Parfit Knight (26 page)

‘And is it
true?’

‘No. But it
should have been – for if I have my way, she’ll take
Rockliffe.’

Isabel regarded
him with a sort of awed fascination.

‘And did you
tell Lord Amberley
that
?’

‘Why should I
not?’

She opened her
mouth as if she could have told him and then closed it again. For a
moment or two she toyed with the falls of lace at her elbow and
then she said diffidently, ‘Forgive me for asking – but do you
really expect Rockliffe to make Rosalind an offer?’

‘Not if she
carries on making herself the talk of the town with Amberley,’
replied his lordship darkly. ‘But I think he might if he received
the slightest encouragement. Don’t you?’

Although she
knew the truth wasn’t going to be welcome, Isabel saw no help for
it.

‘No. I don’t.
Despite all the caps that have been thrown at him, Rockliffe’s been
avoiding matrimony for years – and, as far as I can see, he’s still
doing it. And if Lord Amberley is in love with Rosalind, you may be
very sure that Rock knows it – not just because he’s Amberley’s
oldest friend but because nothing escapes his notice.’

Despite
recalling the Duke’s warning about Marcus Sheringham, Philip chose
to shrug this off. ‘Perhaps. But he obviously likes Rosalind and
she likes him. And, quite apart from his title, he’s worth a dozen
of Amberley. Or don’t you think so?’

‘Well, no. In
fact, I don’t.’ Isabel hesitated and then went stoically, ‘Not that
it matters what I think. Rosalind loves Amberley – not Rockliffe.
And it would appear that she has the uncommon good fortune to have
her regard returned.’

‘You think
she’s lucky Amberley is prepared to marry her?’

‘No.’ She
paused again, choosing her words very carefully. ‘I envy the fact
that he loves her.’

Both the
ambiguity and her real meaning sailed over Philip’s head. An
unpleasant weight settled in his chest and he grew rather pale.

‘Indeed. No
doubt you have your reasons. I only wish I understood them.’

There was a
long silence while Isabel gazed back at him using her most
reflective stare to cover the mass of hopeful conjecture that
seethed in her brain. Then her mouth curved in a slow, sweet smile
and she said simply, ‘I’ve told you.
He never
yet no
villainy said in all his life
… and he has such a charming
smile.’

‘I see.’ Philip
came abruptly to his feet and simultaneously recognised the
sensation that had been plaguing him. He managed a hard, brittle
smile and said, in a voice from which he could not quite banish the
hurt, ‘Then perhaps it’s a pity that your father contracted you to
me. I must be something of a disappointment.’ And before she could
reply - before he let himself say anything more, he made her a
small, jerky bow and left.

*

From Clarges
Street Philip went directly to White’s where the talk was all about
the death of the French king. Louis
le Bien-Aimé
, fifteenth
of his name and King of France for nearly sixty years, had
succumbed to smallpox and been interred, so rumour said, under
cover of darkness in less than regal circumstances. An argument was
in progress about whether it was true that the coffin had been
filled with alcohol or whether it had been put in quicklime – or
both. Philip, his interest registering at several points below
zero, found a quiet corner and, for the first time ever, set out to
get extremely drunk. And, by the time Amberley arrived at the club,
he had succeeded well enough for a single glimpse of the Marquis to
bring his profound sense of ill-usage surging to the surface and
make him long to plant his fist squarely in that fine-boned
face.

Chin on chest,
Philip considered his woes. A sister who would not speak to him, a
parrot that either spat at or cursed him and a bride-to-be who had
clearly fallen under the spell of Another. It was more, he decided
gloomily, than a man should be asked to bear; and, looking at the
cause of all his troubles, a mere punch no longer seemed
enough.

It was at this
point that Fate, pink-clad and lisping, deigned to take a hand in
the game. Viscount Ansford, an inveterate gossip who greatly
resented the gentle way Amberley had of nipping his best stories in
the bud, watched the Marquis cross the room and was prompted to
utter a spiteful remark.

‘Upon my
thoul!’ he tittered to the gentleman sitting beside him. ‘I hardly
exthpected to thee Amberley here tonight. They thay he eloped from
Vauxhall with the fair Rothalind latht night – and I thuppothed
them half-way to the border by now!’

With a
strangled oath and a force that overturned his chair, Philip came
to his feet and dived at the dainty Viscount who, until that
moment, had not seen him. His fingers hooked themselves into the
foaming lace cravat, twisting savagely and, in an equally savage
voice, he said, ‘You lying little worm – take it back before I
choke you!’

