Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (29 page)

"Not at all," he said in a polite, if strained, tone. "She is
a… a pleasant girl and most sweetly-natured."

"Yes. And you must admit my meddling has been to some purpose.
I know it is presumptuous to say, but she
is
prettier with her hair dressed so. Do you not agree?"

"What? Oh, I suppose so." Desperate to change the subject, he
swung around. "
Must
we go to that blasted Musicale
this afternoon?"

"I fear we must, or Lady Bryce will be very hurt." She stood
and crossed to his side, saying contritely, "I am really sorry, love.
Because I have found such a great joy here, I completely forgot what a
total bore it must be for—"

"You found…
what
?" He gripped her
shoulders, scanning her face intently. "Do you refer to this beautiful
estate? Or your new friends? Or—" And he stopped, astounded by the
droop of her lashes, and the blush that strained her cheeks. "Good…
God!
Hawkhurst
?"

She nodded and admitted with a shy smile, "Your foolish
sister, who was so sure she would know her 'gentil and strong' love at
first sight. Whereas it was, in fact, almost two weeks before she knew
that her heart was given at last."

Stunned, Buchanan released her. "Hawkhurst!" he muttered. "Of
all the men you might have had!"

Anxiety seized Euphemia at this, for she loved him dearly,
and, if he really objected, it would be dreadful. "Are you terribly
shocked, dearest? He is not what people say of him, I know it, for I
could not love such a man."

"Has he offered?"

"Of course not! And would never be so wanting for manners, as
to do so without first obtaining your approval."

She had the oddest impression that Simon winced, but in the
next second he was directing his boyish grin at her and asking, "And if
I refused it, should you give him up?"

"I would be… very grieved," she evaded worriedly. "But,
dearest, you do not really
despise
him, do you?"

He sighed and, sitting down in the windowseat, stretched out
his legs and stared at his boots. "No. In fact, I cannot help but be
drawn to the fellow. But your way with him would not be easy, you know.
People would say—" He gave a little snort of cynicism and, to her utter
bewilderment, suddenly burst into a shout of laughter. "What strange
tricks Fate plays on us," he said breathlessly, "does she not?"

Euphemia agreed readily, vastly relieved that he had taken it
so well, and far more willing to endure his raillery than his anger.

Not until much later did she realize what it was that her
brother had actually found so bitterly humorous.

By three o'clock, the music room was commencing to be
comfortably filled. Outside the weather was hazy and frigid, to
compensate for which Lady Bryce had ordered the fires at each end of
the large room banked high, and between the warmth, the congenial
company, and the several mild flirtations that were under way, the room
fairly hummed with lighthearted talk and laughter.

Superb in a robe of ecru lace over blond satin, Carlotta
received her guests in the great hall, her nephew beside her. She was
aglow with delight at so splendid a turnout in spite of the inclement
weather and almost equally pleased by Hawkhurst's appearance. There was
no denying the boy was blessed with a splendid physique: his
long-tailed, bottle-green jacket was as if moulded to those broad
shoulders; the pale green and cream stripes of his waistcoat could
offend none; his cravat, which an awed Colley had advised her was known
as the
trône d'amour
, had won several admiring
glances from the gentlemen; and those magnificent legs were set off to
admiration by pantaloons that might allow him to sit down, were he
cautious.

The Reverend James Dunning and his wife passed into the music
room, to be followed by the Taylor Mannerings and their pretty
daughter, Margaret, whom Carlotta had long known to cherish a
tendre
for Hawk. Incredible as it seemed, almost all those invited had
arrived, and when Lord and Lady Paragoy drove up with their party, it
wanted only the presence of Mrs. Hughes-Dering to complete Carlotta's
triumph.

Pending the arrival of that grande dame, Mr. Ponsonby and his
satellites offered hot rum to the gentlemen and hot mulled wine or
cider to the ladies. Accepting a glass of wine from the tray, Euphemia
declined either cake or biscuit and, turning to the Admiral, murmured
that Lady Bryce must be pleased that so many had come, despite the cold.

"They came to see you, of course," he grinned, patting her
hand. "As did I."

"Oh, what a rasper!" she teased and, when his bark of laughter
had died down, added, "You meant from the start to attend this affair
and were probably instrumental in persuading Mrs. Hughes-Dering to
come. You want to help Hawkhurst. Come, admit it."

