Give All to Love (10 page)

She crept inside, closed the door very softly, and flew to put her hands over his eyes. He started up, but she kept her hands tight, saying, “Now it is of no use for you to take me to task, Papa, for I had no idea she was a guest.”

He removed her hands, and turned to fix her with his stern look.

“I thought,” she went on hurriedly, “she was one of your light—”

“Jo-
sie!
” He removed the white cat from the top drawer.

“Well, I did. And how am I to know? There are so many.”

Her glinting eyes teased him. His lips quivered responsively, but he sprang up, foiling her attempt to sit on his lap. She scowled, but then occupied his big chair, and curled up in it, beaming at him like a triumphant imp, as he told her.

“Well, it is no use your pretending not to be pleased because I am come home,” she said, as he perched on the desk beside her, “for I know you are. The servants told me you were—er, ‘chin-sunk.'”

He groaned. “Cornish! Josie—how ever did we acquire such a—er—”

“Prigging cove?” she supplied innocently.

Irked, he said, “I have asked you not to use cant.”

“And I have asked you not to be forever flinging your gloves into the faces of other gentlemen!”

His angry eyes fell away. He muttered, “I have not done such a thing. Now, tell me of your visit. How are the Drummonds? Did you see my Uncle Alastair?”

“No, for he was in Paris on some business. Pandora went to Aspenhill to stay with Constance. The Drummonds are all well, and send their love. And why did
you
not escort Mrs. Bliss to Oak Manor?”

“Because it would have been to rub salt into the wound.” He chuckled. “Poor Little is going to be fairly slobbering with rage, for he left here vowing all kinds of terrible consequences, and will now fancy himself indebted to me. Besides, Mrs. G. is well able to handle the old Friday face if he cuts up rough. He'll do well to watch his tongue with that lady! Indeed, Yolande said—” He checked, wishing he'd not mentioned the visit that had ended so awkwardly, and went over to let the white cat out.

“Yes, Papa? What did the beauteous Mrs. Tyndale have to say?”

“She said she wondered you did not strangle me for having chose Mrs. Grenfell as your—duenna.” He grinned unrepentantly and returned to her side.

“What nonsense. I love Pan—she's a darling.”

“My God! A darling dragon! But never mind all that. Tell me about your visit.”

So she did, making him laugh with her tales until she said, “And Lord Fontaine came, and you should—”

Devenish leapt to his feet. “The devil he did! I might have known! How often have you met that”—his lip curled—“that noble gentleman?”

Astonished, she stammered, “Why—I have known him since—since I left the schoolroom, Dev.”

“A whole two years,” he sneered.

“Only because you would insist I was
fourteen
when all the world knew I was eighteen!”

“Including our nobleman, evidently! Continue, if you please. What is your—relationship?”

She stared at him. “
Relationship?
My heavens! What would you think?”

“I would think you should know better than to associate with such a rake! And I shall ask your darling dragon if she is wits to let for allowing you—”

Really annoyed now, she flared, “To do—what? Converse at the home of mutual friends or relations with a gentleman of the first stare, who may be seen anywhere?”

His eyes savage, Devenish growled, “He'd best not be seen
here,
or I'll—”

“Run him through, I suppose?” But in spite of her irritation, she knew his hot temper and she knew Elliot Fontaine's reputation, and her heart beat faster. “What stuff! Duels are out of fashion today, my Gaffer, and—”

“With swords, perhaps. But there are always pistols, thank God!”

“How can you use the Lord's name in connection with such savagery? And why should you be so savage? Dev…?” She stood, and reached up to take his averted face between her hands and turn it back to her. For a moment, angry blue eyes met anxious brown ones, while the clock ticked softly, and the deepening chill in the room went quite unnoticed. Then Devenish moved her hands away and said in a rasp of a voice, “I'll not have him putting his slimy eyes on you! I warn you, Josie. Do not lead him on, or—”

“Lead him … on?” She walked a step or two away, saying with her back to him, “When have you seen me lead a gentleman on?”

“A hundred times,” he said with harsh inaccuracy. Furiously indignant, she spun to face him. “Oh, I grant you don't know you do it. You're so dashed innocent, you've no notion—But—a man like Fontaine! I'd think you had more sense!”

