Parfit Knight (21 page)

‘What have you
got there? Another love-lorn lyric?’

There was a
brief pause and then she said placidly, ‘No. Isabel read some of it
to me earlier this afternoon and I thought you might be persuaded
to finish it.’

‘I doubt it,’
he replied sourly. ‘What is it anyway?’

‘Some verses
written by Montrose. Lord Amberley sent them. And don’t jump to
conclusions,’ she advised swiftly. ‘His lordship read Wishart to me
at Oakleigh and he sent the verses because he thought they’d
interest me. And if you can bring yourself to set aside your
idiotic prejudices for a moment, it’s possible that they would
interest you too.’ She held out the scroll. ‘Well?’

For a moment,
his lordship hesitated and then he reached out and took it with a
reluctant grin. ‘Very well – you win. Temporarily. Where shall I
begin?’

If anyone had
told Philip that he would enjoy reading poetry to his sister and
then discussing it, he would not have believed them; but the fact
remained that he did enjoy it and, at the end of an hour, his mood
was so much improved that Rosalind was emboldened to ask a question
which had been in her mind for some time.

‘Philip – why
are you marrying Isabel?’

The sapphire
gaze rested on her in surprise.

‘You know why.
It’s a suitable match and Uncle George arranged it.’

‘And is that
the only reason?’

He shrugged.
‘What other would there be?’

Rosalind’s eyes
grew troubled.

‘So it’s a
marriage of convenience? One of those fashionable alliances where
you are scrupulously polite to each other over the breakfast table
and go your separate ways the rest of the time?’

Philip laughed.
‘And how much do you know of such marriages?’

‘Enough to name
you several instances,’ came the disconcerting reply. ‘You form a
liaison with some similarly-disposed married lady – and, after
she’s presented you with an heir, Isabel is free to choose any rake
in London as her lover. Is that what you want?’

‘No.’ He
flushed. ‘And she’d better not!’

‘Meaning you
can do as you please but she must do as you say?’

‘No! I never
said that – or meant it! And you shouldn’t be speaking of such
things,’ responded Philip, hard-pressed.

‘Why not? After
all, if I married Lord Rayne it would be exactly the same for me,
wouldn’t it? As I understand it, one is not required to be faithful
– just well-mannered and discreet. Isn’t that right?’

‘Devil take it
–
no
! And if Isabel thinks I’m going to let her carry on
like that, she very much mistakes the matter,’ announced his
single-minded lordship without stopping to wonder why the mere
thought of it roused him to wrath. ‘I won’t have it!’

A glimmer of
satisfaction gathered in Rosalind’s eyes.

‘I see. Then I
suggest,’ she said pleasantly, ‘that you tell her so.’

Having finally
made the decision to put his fortunes to the touch, Amberley
discovered that there were unforeseen difficulties in its
implementation and, during the first week in May, he had contrived
to meet Rosalind only three times – and then, always in company.
The first had been on the occasion of Davenant soirée when he had
quite skilfully – or so he’d thought - removed her from Jack
Ingram’s side and been foolishly heartened by a fleeting lapse in
her usual composure. For the space of a heartbeat she had seemed
absurdly pleased and yet shy; and when he had kissed her hand, her
fingers had not been quite steady and she had undoubtedly coloured
a little. But these signs of encouragement had been so short-lived
that, in less than an hour, he was wondering if he had not imagined
them; for though she had thanked him with obvious sincerity for the
verses and been eager to discuss them with him, she had done so
with easy unaffectedness and he was left with the depressing
impression that he had failed to make any signal advance.

At the
Grantham’s ball he had not even achieved a moment of semi-privacy –
a fact that made him quite unreasonably annoyed and was directly
responsible for goading him into his first visit to Jermyn Street.
Unfortunately, this was similarly unproductive for he was not the
only visitor and, instead of carrying Rosalind off for a drive in
the park, he had been forced to watch Robert Dacre and two other
young gentlemen making sheep’s eyes at her whilst he himself
endured a half-hour of stilted conversation with Lord Philip – who
had plainly not been pleased to see him.

