Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (30 page)

After an excruciating interval, a hearty burst of applause
heralded the termination of Amelia's offerings. Carlotta stood to
announce that, "We simply must call dear Miss Broadbent back again
later. And now, Miss Buchanan has agreed to sing some songs for us that
she learned whilst on the Peninsula with her late Papa, Colonel Sir
Armstrong Buchanan."

A pleased murmur rippled from the captives. Hawkhurst's brows
shot up, and he darted an incredulous glance to his grandfather. The
Admiral, eyes a'dance, winked. Buchanan escorted his sister to the
pianoforte. She seated herself, and her smile flickered around the
hopeful audience and lingered for an extra few seconds on Hawkhurst
before she began to play. Watching her, he was enchanted, yet could not
but be conscious of the stifling heat. Several of the ladies were
fanning themselves, and he saw the Reverend Dunning furtively raise a
handkerchief to his sweating brow. Euphemia sang three short songs and
concluded her performance to the accompaniment of a veritable roar of
applause. This time Hawkhurst was at her side before his aunt's rather
tardy approach and bent to murmur, "I was disappointed. I thought it
would be the ditty you performed for us last evening."

"Odious man," she murmured with her sweetest smile. "I shall
save that for the second half of our programme."

"There's more?" He groaned through his own smile as he led her
towards the advance of admirers, and, when the crowd closed about her,
he went on to open one of the terrace doors slightly.

"Considering your brother is so universally despised…"
murmured Euphemia, watching the guests mingle amiably about the buffet
table in the drawing room.

"Not by his own people," said Stephanie. "They have known him
all their lives. And they knew Blanche. Still, had this party been in
Town, I doubt one of them would have come."

Euphemia's eyes had turned again to Hawkhurst's dark head,
clearly visible above the throng, and, watching her, Stephanie saw the
softness come into her face and touched her elbow timidly. "Mia, you
rather like Gary, don't you."

It was a statement rather than a question. Euphemia met that
anxious regard and said in her forthright way, "If I should be so
fortunate as to win an offer, should you object, my dear?"

The big eyes blurred with tears. For a moment an embrace
appeared imminent, then Stephanie said a choked, "You cannot know how
this… eases my mind. If I can think he has found his own happiness I—it
would not be—"

A crash followed by a small scream terminated her incoherence.
Hawkhurst exchanged an alarmed glance with Coleridge, and both men ran
to the music room.

Mrs. Hughes-Dering, seated amid a circle of sycophants while
awaiting suitable refreshments to be carried to her, was stroking the
head of a large and unlovely latecomer. Coleridge uttered a yelp.
Hawkhurst swore under his breath. "Such a
dear
doggy!" gushed the grande dame. "He did not mean to knock over the
silly table, did you, precious? Hawkhurst, I'd no idea you were a dog
man."

"Logical enough, ma'am," he gritted. "Since I am not. Not with
respect to
that
filthy mongrel, at all events."
He advanced threateningly.

Assured that powerful forces were backing him, Sampson lolled
his tongue and laughed confidently.

"What are you going to do?" demanded the dowager in shrill
indignation.

"Put him out. At the very least!"

"Do not
dare
hurt the poor puppy!" Mrs.
Hughes-Dering bowed forward, flung out her arms, and crushed the head
of the "filthy mongrel" to her vast bosom.

"Er, Hawk…" Coleridge tugged uneasily at his cousin's sleeve.

Hawkhurst looked up. He was encircled by outraged faunophiles.
Fuming, he rasped, "I warn you, ma'am, does that brute stay in here—"

"If
he
goes," said Mrs. Hughes-Dering
regally, "then
I
go, sir!"

A glint of unholy joy lit Hawkhurst's eyes. But at the side of
the room, his Aunt Carlotta, pale and horrified, was tearing her
handkerchief to shreds. He sighed, bowed, and checked as his nostrils
were assailed by a fragrance very different from the ghastly concoction
Dora affected, but in its way as offensive since it was all but
overpowering in its intensity. Master Frittenden stood beside him, the
picture of cherubic innocence. And reeking.

"Good gracious!" gasped Mrs. Hughes-Dering, clapping
handkerchief to nostrils. "What is it?"