The Viscount,
unfortunately, was in no position to say anything – either in
renunciation or otherwise – and, though every head in the room
turned to watch, no one appeared to find him worth saving. No one,
that is, except for the Marquis of Amberley who strode swiftly
forward and obtained his release by means of a hard, well-placed
blow to Lord Philip’s wrist.

‘You!’ Philip’s
eyes blazed and, because his right hand was still a useless mass of
pins and needles, he clenched his left and took a wild swing at
Amberley’s nose.

Stepping back,
the Marquis caught his wrist in an inflexible grip and said under
his breath, ‘No, you bloody fool! Think what you’re doing. I know
you’d like to break my jaw but you can’t do it here – you’ll ruin
her.’

Philip was not
so drunk that he couldn’t understand what Amberley was saying but
he was by no means sober either and his brain was aflame with a
hurt anger that no longer had very much to do with Rosalind. He
wrenched his arm free and said softly but with tolerable clarity,
‘Not me – you. And I thought it’s what you wanted.’

The Marquis
flinched but replied with unimpaired composure, ‘You’re drunk. And
Lord Ansford make a mistake – did you not, my lord?’

‘Y-yeth,’
agreed the Viscount, glad to be offered a way out. ‘A mithtake. I
beg your lordship’th pardon.’

‘Make it
again,’ said Philip without stopping to think, ‘and I’ll cut your
tongue out. As for you, my lord Marquis – you will meet me.’

There was a
sudden mind-cracking silence and then, very gently, Amberley said,
‘Why?’

It was a good
move but Philip was ready for it. And because when he looked at the
Marquis all he could see was a pair of admiring pansy-brown eyes,
he was able to deliver his excuse in a tone that, for one person at
least, robbed it of any element of comedy.

‘Because it was
you who taught that damned bird of Rosalind’s to spit – and it’s
been spitting at me all day. There’s no peace in the house, thanks
to you. And I’m sick of it.’

The tension
around them dissolved into a ripple of amusement.

‘What bird?’
asked a baffled voice; and received a polyphonic reply of ‘Mistress
Vernon’s parrot,’ or ‘Broody,’ from those who knew.

Someone said,
‘Give it up, Vernon – you can’t challenge a man over a parrot.’

‘You can’t know
Broody,’ laughed another. ‘He could start a war!’

‘Well?’
Philip’s vivid, too-steady gaze never wavered from Amberley’s face.
‘
Will
you fight me – over a parrot?’

For a second or
two, the Marquis stared measuringly back at him out of eyes that
were hard as granite and then, though he had never felt less amused
in his life, he achieved a smiling shrug and said carelessly, ‘Why
not? Though, in my defence, I’d like to point out that if you
hadn’t bought a bird of such boundless vulgarity, I wouldn’t have
needed to teach it little tricks. One gets tired of being cursed to
hell and back.’

This raised
another general laugh and Harry Caversham said feelingly, ‘Don’t I
know it!’

Jack Ingram
finally succeeded in making his unobtrusive way to Amberley’s side.
His eyes were anxious but he said pleasantly, ‘Don’t you think that
the joke has gone far enough? You can hardly intend to fight over a
parrot.’

‘Spoilsport,’
grinned Harry, blithely unaware of the dangerous undercurrents so
apparent to Mr Ingram. ‘I’ll stand for you, Philip. That feathered
limb of Satan has used me as target practice far too often!’

‘Thank you.’
Philip smiled mockingly at his adversary. ‘And your friends, my
lord?’

Amberley
glanced enquiringly at Mr Ingram. ‘Jack?’

‘Not me,’ came
the flat reply. ‘I’ll have nothing to do with anything so damned
silly.’

The Marquis
smiled faintly and then looked back at Philip.

‘Rockliffe will
act for me,’ he said with deceptive insouciance. ‘And now I come to
think of it, there’s a certain poetry in restricting our little
meeting to Broody’s more … intimate … acquaintances. You might even
bring him along to watch.’

*

Twenty minutes
later when Mr Ingram followed the Marquis out into the street, he
found him leaning with closed eyes against a stone pilaster and was
suddenly intensely worried.

‘Dominic – are
you all right?’

‘Yes.’ Slowly,
the grey-green eyes opened and focused. ‘How long do you think
before they start realising that it’s not the farce it
appears?’