The Lord
Marquis retired to Hanover Square in a mood that no one in his
household recognised and spent almost an hour contemplating the
hitherto unsuspected advantages of abduction.

It is possible,
though perhaps unlikely, that Amberley would have derived some
small comfort from the knowledge that Nemesis did not tread solely
in his footsteps; that she was also dogging those of the Honourable
Mr Dacre and driving him at last to desperate measures.

For Robert was
facing ruin. Incapable of reducing his extravagant rate of
expenditure, prohibited from approaching Philip, refused by his
similarly embarrassed father and by unpaid friends who were
reluctant to throw good money after bad, he was left with a
mountain of debts and no way of paying them. Even the money lenders
had turned him away, knowing that – as he had no prospects of
inheriting anything but an already grossly encumbered estate – he
could only represent a loss. And by the time his tailor had
disobligingly and none too politely, refused further credit until
his account was settled, Robert was becoming very frightened
indeed.

Dreadful
visions of angry tradesmen demanding payment invaded his waking
thoughts and his sleep was haunted by nightmares in which he was
clapped up in the stinking squalor of Newgate or the Fleet. All day
long he skulked in one or other of his clubs, too afraid now to
indulge in the pastime of cards or dice, but even more afraid of an
outside world that seemed to be peopled with his creditors. Each
day brought more bills; from his boot-maker, his saddler and his
increasingly importunate tailor; and every day Robert grew a little
more desperate as he wondered how long he had before the axe fell.
And, on top of it all, he owed a thousand guineas to the Duke of
Rockliffe.

It had been, he
now realised, the crowning folly to challenge Rockliffe to that
race; but when he had beaten Lord Seaforth – even though it had
been due to a lame off-leader - he had not been able to resist it;
and his determination grew when he realised that the Duke did not
want to oblige him. So Robert had publicly harrassed him until his
Grace had finally given way and the stake had been fixed and the
course agreed. Robert had been jubilant; and then the race was run
and Rockliffe had beaten him by a margin that was little short of
humiliating and left him with a new debt. A debt of honour.

A thousand
guineas; just a thousand. Nothing to Rockliffe but everything to
Robert and meaning that, in addition to avoiding an army of
tradesmen, he had now to dodge the Duke as well. Two days after the
race they had come face to face in the foyer at White’s and, for a
moment before he made his escape, those cynical dark eyes had
rested on him with smiling mockery. That single look stayed with
Robert for a long time afterwards and told him many things he
should have seen before; such as the fact that Rockliffe knew he
could not pay and had used that knowledge quite deliberately – not
out of any personal vindictiveness, but because he, Robert, had
given him the opportunity on a plate. And Rockliffe was Amberley’s
friend.

In Robert’s
feverish mind all his troubles could be traced back to the Marquis
– most notably that, because of him, it was impossible to try
borrowing from Philip. Robert considered taking his woes to Isabel
in the hope that she might waive his promise just this once, but
was forced to conclude that it was unlikely. Isabel was not prone
to changes of heart and she had, moreover, become deplorably
friendly with the Marquis. One could no more trust her than one
could trust Philip to keep quiet if one approached him without her
knowledge. The situation was hopeless and Robert could think of
only three ways out; theft, flight or marriage to a lady of
means.

Each of these
being equipped with its own drawback, he felt no decided preference
for any of them. But since his chances of planning and executing
the perfect robbery were more or less nil, he naturally opted for
the lady of means and duly set out to engage her interest – aware
all the time of a pressing need for haste. And when he received a
politely-worded reminder from Rockliffe, he set off that evening
for a Gala ridotto in Vauxhall Gardens in a mood of last-ditch
determination, dangerously tinged with recklessness.

The party,
hosted by Lord Philip and including, amongst others, Isabel and
Rosalind, travelled to the Gardens by boat, then strolled down the
lantern-lit walks to the gaily-hued booth which his lordship had
reserved. And here, much to Robert’s disgust, the party largely
stayed. It was not until close on midnight when, having consumed
Lord Philip’s carefully chosen supper, everyone finally decided to
saunter around the arbours or watch the Grand Firework display,
that Robert’s chance came at last and he seized upon it
eagerly.