He chuckled. "I'll admit I have no love for musicales, and
normally would have set me sails and upped anchor for Timbuctoo. But
since I'd to come on—" he frowned suddenly, "—on another matter, it
seemed a good opportunity to try and—Oh, devil take the woman! Why did
she invite That Quack?"

Dr. Archer came up to introduce his sister. He bowed over
Euphemia's hand and shot a look of belligerent defiance at the Admiral.
The stare he received in return dripped ice and was even more defiant,
being aided by the magnifying lens of a quizzing glass. Miss Archer, a
tall, angular spinster, rested shrewd eyes upon Miss Buchanan, took in
her glowing good-looks, her frank gaze and humourous mouth,
complimented her upon her gown of pale amber crepe trimmed with French
beads, and moved on, to advise her brother
sotto voce
that she agreed, "The girl is perfect for Gary."

Coleridge brought over young Ensign Dunning. An awed Ivor St.
Alaban joined them, and Euphemia was quite surrounded by gentlemen when
at length Mrs. Hughes-Dering made her entrance.

That this entrance should be solitary was dictated by the
dimensions of the doorway. Unlike the dining and drawing room, the
music room boasted only a single door, and Mrs. Hughes-Dering was so
vastly fat that no other person could possibly have traversed it beside
her. Euphemia blinked at an enormous royal-blue velvet robe over a slip
of only slightly paler blue silk and surmounted by a vast turban, the
feathers of which shot out to the sides instead of in the customary
erect style. Hawkhurst followed this apparition and directed a glance
at Euphemia, his eyes gleaming in response to the astonishment in hers.
He drew up a large chair for his charge and, having eased her onto it,
remained close by as various of her cronies were graciously received.
Euphemia was reminded of nothing so much as her governess telling her
of the audiences King

Henry VIII had conducted at Hampton Court and was hard pressed
to keep her features sober when Wetherby took her over to make her
curtsey to this tyrant of the
ton
. She
straightened to find herself transfixed by a pair of beady eyes almost
concealed by rolls of fat and, realizing that the small mouth was
smiling, returned the smile. "Armstrong Buchanan's gel, eh?" The voice
was nasal and high-pitched. "My late husband was well acquainted with
your father, m'dear. Though he was Navy. Great friend of Wetherby's."
She directed a chill stare at Hawkhurst and added bodingly, "… else I
would
not
be here."

"But, how charming…" said Euphemia. Mrs. Hughes-Dering's beady
eyes narrowed to slits, even as Hawkhurst's widened and began to dance
with mirth. "… that you knew my dear Papa," Euphemia went on smoothly.
"You must meet my brother, ma'am. Simon, how pleased you will be. Mrs.
Hughes-Dering was a friend of my father."

Ever gallant, Buchanan made his bow and, at once winning the
approval of the fearsome lady, enabled Euphemia to be borne off by a
quietly hilarious Hawkhurst. "Rascal!" he chuckled, as he conducted her
to a chair. "Must you always twist the tails of tigers?"

"It is one of my favourite diversions," she breathed.

Amelia Broadbent, all virginal purity in white velvet and blue
ribands, was presented to Euphemia, but Amelia had fixed her soulful
gaze upon Sir Simon, and her conversation, though polite, was vague.
That the handsome young Lieutenant was wed to some Great Beauty, she
was well aware, but he was not under the cat's foot whilst in
Wiltshire, and a flirtation with so admirable a gentleman must help her
standing enormously. Her hopes rose as she noted that Stephanie
Hawkhurst was seated far to the rear of the room, beside the Dunnings.
Stephanie wore a gown of soft cream wool trimmed with a fur collar and
cuffs, with a fur band holding back her curls. The odious girl seemed
prettier than ever, but Mildred Dunning was a compulsive talker, and
with luck she'd be trapped there all afternoon.

Mrs. Hughes-Dering concluded her audiences, and the Musicale
began. Lady Bryce was the first musician and, being also remarkably
talented, enchanted the assemblage with a melodious work by the late
young Austrian, Mr. Mozart. Euphemia was delighted by this choice and
smiled as she caught her brother's eye. Buchanan, both a music lover
and an admirer of Mozart, smiled back at her, but he was not happy. In
company with his host, he disliked crowded and overheated rooms, and
his discomfort was not helped by his preoccupation with his problems,
his spirits swinging from delirious happiness at the prospect of a life
with Stephanie to crushing guilt that this must cause her to be
disgraced. He was seated in close proximity to a cold-eyed and
uncommunicative lady named Mrs. Frittenden, who had brought along her
beautiful but sulky little grandson. The child, seated next to Simon,
was fidgety and engaged in a continuous, if subdued, whining that he
wanted "another cake!" Miss Broadbent's eyelashes were an additional
trial, fluttering at him so endlessly that he began to wonder why they
did not alleviate the rising temperature.