‘Not long,’
came the forthright reply. ‘Tomorrow morning, perhaps.’

‘That’s what I
thought.’ With a visible effort, Amberley stepped away from the
wall and squared his shoulders. ‘Rock’s engaged with a party at the
Cocoa-Tree. Are you coming?’

‘Yes.’ Already
half-regretting his refusal to act as a second, Jack fell into step
beside his friend and said curtly, ‘You could have said no. Why
didn’t you?’

He had not
really expected an answer and was therefore surprised when the
Marquis said expressionlessly, ‘Because his lordship won’t rest
until he’s given the opportunity to let a little of my blood.’

‘Why, for God’s
sake?’

‘That doesn’t
matter.’

‘Not matter? Of
course it matters!’ There was a pause, and then, ‘You’re not going
to tell me, are you?’

‘No.’

Jack sighed and
then tried again. ‘But the fellow was drunk!’

‘Quite. So he’d
have pressed it.’

Enlightenment
dawned. ‘And you didn’t know what he might say next so you made a
joke of it. Wonderful!’ he said sardonically. ‘What if he kills
you?’

‘He won’t.’ The
light voice was totally indifferent. ‘Don’t judge him too harshly,
Jack. He thinks he has reason.’

Mr Ingram eyed
him with shrewd resignation.

‘You mean he’s
been listening to Robert Dacre. Do you mind if I say “I told you
so”?’

‘Can I stop
you? But that’s only a very small part of it.’ The Marquis paused
on the steps of the Cocoa-Tree and smiled vaguely. ‘If it was no
more than that, there wouldn’t be a problem. As it is, he’s learned
something that I rather stupidly never envisioned. And it’s brought
us to this.’

The tidings
that he was to act as second in a duel prompted the Duke to exhibit
faint signs of enthusiasm which revelation of its cause promptly
intensified.

‘How original,’
he said admiringly. ‘I really must remember to offer Lord Philip my
compliments for I doubt anyone ever fought over a parrot before.
Only think … you will be making history.’

A withering
remark sprang to Mr Ingram’s lips but, before he could utter it, he
caught sight of the expression in Rockliffe’s veiled gaze and
realised that it was unnecessary.

‘Just so,’
murmured his Grace suavely. And then, to Amberley, ‘I shall, of
course, be delighted to indulge you with an hour’s practise if you
feel your wrist to be in need of exercise.’

‘Thank you.’ A
shadow of amusement crept into the Marquis’s eyes. ‘But there will
be no need. We fight with pistols.’

There was a
moment’s incredulous silence and then his Grace said plaintively,
‘Your choice, of course. I might have known.’

‘You might
indeed.’

Rockliffe
closed his eyes and achieved a delicate shudder. ‘So crude.’

Mr Ingram gave
a reluctant laugh. ‘Disappointed, Rock?’

‘Scandalised.’
Allowing himself to recover, the Duke directed a gleaming glance at
the Marquis. ‘But perhaps our young cavalry officer is something of
a swordsman?’

‘That’s
enough,’ snapped Jack, the amusement vanishing from his face. ‘You
go too far.’

‘Frequently.’

The Marquis
rested his chin on his clasped hands and said, ‘Careful, Jack. Rock
is motivated by two aims – the first being to measure swords with
someone. And if he can’t provoke me, I daresay he’ll make do with
you.’

Mr Ingram eyed
the Duke irritably.

‘Isn’t one
fight enough for you? And, if and when I feel the need of a
blood-letting, I’ll send for a leech.’

Rockliffe
looked across at Amberley. ‘Foiled again. And my second goal?’

‘To hear all
the gruesome details.’

The dark eyes
glinted with lazy laughter. ‘And?’

‘Oh
hell
!’ the Marquis leaned back in his chair and dropped his
hands flat on the table. ‘All right. There was an … incident … at
Vauxhall last night which has compounded Lord Philip’s
long-standing dislike of me and resulted in him issuing his cartel.
As to the rest, I’m fighting because it didn’t seem I had much
choice – except in the proffered reason; hence the bloody parrot.
And I’m choosing pistols because they are quicker and less personal
than a yard of steel. I don’t want to make a meal of it. I simply
want to get it over and done with – preferably tomorrow. The early
morning will doubtless be out of the question since Lord Philip was
showing every sign of making it a heavy night – but you must know
of some secluded spot where we could meet at around noon.
Well?’