It was a simple
matter, once he had Rosalind’s hand on his arm, to fall a little
way behind the others and then turn off in a different direction.
Then he embarked on a passionate, low-voiced declaration – unaware
that Mistress Vernon wasn’t really listening.

It cannot be
said that Rosalind was pleased to find herself walking
à
deux
with Robert Dacre but she was resigned to making the best
of it. At worst, it would be irritating – and that seemed a small
price to pay for allowing Isabel and Philip a little time to
themselves.

She was just
wondering how long it would take her dear, dim-witted brother to
realise that his marriage of convenience had gone sadly awry and
how much longer after that before he could be brought to admit it
even to himself, when she was jerked rudely back into the present
by Robert’s hand grasping hers.

‘Say yes!’ he
pleaded urgently. ‘Please say yes! You will, won’t you?’

Having no idea
of what he had been saying, Rosalind was unable to comply with this
request. She was also, she discovered, unable to withdraw her hand
from his hot clasp.

‘I beg your
pardon. I’m afraid I wasn’t attending,’ she said coolly. ‘What is
it?’

Robert stifled
a curse and simultaneously experienced a strong desire to shake
her. Then, glancing around, he saw a secluded bench almost
completely screened by the trailing fronds of a willow and, pulling
Rosalind towards it, did what he realised he ought to have done in
the first place.

‘Sit down,’ he
said curtly. And then, belatedly, ‘Please.’

Rosalind sat,
though not from choice and felt him imprison her other hand as
well; but before she could open her mouth to demand its release, he
was speaking again.

‘You must – you
shall
listen to me. I will not be put off!’

‘No,’ she
agreed dryly. ‘Even I can see that. But for heaven’s sake, let go
of my hands and stop play-acting. Just say what you have to
say.’

Far from
setting her free, Robert’s hands tightened convulsively. His face
was white with anger but he managed to keep his voice reasonably
level.

‘Very well. I
have been asking you to marry me.’

The violet eyes
widened and then became quite blank.

‘My goodness –
have
you? Why?’

Having already
exhausted his meagre supply of lover-like ardour, Robert had as
little ability as he had desire to give a repeat performance. But
the devil was driving and so he did his best. ‘I love you. You are
so beautiful – so completely and utterly perfect – I can’t live
without you!’ And that, at least, was true.

‘Nonsense,’
said Rosalind composedly. ‘And though I’m very sorry to have to say
it, I don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone in your whole life.’

The words hit
him like an icy douche and successfully reminded him that this was
his one and only chance to win free from the pit into which he was
being sucked. He gazed helplessly around their romantic setting,
silently damning the fact that Rosalind was immune to it and said
sulkily, ‘You don’t believe me. What else can I say?’

‘Well, you
might try telling me the truth.’

‘But this
is
the truth – I need you!’ Just for an instant, conviction
throbbed in his voice. ‘If you won’t marry me, I might as well put
a pistol to my head.’

She frowned.
‘Robert, I don’t wish to be unkind but I can’t and won’t tolerate
that sort of folly. You know as well as I do that you’ve no such
intention – which is just as well since I’ve no intention of
marrying you.’

Robert felt
slightly sick. The last shreds of his temper deserted him and, with
them, his veneer of beseeching persuasion.

‘Why not?’ he
said nastily. ‘You’ve got to marry someone, after all – and it
isn’t every man who’d want a blind wife.’

Rosalind
flinched and then, with a sudden unexpected movement, tore her
hands free and stood up.

‘I think,’ she
said bitingly, ‘that you’ve said more than enough, don’t you?’

‘Well it’s your
own fault. You should have believed me.’

‘No. I may be
blind but voices are my speciality – and yours has been lying to
me.’ She pulled the folds of her scarlet domino more closely around
her. ‘And now we’d better re-join the others before I’m tempted to
tell you a few home truths. Shall we go?’

Robert remained
seated, his hands opening and closing mechanically.