"Some scent I found," said the boy. "They keep it in the
plants in this funny old place. Would you like some, ma'am?" His hand
shot out, replete with unstoppered bottle.
Eau de Desiree
splashed. In the nick of time, Hawkhurst intervened, and the bottle was
diverted from its dastardly path. "I would suggest to you, my lad," he
murmured, soft but grim, "that you go and wash yourself."

"Well, I will not!" glowered Master Frittenden. "And that was
mine! Finders keepers!"

Hawkhurst, his palms itching, glanced to the boy's Grand-mama
and wondered how close a friend she was to Carlotta.

"Eustace!" cooed the lady. "Come. We will go home, for you are
tired, sweet angel."

The "sweet angel" turned and, beholding Sampson's tail, moved
his shoe purposefully. A strong hand clamped upon his shoulder. "Not in
this house," warned Hawkhurst, very low.

"
You
do not like dogs," hissed the boy
indignantly. "I heard you say—"

"He is not a dog, he is a pest. I remove pests, but I do not
suffer them to be trampled. Even by so charming a lad as yourself." And
Eustace was firmly propelled to his grandmother.

"Horrid little savage!" observed Mrs. Hughes-Dering in a stage
whisper.

"Why should
I
have to go?" shrieked
Eustace, reversing his stand. "They let a
servant
boy come in here with the Quality! Why should
I
be made to leave?"

Hawkhurst scowled his irritation, but Kent slipped from his
chair to back against the wall, his scared gaze whipping around the
circle of surprised eyes.

"He ain't a servant!" flashed Bryce indignantly.

"Don't dignify it by arguing with the brat!" muttered
Hawkhurst, irked.

"He's the red-haired lady's page," yowled Eustace, one ear now
firmly in his Grandmama's grip. "I know! The lackey told me! It's not
fair!"

"I'd fair the little monster!" rumbled the Admiral.

Hawkhurst stepped over the sprawled mound of Sampson and went
towards Kent. He all but collided with Mrs. Frittenden, who stopped
abruptly as she dragged her recalcitrant grandson from the room. For an
instant she stared down at the cringing page, then she marched onward,
Eustace's howls fading as the door was closed behind her.

People began to settle into their seats, and some inspired
soul was pounding out a rousing military march. Hawkhurst occupied the
chair Kent had vacated, pulled another beside him, pointed the boy into
it with a jab of one not-to-be-argued-with finger, and prepared to
endure the balance of the Musicale. It was destined to be a far shorter
balance than he anticipated.

Euphemia was the saviour at the pianoforte and, their spirits
lightened by enjoyment of the preceding little fiasco, the stirring
music, the bountiful buffet, and the festive bowls, the guests were now
in a very jolly mood. Regrettably, the uninvited guest caught the
spirit of the occasion. He heaved himself to his feet and, impervious
to the suspicious scrutiny of his reluctant host, began to lump around
the room, bestowing his head upon various knees and waiting patiently
for it to be caressed. Euphemia, finishing her piece, gave way to Miss
Broadbent. Hawkhurst nerved himself.

Whether the lady's first piercing note offended Sampson, or
whether he also decided to make a contribution, who shall say?
Certainly he jumped when the first high C was so nearly missed.
Wandering back to his protectress, he began to sniff interestedly about
her voluminous skirts. Hawkhurst, whose gaze had followed Euphemia, saw
shock in her eyes as they flashed him a warning. It was too late. By
the time he turned his head, Mrs. Hughes-Dering was vying with Miss
Broadbent. The twin shrieks were warning enough for Sampson. He ceased
his depredations, shot across the room, and left through the same
slightly open terrace door by which he had effected his entrance.

It was close to two o'clock. The last of the guests had long
since gone, family and friends had retired, and the lackeys were moving
softly about the great house, extinguishing candles. Hawkhurst,
standing on the terrace, gazed unseeingly at the drifting wreaths of
fog that were gradually obscuring the moon, and sighed deeply.

"I wonder," snorted the Admiral from behind him, "you can
stand here blithely relaxing, after so infamous an affair!"

Turning to him, a smile lighting his eyes, Hawkhurst said, "A
harsh judgment, sir, after Colley and Buck and I chased the misbegotten
hound halfway back to Chant House."

"Yes, and whooping with mirth every step," grinned the
Admiral. "You made your escape and left me the most unenviable task!"

