Give All to Love (35 page)

It was a solution. Two young people venturing upon a new life in a new land. Stunned, Devenish thought, ‘Would she really have gone so far away? Would she really have left me?' And how wrong to think so. He must let her go. The time had come, very
well
timed, for him to step back. He nerved himself, and said, “John … I will tell you something—in confidence.”

Five minutes later, Drummond drew the cork, poured the champagne, and swung his glass high. “A toast!” he cried, flushed with joy.

With a fixed smile, Devenish stood, glass in hand.

“To Josephine de Galin,” said John. “The future Mrs. John Drummond!”

Devenish raised his glass, but the most he could make his lips utter was, “To Josephine de Galin!”

The ardent swain was full of plans and hopes, yet it was obvious he could scarcely wait to retire to his room, array himself in the best clothes he had with him, and proceed to Devencourt to woo his beloved. Having no least doubts of the rate at which Drummond meant to ride, Devenish said that he had other business to attend to before returning home. They soon parted, therefore, Devenish embarking upon a wide easterly loop before at long last turning west towards Devencourt. The gloomy afternoon did nothing to brighten his mood, and he scarcely felt the snow flurries. Everything, he decided, was falling neatly into place—provided Josie would believe him. That was going to be the most difficult part; to get her to believe what he would tell her.

A shout, distant and indistinct, cut off his introspection. He looked up. A rider was coming at the gallop. A man, wearing a heavy coat and a low-crowned hat, and who waved with frantic urgency. Devenish applied his spurs and Santana bounded forward. As they drew closer, Devenish recognized the new footman and fear of some further disaster clutched him. “What is it?” he shouted, reining Santana to a halt.

“Bad news, I fear, sir,” gasped Finlayson breathlessly. “Word came from Cirencester. Lord Redmond has been shot!”

“Oh, God!” groaned Devenish. “They've not
killed
him?”

“It sounds bad, sir. His lordship lies at the Boar's Head—it's just beyond the town on the Cricklade Road. The valet said—if you
could
come, sir—to please come at the gallop!”

All thought of his own troubles disappeared. His heart twisting painfully, Devenish said, “I'll go at once. Does Miss Storm know?”

“She rode part way to Oak Manor with Mrs. Bliss, sir. Mr. Wolfe sent Klaus after her.”

“Good. Pray tell her— No, wait.” He took a pencil and a small notepad from his pocket, and scribbled, “Little one—I'll send word as soon as I learn something. Dev.” He formed the paper into a twist and handed it to the footman. “Give this to Miss Storm directly she comes home. Ask Mr. Hutchinson to come to the Boar's Head with a change of clothes and my overnight necessities.”

The footman inclined his head.

“Did Mr. John Drummond pass you, by any chance?” asked Devenish.

“I saw a rider, sir, but I had cut across country and was riding very fast, so I did not see who he might be.”

“Never mind. You're a good man. My thanks.”

The man bowed again. Devenish turned Santana and touched the sleek sides with his spurs. The big black snorted in surprise and leapt joyously into a gallop, Devenish leaning forward in the saddle, and horse and man like one being.

The young nob, thought Finlayson (which was not his real name), had a damn fine seat. He smiled unpleasantly. Much good might it do him! Still smiling, he read Devenish's note, then tore it into small pieces and let the wind carry it away before he commenced a leisurely return to Devencourt.

Chapter 17

“Oh my, but it has turned cold,” said Josie, peeling off her gloves and handing her whip to Cornish as he opened the terrace door for her.

“Didya ride all the way to Oak Manor, miss?”

“No. It came on to sleet, so I decided to come back. Is the master home yet?”

“Not yet, mate. But young—er, I mean Mr. Drummond's waitin' in the bookroom.” He accompanied her as she started to the hall, and said rather reluctantly, “Wouldn't 'ave a minute first, wouldya, miss?”

She liked the big man, and she smiled and asked if he would wish to speak to her in here.

“Ain't me. It's that there littel—” His jaw set, he said primly, “Mr. Finlayson. Arst ter see yer immedjit when yer come in.”

Finlayson. Her brow wrinkled. That would be the cold fish. “I'll see him in the drawing room if there's a fire in there.”

