. If
only
the horrid physician could be robbed of his power … If only she could contrive some brilliant scheme to save Charles … But try as she would, she could not believe Roland Fairleigh would be willing to call Victor out and kill him in a duel—for her sake. The notion that Mr. Fairleigh
might
consent to such a scheme was even more lowering, but, staring miserably at her needle, she took solace from the thought that Victor looked as if he knew how to wield sword and dagger. If they did go out, very likely Mr. Fairleigh would be the one to be carried home on a hurdle. Immediately, she was seized by remorse. Her sympathies should have been with the gentleman who was to champion her in these dark doings, not with the villain …

She was jolted from her worries by the strains of “Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?” and glanced up to see her aunt standing with music box in hand, regarding her curiously.

“I think you've heard not a single word I said,” accused Mrs. Porchester. “What is your head full of, I wonder?”

Flustered, Rosamond said, “I was just—er, concentrating upon my sewing, Aunt.”

“Hmmnn. I marvel that with all your ‘concentration,' you have set not a single stitch these last five minutes! Not a single
stitch!
” But Mrs. Porchester, having a few notions of her own as to the cause of her niece's abstraction, did not press the point, saying with a twinkle, “Well, then? Should I, do you think? As you see, it has done it again! And only because I stood to borrow your scissors. Only because I stood!”

The drawer of the music box must have fallen open once more, thought Rosamond. “Yes,” she ventured cautiously.

“Well, I will. Dear Charles is very good at repairs of a tricky nature and will likely have it done in no time.” Mrs. Estelle walked to the door. “I shall take it down now, before I forget.”

Left alone, Rosamond gazed at the elaborate design that would, she knew, endear her gift to her father's sentimental heart. She smiled fondly. Under all that bluster he was just a little boy. And like all little boys, tiresome at times. If Charles handled him differently, he would be putty in his hands. But, however dear, men could be so infuriatingly dense. Women were so much more cunning—well, not
cunning,
exactly. Shrewd, rather; more intuitive and able to— As if prompted by these reflections, an idea slid into the corner of her mind that was so simple, so obvious, she marvelled she had not thought of it before.

She sat very still, her eyes wide and fixed. Could she do it? Might she possibly succeed with so proud and self-assured a man as The Arrogant Physician? He had implied he cherished a tendre for her, which she did not believe for a minute, of course, but … A sparkle came into her eyes, and her lips widened to a smile. 'Twould be outrageous, but she was justified; by heaven, but she was! And for the sake of her dear brother she would essay it!

“Dr. Victor,” she murmured, folding the sock and replacing it in her work-basket, “prepare thy wickedness! It is war!” She recalled an expression of her father's. “And no holds barred!” But the phrase caused her cheeks to become warm, and she dismissed it quickly, concentrating instead upon her new plan of attack as she hurried to her bedchamber.

*   *   *

By four o'clock a white haze had cast itself like a gossamer veil across the blue bowl of the sky and added a sultriness to the heat of the late summer afternoon. The hammers were silenced, and when Rosamond entered the barn there was no sign of her quarry, or of anyone save for Trifle, who lay stretched out and snoring near his new house, a long length of light chain securing him to one of the beams that supported the hay-loft. The little house was now fully framed, and to one side were piled the shingles that had been readied for the steeply pitched roof. Inspecting the structure with reluctant approval, Rosamond was the target for a small shower of hay-stalks. She glanced up and encountered a whimsical grin and a pair of rather weary-looking grey eyes that caused her heart to give a small leap, this apparently traitorous reaction being inspired, she told herself sternly, by her eagerness for the fray.

“Good gracious,” she exclaimed, opening the attack with a dainty flutter of her fan. “Whatever are you doing up there, sir? Searching out new patients?”

He did not reply, but tossed down his sword-belt, elevated his slim body into a handstand, swung all the way over and down until he hung from the loft by his hands, then dropped lightly to bow before her. “Merely—waiting to impress you with my—er, acrobatic feats.”

It really had been quite a feat. Laughing, she curtsied. “I am impressed. 'Twould not surprise me to discover that you likely know even more tricks than—Mr. Fairleigh's horse.”

He grinned, and buckling the sword-belt about his trim middle again, responded rather breathlessly, “Yes, but he can run faster than I can.”

“And I think you have hurt yourself with your grandstanding. One might expect a doctor to know better.”

He accompanied her to the door. “My father holds that the main trouble with physicians is that they're only practicing.”

“Does he? Faith, but it sounds as if you have pleased your sire no more by your choice of occupation than has Charles pleased Papa. Does he pinch at you, Doctor?” As if absently, she began to stroll across the lawns, following the shade of the scattered trees.

Just as absently and quite forgetting to ask her permission, Victor kept pace with her. “Oh no. He's a very good old fellow and stands always behind me, no matter how little he may like what I do.”

She thought, ‘Perchance he does not
know
all the ugly things you do!' Afraid that her eyes might betray her scorn, she lowered them quickly and affected to admire the deep red blooms on a rose-bush. At once, Victor drew his dagger, cut the finest bud and with a grandiose bow presented it to her. She accepted it with a smile and savoured the fragrance before asking, “What did he wish you to do? Some special line of research in your field, perhaps?”

“He asked only that I find a real interest and follow it.”

“Far and fast?” she murmured before she could restrain herself.

His gaze shot to her, and she summoned a saucy smile and allowed her eyes to flirt with him over the petals of the bloom she held.