They both burst into laughter. How long had it been, thought
Hawkhurst gratefully, since they had enjoyed such a rapport. "My poor
Aunt Carlotta! I only pray she will not remember her fall from grace,
in the morning! When we returned, and I heard her recounting that
barracks-room story of the Archbishop of Canterbury and the opera
dancer, I vow I could scarce believe my ears!"

"It's… it's a damned good thing…" the admiral gasped, wiping
his eyes, "you come when you did and intervened before the
end
of that story! I confess I was quite paralyzed!"

"No more than poor Carlotta," chuckled Hawkhurst. "And I
thought Dora would faint! I've not yet been able to come at how it
happened, sir. Did old Parsley accidentally give Dora's Madeira to Aunt
Carlotta?"

"No, no. Everyone was fussing around Monica Hughes-Dering, and
poor Lottie was so shattered, she snatched up the nearest glass and
gulped down the contents!" He lapsed into another shout of laughter and
went on breathlessly, "The blasted glass was… full! Blister me, if I
ever saw a woman change so! One thing, the Hughes-Dering woman was so
diverted she… she quite forgot her own… disaster. Lord! What a night!
Haven't laughed so much in years, nor was I the only one! Your aunt's
Musicale will go down in history, my boy!" Hawkhurst groaned, and the
Admiral added, "Never did dream when I left Town I should so enjoy
myself. Between my little Stephanie blossoming so, and this infamous
party, and that purely delicious Buchanan girl." His eyes very keen, he
said, "Speaking of whom, what d'ye intend to do?"

How like the old gentleman to attack when he was completely
off guard! Gathering his forces, Hawkhurst put up his brows and said
mildly, "Sir… ?"

"Don't fence with me, boy! You know what I mean. She's one in
a million. Not many men get such a second chance. Though she's totally
different to—to Blanche."

Hawkhurst turned his face a little away. "Yes. She most
assuredly is."

"Have you approached her brother?"

"No, sir."

"If you do not, you're a damned fool! And do not tell me she's
averse to you. Last evening she charmed me into telling her of my
friendship with Nelson, and chattered so knowledgeably of Constable's
genius I nigh forgot how curst furious I was with my clod of a
grandson. By heaven! Were I only thirty years younger, I'd give you a
run for your money, and so I tell you!"

Her cloak gathered about her, Euphemia paused in the doorway
and drew back into the darkened library. She had hoped for a moment
alone with Hawkhurst, but the Admiral's words had reached her ears, and
she waited, listening hopefully.

"I… think not, sir," smiled Hawkhurst. "And it is very cold.
Perhaps—"

"What in the name of thunder d'you mean?" demanded Wetherby,
with a swift resurgence of the anger that had been banished by the
day's events. "I'll have you know, sir, that I was not shunned by the
fair sex in m'youth! I may not have won myself the notoriety you've
managed to achieve but, if you fancy yourself able to have outshone me
in my prime, I'll be—"

"I had no such thought, sir," Hawkhurst put in quietly. "I
merely meant that I would not have vied with you for the lady. I have
no wish to remarry. Now—or ever."

Euphemia experienced a sudden chill that came from neither
frost nor fog but did not retreat.

The Admiral barked, "Why?"

"Once was enough."

"What nonsense talk is that? You've an obligation to your name
and to all who have carried the names of Thorndyke and Hawkhurst before
you! You
must
have an heir!"

"Coleridge is my heir, sir."

"That popinjay? Good God! Did you see those damnable shirt
points? And the way he was mooning over the Broadbent girl this
afternoon? And her fairly slathering for young Buchanan, the hussy!"

"Sir," said Hawkhurst patiently, "Colley is—"

"Oh, the devil fly away with Colley!" The old gentleman took
another pace towards his grandson and, with hands tight-clasped behind
him, growled, "On the day you wed Euphemia Buchanan, I will abandon my
plans to have the management of your estates taken from you."

In the shadows, Euphemia gave a little gasp.

Hawkhurst said slowly, "That day will never dawn, sir."

"I may be growing old," rasped the Admiral. "But I am not
quite blind as yet. I saw the way you looked at her on the stairs this
morning. Aye, and at that fiasco this afternoon. You're fairly crazy
for the girl!"

Hawkhurst was very still through a short pause. Then, "Very
well, sir," he drawled. "Since you force the issue, I find the lady
most attractive. But not as my wife."

"
What
? Now damn your eyes! Have you the
unmitigated gall to expect that poised, charming, delightful lady of
quality will become another of your harem of lightskirts?"