Cornish went off, saying he'd fetch “the slippery cove” there, and, stifling a smile, Josie left the study and turned into the drawing room. Before she had time to sit down, Finlayson was pulling the doors closed. Immediately, she felt the rush of dislike. He was never anything but polite, yet there was something … Impatient with herself, she said, “You wished to see me?”

“I have no right, miss.” For the first time he appeared agitated, and went on hurriedly, “I may be making much out of nothing, but—I know that Lord Redmond is most anxious about the master, and—”

Her heart gave a scared jolt. About to sit down, she stared at him. “In what way?”

“I do not know, miss. I happened to overhear something he said before he left. I'd not meant to eavesdrop, I do assure you, but I came around the side of the house just as his lordship grasped the master's arm. He swore at him, and said, ‘Dev—it would be suicide! By God, if I thought you really meant to do so crack-brained a thing—!' And then he saw me, and he stopped speaking.”

Inwardly frightened, Josie said, “Well, you may be sure I shall— Oh, dear—is there more?”

His pale hands gripped and wrung. He said, “If I alarm you for nothing, Mr. Devenish will be most provoked, I know, but—I was sent into Cirencester early this afternoon, to get the report from the Constable there.”

Surprised, she asked, “About the fire?”

“Why, no, miss. About the champagne.”

“Good gracious! I did not know Mr. Devenish meant to bring an action because the wine was spoiled.”

“But it was not spoiled, miss. It was poisoned.”

Her heart seemed to stop. One hand lifted involuntarily to her throat in the gesture that always betrayed shock. For anyone to have done such a dreadful thing must point to a deepseated hatred for either herself or Dev. She certainly had not won the heart of everyone she'd ever met, but neither had she, to the best of her knowledge, aroused so deep a dislike as to result in this horrid business. Dev, with his hasty temper, his unyielding loyalties, his attraction for women, had made many enemies, but—who hated him? Claude Sanguinet had, but Claude was dead. There was Gerard, of course, Claude's deadly lieutenant who had disappeared after the abortive attempt to seize power in England, and had never been heard of again. And—Lyon … She was ashamed of the thought even as it dawned. Hot-tempered Lyon might be, but he was an honourable young man, and he would never do anything to hurt her, for she was very sure that he loved her devotedly.

Watching her paling face from under his meekly lowered lashes, Finlayson smiled to himself. “It was on account of that nasty business that what happened today has me a—a bit worried, miss. I didn't say anything to Mr. Wolfe, lest he think me stepping above my station, but I thought you might want me to … er…”

“Yes, yes,” she said, trying not to panic. “Do please tell me what it is that concerns you.”

“Well, it was whilst I was in Cirencester, miss. I chanced to stop at a little tavern while I waited for the Constable. I'd just gone out to the yard to get my horse, when the master rode in like the devil was at his heels. I went over to him, of course, but he—oh, miss, he behaved in so strange a way. Pushed past me, as if he didn't even know me, and muttered something about—nothing wouldn't stop him settling accounts this time.”

Josie's tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth. That fierce pride of his again! She asked, “Did you see anyone else at the tavern with whom you were acquainted?”

“No, miss. Well—not to say ‘acquainted.' I did see a carriage in the yard with the crest of Lord Fontaine on the panel.”

Very pale, Josie started to the door. “You were quite right to come to me about this. I must go there at once. Be so good as to have the horses put to my new barouche and send Klaus to me.”

The footman ran to swing the door open for her, and she saw John Drummond striding along the hall, his fine face aglow with an excitement that faded into alarm as he saw her expression. She stretched out both hands. “Oh, John! Thank heaven you are here!”

*   *   *

The elegant barouche proceeded at a spanking pace along the Cirencester Road, Alfred Coachman driving, and Klaus sitting beside him, arms folded and eyes worried. Inside, John Drummond held Josie's cold little hand and tried to ease her fears. Despite his calm words, he was much disturbed. There were rumours Devenish and Fontaine had come to blows at Josie's ball. If that was so, most certainly a duel was planned. And if Fontaine had also been at that blasted inn, it might already have been conducted!