Hawkhurst rose at last to escort his aunt from the harp amid
polite applause, and the next item offered for the delectation of the
guests was the voice of Miss Broadbent. Coleridge ushered Amelia and
her Mama to the pianoforte, Mrs. Broadbent seating herself, and Amelia
standing, looking very pretty and demure as she prepared to sing.

"If you was to ask me," whispered Archer into Euphemia's right
ear, "they spelled 'pianoforte' wrong. Should've transposed the 'i' and
the 'a.' See if you don't agree after this gem!"

"Shame on you, sir!" she scolded with a twinkle.

"Now God help us all!" whispered the Admiral into her left ear.

Thus doubly warned, she nerved herself.

Through the short pause as Mrs. Broadbent fastidiously
arranged her music, Hawkhurst moved back to his seat. He dropped one
hand lightly upon a chair back in passing, only to have it grasped by
small, sticky fingers. His downward glance encountered a pair of
rebellious grey eyes and the meaningful jerk of a curly golden head. He
bent lower and, being apprised of the boy's needs, looked enquiringly
to Mrs. Frittenden. She beamed upon him thankfully. Buchanan also
beamed upon him thankfully. Well, he thought, at least it would remove
him from the piercing shrieks that were sure to emanate from Miss
Broadbent. He led Master Frittenden from the room, noting that to
endure the contact of a small boy's hand was become not quite so
harrowing since Kent had arrived in Dominer.

Once in the hall, the child asked, "Do you like all that din,
sir?" Hawkhurst beckoned to a hovering lackey and evaded this rudeness
by pointing out that many people were fond of singing. "Well, I'm not!"
his charge said bluntly. "I think it awful stuff. I did not want to
come here, and I don't like it. I want something to eat. Do they not
got food in this fudsy old place?"

Hawkhurst surveyed the little darling without rapture and
instructed the lackey to 'Take this upstairs, and thence to the kitchen
where it may vex Mrs. Henderson. And convey to her my apologies—and
thanks."

Not unaware he had been dealt with in a disparaging fashion,
Master Frittenden opened his mouth to retort, encountered a minatory
stare, and thought better of it. The lackey bowed, pierced Master
Frittenden with a revolted eye, and ushered him towards the stairs.

Hawkhurst turned to find Ponsonby at his elbow, enquiring if
everything was proceeding satisfactorily. "Unfortunately," sighed the
master of the house. "I wonder how the deuce my aunt got so many of 'em
to brave my lair."

"Perhaps Lord Wetherby took a hand, sir," said the butler
woodenly. "He appears eager for the local people to meet the… er,
Buchanans."

Hawkhurst bent a thoughtful gaze on his devoted retainer, had
the satisfaction of seeing the butler's cheeks redden, and advised him
that he might be about his business. Somewhat flustered, Ponsonby bowed
and departed.

Hawkhurst was about to return to the apparently expiring Miss
Broadbent when he discerned a movement amongst the dimness that
screened Adonis. A faint quirk tugged at his lips. "Kent!" The movement
ceased. "Kent!" he repeated. The boy crawled from his place of
concealment and came forward, head down and steps dragging, and, having
stopped before the tall man, waited. "Do you like music?" asked
Hawkhurst. The small fair head nodded, the eyes flashed up shyly, then
were lowered again. Hawkhurst extended an inviting hand. Kent looked
from it to the smiling face above him, then drew back. "I am telling
you that it is permitted," said Hawkhurst quietly, "if you behave."
Kent looked up again and, mindful of the gentle cautioning of his
goddess against pushing himself, backed away and shook his head.
Hawkhurst frowned, and at once a scared expression crept into the thin
face, the right arm began to lift protectively. "Do… not… dare…"
breathed Hawkhurst. The arm was lowered. A whimsical grin suddenly
illumined Kent's features, and he ran to clutch the man's hand with
both his own, head thrown back, and that soundless laugh as clear as
though it echoed through the hall. Hawkhurst chuckled and rumpled the
thick, straight hair, then took the boy quietly into the music room and
installed him in a vacant chair, half-hidden under a potted palm near
the door.