Give All to Love (18 page)

“I'll own I've not been a proper one. The point is, Mrs. Bliss is a lovely, healthy young woman. I cannot feature Guy being so selfish as—”

“Selfish!”

“As to saddle her with—”

Very white now, she said, “Dev—stop. I vow I'll hit you if you do not! Stop, or let me go.”

He met her gaze levelly. Infuriated, she swung her whip high. Devenish lifted his head slightly, but did not slacken his grip on her reins.

“Good gracious me,” cried a mocking voice. “‘The quarrel is a very pretty quarrel as it stands; we should only spoil it by trying to explain it.'”

Devenish swore softly, intensely, and audibly.

Josie's face lit up. “Lord Elliot!” She lowered her arm. “A quotation, I think. Byron?”

“Sheridan.” Fontaine removed his hat and bowed gracefully in the saddle. “I hope we do not—er, interrupt anything?”

“I would say we arrived at a most opportune moment,” said his sister, her magnificent eyes flashing wrath as they rested upon Josie.

“I would have to agree, ma'am,” Devenish said, ruefully.

“Bella,” said the Viscount with amused magnanimity, “it is clear that ‘our task is not to negotiate, but to deflect.' Come then, do you divert poor Dev, and I shall endeavor to lighten the mood of the fair Josephine.”

Devenish's grim look at Fontaine was countered by a guileless grin. The Viscount waved an expansive invitation, Lady Isabella guided her dainty white mare to join Devenish, and off they went, two and two.

And who could have been more carefree than Mistress Storm, her little peal of laughter so frequently enchanting her adoring escort? Who could have been more cheerful and witty and entertaining than Alain Jonas Devenish, his full attention focused on the beautiful woman at his side, his own deep laugh occasionally countering the musical ripple that drifted from his vivacious ward? Isabella glowed that grey morning, for however barbed her criticism of some member of the
ton,
however thinly veiled the double entendres that dropped from her ruby lips, not once did the man of her dreams contradict her, or evade the subject. And as for my lord Fontaine, surely the girl was not born who could fail to be flattered by his admiration, or remain glum in the face of his whimsy.

The men labouring on the road looked enviously at the riding group. The foreman hurried over to knuckle his brow and report that despite the weather, the work was well begun and with luck would be completed in time for Miss Storm's party.

Devenish saw the pit yawning at his feet, and was powerless.

“Party?” murmured the Viscount, as they turned back towards the house. “Have you a birthday approaching, lovely one? And I remiss in observing it? Now, woe is me! I cannot but lose stature in your eyes.”

“'Tis no use your dropping hints, Taine,” his sister called over her shoulder. “I already tried that and was cleverly turned aside.” She gazed soulfully at Devenish. “I believe we are not wanted at the party.”

With a brief and savage mental disposition of Elliot Fontaine, Devenish replied that he was perfectly sure all their friends would be invited.

Josie's heart seemed to stop. Breaking an instant of taut silence, she trilled, “We are still writing our cards, I'm afraid, but certainly it would be my very great pleasure if you could come, my lord. And your sister, of course.”

Isabella called, “Prettily said, Miss Storm. Can you respond as charmingly, Taine?”

“Assurément,”
he declared, flourishing his beaver. “
Merci beaucoup,
Mademoiselle Josephine. We are
enchantés,
and shall be most pleased to attend.” He added in a stage whisper, “I should include Devenish, perhaps?” He grimaced in his grotesque parody of a pout. “Although, I do not think he quite approves of me.”

Leaning closer to Devenish, Isabella said a provocative “I can but pray he approves of
me.
”

Devenish gave her a warm smile and said he would like to meet the man who would
not
approve of so delightful a lady. But he glanced at Fontaine and thought, ‘By God, but I must get William Little out of my house!'

The opportunity arose much sooner than he had anticipated, and in a way he was to regret.

The air had become colder by the time they reached Devencourt, and, trapped by the dictates of common civility, Devenish offered his callers some hot coffee before they went up to see their kinsman. They repaired to the drawing room, where they found Guy Sanguinet and Mrs. Bliss, the dark head very close to the red curls as they leaned over the harpsichord on which was laid one of the tapestries.