He patted Josie's hand and told her again that it was likely a lot of fuss about nothing, but he thought of how quiet Dev had seemed when he'd drunk the toast, and come to think of it, he hadn't been able to eat the pie, either. Naturally not, knowing he was likely going to his death! Gad, but it was a fine mess. And to think he'd come here hoping to clear the way for his nuptials! There could be no thought of a proposal now. Josie adored her tempestuous guardian, and if Dev had gone off and let Fontaine blow a hole through him … He thought, ‘Poor old Dev' and stared glumly out of the window.

For Josie, the miles seemed to creep past. No less than Drummond did she dread the outcome of their desperate journey. Her fears were so magnified by the time they reached Cirencester that she could not stop shivering.

The coachman knew the Boar's Head, and a few minutes later they turned off the main road into a winding lane, and thence to the yard of a small, nicely maintained inn. Ostlers came running to hold the team. Klaus jumped down to open the door and let down the steps, and Drummond alighted and handed Josie into what was again a steady sleet.

The host, a spry little man, obviously pleased by the arrival of so luxurious a vehicle, hurried out with an umbrella. Cutting through his babble of welcome, Drummond said urgently, “Is Mr. Alain Devenish here?”

The man's jaw dropped, and he stared from one to the other like a bewildered owl. Another individual ran up, collar turned high against the freezing rain. Lifting his hat respectfully, he said, “Are you friends of Mr. Devenish? He is upstairs. This way!”

“Hold hard,” the host objected, shaking out his umbrella as the little party hurried into the warm vestibule, “The young lady shouldn't go up there!”

He had as well speak to the wind. With a little sob of apprehension, Josie followed the other man to the stairs. Drummond hesitated, calling to Klaus to “wait with the luggage until we know what Miss Storm wishes to do.”

The stranger had paused at the foot of the stairs, staring after Josie with a puzzled frown. Drummond strode to his side. “Is it very bad?”

The man turned to him. “Bad? Lord—perhaps it is! I wish I'd not been so helpful!” And with the words he all but ran for the door and was gone.

Josie had already reached the upstairs hall. There were three doors on each side of a narrow corridor. She knocked softly at the first door on the right and, receiving no response, ran to the door on the left. She thought she heard a woman laugh, low and throatily, but decided it must have come from the next room. She scratched softly at the panel, thought to hear a response, and opened the door. She stepped inside, only to halt, frozen with shock.

Devenish lay on the bed. He wore neither boots nor coat, and his shirt was unbuttoned to the waist, but there were no bloodstained bandages, no doctor hovering in attendance. The person hovering over him was a woman—a beautiful woman who lay beside him in her petticoats, struggling to remove his hand from her bodice. Lady Isabella was in a state of considerable dishevellment, her hair tousled and awry, one strap hanging from her bare shoulder to reveal the soft swell of an ample breast. Squealing, she glanced up and with a gasp of horror sprang from the bed.

Drummond, who had raced up after Josie, looked past the motionless girl and gasped, “By … God…!”

Through numbed lips, Josie whispered, “Dev…?”

“How … how
dare
you!” cried my lady, striving with belated propriety to restore her bodice.

Hideously embarrassed, Drummond gulped, “We made—we made a mistake! We thought—er,” He grasped Josie's elbow. “I apologize! Most dreadfully sorry. Good—er, good day!”

Josie pulled free. Her face very white, she demanded, “Dev, are you mad? To be here with this lady is—”

“La!” interrupted Isabella. “I suppose I may be alone with my affianced husband!”

The room seemed to rock. Dimly, Josie knew that Drummond had muttered something and that another man had come in and stood beside her.

Devenish struggled to one elbow and peered at the new arrivals. “Jo … shie?” he uttered. “Whachou … doin' wi'
him?
”

Viscount Fontaine said a savage, “Your pardon, Drummond,” and slammed the door closed. “Bella,” he grated, “I fancy you do not have to be told that this behaviour is beyond the pale! As for you, Devenish—Gad, but your love-nest fairly reeks of brandy! Damme, sir!
Attend
me! My seconds will—”

With a shriek, Isabella threw herself between her justifiably incensed brother and the sagging Devenish. “We are betrothed, Taine! He offered, and I accepted!”

“And came at once to bed to seal the bargain?” The Viscount's lip curled. “Pretty behaviour, upon my word! If
you
want your name bandied about in every coffee house and tavern from here to Land's End, I may tell you that
I
do not! Get your things, ma'am!” She glared at him rebelliously, and he snapped, “At once!”