“What a disappointment I must be, dear sir! Elliot Fontaine is well born, well liked, very rich—”

“There's where you're out!
He
is not. His father is!”

“Besides which,” she swept on angrily, “
I
have heard not one word against the gentleman!”

“That's no surprise! He presents two faces to the world!”

“And—you have seen the other face?”

How straight she stood. How regally she faced him. He coloured and looked away. “Not—exactly. But—but I can sense the kind of man he is. And I suspect—” And again, helplessly, he was silent.

Her chin lifted even higher. She said—disdainfully, “You
sense
and you
suspect
—and for these nebulous notions I am to abandon my friendship with a most charming—”

He fairly sprang to grip her wrist and jerk her close to him. “Do you think I say such things lightly? Pay heed to me, little elf. If I catch him trying to fix his interest with you—”

“Fix … his interest? But—but you have said I am too young to be thinking of such things.”

He released her, took up his quill pen, and stared down at it. “I—er, had supposed you to be—so. But, I have come to think I was—mistaken.”

Unutterably shocked, she studied his averted profile. “Do you say—my arguments have at last won you over, dear sir?”

For possibly the first time in his life, Devenish began to tidy his desk. “That,” he mumbled, “and—and other things.”

Instinctively, her hand went to her bosom.

“No, no!” he said. Then, scarlet, added, “Well—I meant, what
others
said of it—I mean—of your probable age.”

“I see. Then—you think I am of an age to—to receive offers?” She waited for a denial, but none came. Her heart sinking, she went on, “In which case you should perhaps give me a list of—of acceptable gentlemen, so that I may not—disgrace you further.”

The paper he held was crushed convulsively. “For Lord's sake! As if you have done so!”

“But—you just said…”

“Oh. Fontaine. Yes—well,
his
pretensions you must certainly depress.” His jaw set. “Or I will! As for the rest—”

She returned to stand very closely before him and prompt meekly, “Yes, Papa?”

Reluctantly, he looked down into her upturned, trusting little face. His own softened. He said, “You roast me, you vixen. You know very well.”

“I am confused,” she said with a sigh. “To have been sixteen this morning, and one and twenty this afternoon is—unsettling. As always, I need your guidance dearest—ancient.”

He wrenched away again and said disjointedly, “How may I know who you will—like. There are many fine young fellas your own age. That nice Van Lindsay boy; or Freddie Hilby. Or—what about young Drummond? Or—Lyon? Now, there's a—”

Josie had retreated to the window during this summation, and now interrupted, “So you have heard of John's attentions to me.”

A pause. Then he said coolly, “No. He—likes you, does he?”

“He says he does. And I like him. Very much.”

“Oh.” He leaned back against the desk, watching his ward's slender but shapely figure outlined against the window. Josie and John Drummond … “Well then,” he said heartily, “that should do very nicely, I'd think.”

She whirled and flew to stand before him, crouching a little, her eyes blazing.

Startled, he drew back.

“Horrid! Evil man!” she hissed.

“N-Now—Josie—you have plagued me to—to admit you are older. And you said you liked the boy, and—”

“And of a sudden you can scarce wait to push me to the altar, can you! You cannot
wait
to be rid of your—your encumbrance!”

“Encumbrance, is it!” But her lip trembled; he saw the glitter of tears and, groaning, pulled her into his arms and, stroking her hair, murmured, “My little elf—how can you even
think
such stuff?”

“B-because,” she sobbed, “I know what—what a trial I've been to you.”

“Never!” He put her from him, smiling into her tear-wet eyes. “You were never naughty, or sulked, or went into tantrums. Or very seldom. How I shall go on without…” He frowned, and stopped, wondering why he was saying such things when he had determined to behave quite differently.

“I am so glad, Dev,” she said, hugging him tight. “Then we may go on comfortably. Just as we are.”

“We-ell, yes. Until I—er, become a benedick, at all events.”

She all but leapt back.
“What?”
She searched his face. “Have you—fixed on a lady? Who? I have been hearing whispers of the infamous Isabella.”