Mrs. Bliss was saying triumphantly, “… and it is a fox, just as I said—see, here is his tail!”

“Bested again,
hélas!
” mourned Guy in exaggerated anguish. “There is not the way out—I must do away with this Frenchman!”

They both laughed, and Mrs. Bliss cried, “Oh, no. Pray do not!” resting one hand on his arm as she spoke, her green eyes full of merriment.

Fontaine's breath hissed through his teeth, and he stood very still.

“Good heavens!” said his sister. “It is that dreadful Sanguinet creature!”

Devenish, who had paused for a moment to talk to Wolfe, came up just in time to hear the latter remark. Mrs. Bliss and Sanguinet glanced around guiltily. Guy groped for his crutch and Mrs. Bliss straightened, her face a little flushed and resentment replacing the laughter in her eyes.

“My dear Guy,” said Devenish deliberately, “I fancy you are acquainted with Lady Scott-Matthias and Lord Fontaine.”

My lord gave Sanguinet the briefest of nods and bowed elaborately to his distant cousin. Isabella allowed her dark eyes to flicker disdainfully over Guy before advancing to hold out her hand to Mrs. Bliss.

“My poor Faith—how loyal to deny yourself the pleasure of a ride, only so as to stay close to William. It must have been dreadfully dull for you.”

Guy moved back a little.

Her colour heightening, Faith replied, “To the contrary. I have passed a most pleasant morning, I thank you. But I—”

Fontaine intervened, “But now I think we should go at once to see William.” He turned to Devenish, his eyes chill. “You will excuse us do we not wait for coffee.” His gaze slanting pointedly to Guy, he said, “Come, Faith—Isabella.”

Mrs. Bliss became as pale as she had been flushed. Her eyes fairly darting rage, she turned on her cousin. The look she met appalled her. It was very obvious that if she objected, they would be treated to a fine scene. Fuming, she walked swiftly from the room, her relations following. Not a word was spoken as they ascended the stairs, for servants were all about, but once the door was closed in her brother's bedchamber, Faith whirled to Lord Elliot and said in a voice that shook with wrath, “How
dare
you put me in such a position?”

“Eh?” grunted Sir James, startled from a nap. “Oh, hello, Elliot, Bella.”

Ignoring him, Fontaine said acidly, “I extricated you from the untenable position in which you had placed yourself. And I think you forget, ma'am, that I am the head of your house.”

“I think
you
forget, Elliot, that your papa is not yet deceased!”

His eyes narrowed. He said in a soft, deadly voice, “My papa would have heartily endorsed what I was just obliged to do.”

“What's all this?” demanded Sir William, blinking.

“You cut him dead,” raged Mrs. Bliss. “And he has done nothing except to behave as a perfect gentleman!”

“Is that why you were hanging on his arm?” said Isabella mockingly. “La, but you pay little heed to the proprieties, my dear coz.”

“Hanging on
whose
arm?” rasped Sir William testily.

“I am no longer a little girl,” snapped Faith.

Fontaine said contemptuously, “Which being the case, one would suppose you to know better than to be in the same room with the fellow. Much less—alone! He's a veritable pariah! Why they let him roost here is past understanding. Everyone knows he and his brother plotted to destroy England.”

“Destroy England?”
Sir William shouted. “The devil you say!”

“Then everyone is wrong,” flashed Mrs. Bliss. “Guy Sanguinet is—”

“Sanguinet?”
Sir William's bellow rattled the windows. “
Sanguinet
d'ye say? Where's the dirty bounder?”

Fontaine glanced at him. “Here. It seems he and Devenish are regular bosom bows.”

“
What?
By God, if that don't do it!” His face crimson, Sir William rang for his valet and read his sister a searing lecture that left her shaken and close to tears. Fontaine was dispatched to send a groom for his cousin's coach, and Devenish was summoned, to be informed in no uncertain terms just what Sir William thought of him, his damnable house, his demented servants, sundry assorted pigs, and filthy Frogs. My lord Fontaine, realizing too late that his abhorrence of Sanguinet had destroyed his excuse for frequent visits here, looked with real dismay at his equally dismayed sister. Not in the least dismayed, Devenish bowed and assured Sir William that every effort would be made to ensure his rapid departure.

Within a hour, they were gone.

*   *   *

Josie was seldom able to hold angry feelings, and when Devenish found at dinner time that he was still being treated with polite indifference, he realized he had sunk into deep disgrace. Josie chattered brightly with Guy, but since Mrs. Grenfell's conversation consisted almost entirely of unanswerable positive statements, Devenish felt marooned, and was glad when the meal came to an end. The ladies adjourned to the drawing room, and the two men relaxed over their port, Guy lighting up a cheroot, and Devenish hauling out his favourite pipe.

“Well,” said Guy with a furtive smile, “you are rid of one of your—encumbrances, Alain. Yet—am I under the misapprehension dwelling, or are you less than
aux anges?
”

Devenish sighed and turned the pipe over in his hands without lighting it. “'Fraid I've displeased Josie. I'd fancied she would have forgiven me by now. She don't usually despise me for such a long interval.”

“It is not my wish to pry, but—is she angry because you do not like Fontaine? Or because his sister have
beaucoup
admiration for you?”

“Both, I think. But—” Devenish's gaze flickered and fell away. He said slowly, “But—that's not the main reason. It was—because of you.”

“
Mon Dieu!
I am remiss in my tapestry duties?” But Guy sobered as his friend lifted an unusually grave countenance. “Ah—so this it is the matter
sérieux. Expliquez, s'il vous plaît, mon ami.
”

Devenish, uncomfortable, said slowly. “We'd no right to discuss it, save that we all are friends, you know. Josie seems to think—It's none of my affair—Oh, the devil! She fancies that you and—and Faith…”

“I see.” Guy watched the spiral of smoke from his cheroot. “And you have tell her this it is not likely—eh?”

“Yes.” Devenish began to ram tobacco into his hapless pipe. “I told her that—under the circumstances, you would not—er…”

“These ‘circumstances' being my—infirmity.”

The curly fair head jerked up. His eyes remorseful, Devenish admitted, “Dammitall, Guy, I'm sorrier than hell. But—yes, that's what I said.”

“But of course.” Guy nodded. “And there is not the need for you to scourge of yourself for this truth. Save that you—how is it said?—you have evade the real truth.”

Devenish sat very still, his eyes quite blank. “I do not take your meaning.”

“
Mais oui, mon cher Alain.
Whatever you have say to our little sunbeam, and I think it must have been clumsily said to make her so angry, you say it to mean yourself. Not me. And our Josie, she know this.”

Paling, but with two spots of colour high on his cheekbones, Devenish said haughtily, “What the devil are you jabbering at? I've not the remotest interest in Mrs. Bliss—save that she's a most pleasant lady.”

With a faintly chiding smile, Guy waved the cheroot at him. “And once again, you evade and dissemble. No, no! Do not send me the sparks from your eyes, for you cannot call me out. You have spoken your thrust, you must allow me my
riposte
—no?”

A stranger stared at him. A stranger with a bleak, closed face, his head proudly up-tilted, his voice glacial as he replied, “As you wish.”

Devenish was closer to Sanguinet than any blood relation he had known, and he quailed to the dread that he might lose that friendship, but he said gently, “You are both very right, you see. When first I meet Mrs. Bliss, I think her the most beautiful lady. Next, I find she is kind and so very—comfortable to be with. With her, I am not made to know the embarrassment when I—lurch and stumble about. Soon, I am feeling a good deal more than these things. And she also, I think, have—perhaps, like me a little. But—” He shrugged and said sadly, “
En effet,
it is as you say—I cannot make the generous offer that she share the life of a man who can almost, but not quite, stand up without help.”

His warm heart touched, Devenish forgot his wrath. He leaned to grip Guy's arm and say in his gentlest voice, “My poor fellow. I am so sorry.”

“
Merci.
I shall, I expect, survive. But you,
mon cher
Alain. You must not think yourself like me only because you limp the little piece.”

Devenish tensed and stared down at his still unlit pipe.

“Oh, my foolish one,” said Guy softly. “Can you think I have watch you all these seven years and see nothing?”

Devenish neither moved nor spoke, but the flush died from his cheeks to leave him very pale.