“There is nothing in the least smoky about the lady,” he said loftily. “Even if her brother is unspeakable. Bella is”—he turned to his untidy desk once more—“very lovely, and does, I feel sure, return my regard, so—” His words were cut off as a cushion bounced from his head. “Wretched brat!” Grinning, he turned on her and snatched away the cushion. She was at him in a flash, her darting hands tugging at his neckcloth, tearing the handkerchief from his pocket, seizing a handful of flowers and jamming them into his thick hair, eluding his desperate attempts to restrain her, until he caught her at last and, weak with laughter, they clung to each other.

“Colonel the Honourable Tristram Leith,” announced Wolfe imperturbably.

Chapter 5

“Tris!” Rather red in the face, Devenish greeted their guest, both hands outstretched. “Welcome! Welcome!”

Returning his strong clasp, Tristram Leith's fine eyes, alight with amusement, flashed to Josie's blushes. Badly wounded at the Battle of Waterloo, Leith's face was still streaked on one side with scars that failed to render him less than a fine-looking man. Before the battle, his looks had been such as to reduce London's ladies to sighful yearnings. The scars had faded now; his thick hair was near-black, his dark eyes keen, his tall frame as lean and supple as it had been when Devenish first had met him several weeks after the battle. He wore a well-cut riding coat and tight-fitting moleskins, and his topboots gleamed. He had no need to apologize for his appearance, but said, “Had I known you intended to array yourself for my benefit, I'd have worn something more formal.”

Devenish scanned him uncertainly.

Leith removed a blossom from the untidy fair hair. “A fine way to behave,” he scolded,
sotto voce,
then turned to bow over Josie's hand and drop a kiss onto her uplifted cheek. “Lovelier each time I see you, Milady Elf,” he said with a fond smile. “You'd best take care, Dev, else you'll have some lucky fellow taking your ward off your hands.”

“Just as I've been telling her,” said Devenish blandly.

“He has, in fact, been instructing me on whom I am to choose,” Josie explained.

“Oh, has he?” Leith chuckled. “So that was the cause for the uproar. Lucky I came when I did.”

“Lucky for us,” Devenish said heartily. “You can stay a week at least, I hope?”

“Have you brought Rachel and the children?” asked Josie eagerly.

“My four ladies are still at Cloudhills,” he answered with a smile. “And I regret that I can stay no longer than tonight. I've a message for Guy, and then must dash home. Craig and his family are joining us for a week, and I've the deuce of a lot to attend to now that my father and Dora are in Brazil.”

Disappointed, Devenish said, “No, but they'll not miss you for a day or so.”

“Perhaps. But I miss them. Dashed if I can see how you stand the life of a bachelor!”

On her way to give instructions to the servants, Josie said, “He will not be one for much longer, Tris.” She directed a mocking glance over her shoulder. “My aged soul is to be wed—very soon.”

“Devil he is!” Taken aback, Leith asked, “To whom, sly-boots?”

Devenish tightened his lips, irritated.

Josie called sweetly, “Tell him, dearest…” and closed the door.

“Baggage!” muttered Devenish, and waved the Colonel to a chair.

Watching as he limped over to the credenza whereon rested decanter and glasses, Leith grinned. “Yes, but what a charming one.”

“Isn't she?” Returning to hand his friend a glass of Madeira, then sit on the edge of his desk, Devenish said proudly, “Who'd have dreamed that tragic waif would become such a beautiful lady?”

Leith glanced at him, but his response was tardy. He was at once the recipient of a blazing glare. Devenish snarled, “I suppose you think she is
not
beautiful?”

Leith's deep chuckle sounded. “Swords, or pistols? No—truly, I think her delightful, and if I judge her pretty rather than beautiful, I am likely prejudiced because to me there is but one beautiful lady in the world, and I have her.”

Devenish threw a frustrated glance at the ceiling. “Once a Staff Officer, always a Staff Officer!”

“No—really, your little elf is a delight, and has grown up, Dev. Which is more than I can say for you. What's this I hear about a feud with Little? I vow you're the same fire-eater manoeuvred me into that damnable fight with Shotten, the very first minute we met!”