Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 01] - Some Brief Folly (31 page)

"Not if she don't want to, of course. But you'll certainly not
blame me for asking—"

"B-b-blame… you?" sputtered Wetherby. "
Blame
you, sir? Were I her brother and you dared to speak to her in such
dastardly fashion—I'd not
blame
you! By God, I'd
have your miserable heart out! You are a rogue is what you are! An
unmitigated rogue! A womanizing gamester, sir! Well, I'm done with you!
I leave here first thing in the morning!" He started away, then swung
back, so suddenly that he almost surprised the wistfulness in his
grandson's eyes. "And, furthermore," he raged, shaking his fist under
Hawkhurst's firm chin, "when Sir Simon calls you out—as I hope to
heaven he does!—I'll be more than half minded to act as his second!
Goodnight, sir! And do you have the dreams you deserve, you'll not
sleep an instant!" He stamped into the house, fairly snorting his
wrath. And left behind him a man who smiled sadly at the last rather
jumbled denunciation, then stood with head bowed, heedless of the cold
and the mists that drifted in ever-deepening clouds about him.

It was several minutes before Hawkhurst detected something
sweeter than the clammy scent of the fog, so that the hand which rested
upon the balustrade tightened spasmodically. "You are up late, ma'am,"
he observed, not turning towards her.

Euphemia stepped a little closer. "The terrace doors were
open." She saw him tense and went on, "I overheard your conversation
with Lord Wetherby."

Hawkhurst was silent.

"Well," she said. "I am waiting."

He glanced at her. The hood of her pelisse framed her face
with the richness of ermine. Even in the darkness he could see the wide
fearless eyes, the intrepid tilt of the chin, and he echoed blankly,
"Waiting… ?"

"I understand that there is something you intend to ask me."

For a moment he was struck dumb. Then, making a swift
recovery, he drawled, "You've excellent ears, ma'am. Very well. I find
you most charming, and I believe you may not be averse to me. Will you
be my love? For a while at least?" And taut at such arrogant
effrontery, he waited for her to slap him.

"Dear, oh dear!" sighed Euphemia, the hood falling back as she
shook her head reprovingly. "That was quite paltry, Garret. You shall
have to do a great deal better." He moved back, and she could have
laughed aloud at his bewildered expression. "You are supposed to seize
me in your arms… like this… and crush me to your heart." She tightened
her arms about him although he made no move to return her embrace, if
anything leaning slightly away. "And," she said, her voice beginning to
tremble very slightly with the fear that her heart might have misled
her, "… smother me with kisses." And standing on her toes, she raised
her face invitingly.

He stared down at her, eyes almost glazed with astonishment.
Euphemia allowed her lashes to droop and her head to fall back a
little. It was too much. She felt him tremble, and with a groan he
crushed her to him indeed. His lips claimed her own in a hard, long
kiss. A blaze of joy and desire swept her, and she returned his embrace
until she was breathless and dizzied. Murmuring endearments, Hawkhurst
kissed her closed eyelids, her cheek, her throat, and she lay in his
arms, enraptured, conscious only of the wish that this moment might
last forever. But suddenly he checked, all but pushed her away, and
gasped out, "God forgive me! I should be horsewhipped!"

Swaying and breathless, she took his arm. "Why? For loving me?"

"I love 'em all," he said harshly. "Go, for lord's sake! Get
to your bed. And… let me be!"

"I will not! Hawk, I'm not one of your missish simpering girls
straight from the schoolroom. I know what I want! You love me! And I—"

He put a hand across her lips, his narrowed eyes glinting down
at her. "Do not! Ah, do not! Don't you understand? Since Blanche died,
I have been ostracized. I was damned for her death and for… for my son.
I
hated
those who dared think that of me! I hated
her—for what she was. Most of all, I hated myself for my utter folly in
having married a woman I could neither love nor respect.
God
,
what folly!"

"Horace says," she faltered, as his hand was removed, "
'mingle some brief folly with your wisdom.' " And remembering the rest
of the quotation, did not complete it.

" 'To forget it in due place is sweet,' " he finished
bitterly. "But Horace was wrong—or my own folly far from brief. I
cannot escape what has happened. I
cannot
forget!
And the world would not let me, even if it were possible."

Still clinging to his arm, she moved closer and said huskily,
"I will make you forget her, darling, I—"

"You don't know what you are saying!" He took her by the
shoulders, shaking her slightly even as his yearning eyes devoured her
upturned face. "Look at yourself! Lovely, courageous, sought after,
admired. And respected. Girl, girl! Don't you know what
I
would bring you to? Don't you know how cruel the world can be? How
people can snipe and sneer and cut you to shreds with their polite
savagery? I've wrecked my own life, so be it. But do you think I would
allow you to wreck yours? No! Marry someone clean and decent and looked
up to. God knows you've the chance for the best of 'em all!"

He meant Leith, of course. But, "I have
found
the best of them all," she said doggedly. "And I don't care what people
say of you, my love. No—" She reached up, taking his drawn face between
her hands and turning his averted head towards her again. "Do not look
away. Listen to me. No matter what anyone says, you were
not
responsible for that accident. What happened between you and Max Gains,
I do not know, but I know that I love you and that I could not love an
evil man. You pretend to be cold and cynical and base, when you are in
fact warm and kind and honourable. Oh, Garret, I—"

"Be still!" He wrenched away with a cry in which pain and
grief were mixed, and with a vehemence that struck dread into her
heart. "Little fool! You are blinded by gratitude because I was
fortunate enough to be of help when you needed it. Just now you heard
my grandfather call me a womanizer… a gamester. Well, I am! And worse!
Do you know how many men would shoot me, did they dare to face me? You
think I am
not
a rake? My God! You must be blind!"

"You were lonely; grieving. But—"

"But…
it is… done
! Regardless of why, my
reputation was lived up to! I
became
what they
said of me, and I cannot change."

"You
can
! You never really
were
what they said! And you did not become a murderer! If the women came
here, it was because they wished to. You have
never
been named in connection with an unwed lady of quality, and—"

"And never shall be!" he flared, again facing her. "Let my
having helped you—saved the boy, if you will—be
something
to which I can cling with pride. Do not tempt me into dragging your
name through the dirt along with my own! What your fine brother would
say, I cannot—"

"Buchanan knows," she interposed softly.

He gave a gasp and stared at her in mute disbelief, then
rasped, "And does he also know I am a gambler, ma'am? Does he know I
have gone through sixty thousand pounds in the last three years?
Twenty-five thousand in these last few months? No, he does not! Do not
be hoodwinked, Mia. Those people came here today out of respect for my
grandfather, out of pity for my poor aunt, perhaps. They know—and will
never let me forget—that, because of me, Blanche is dead. No matter
what she was, she is dead. And… my son…" His voice broke at last, and
he jerked his head away.

"I will give you more sons," she breathed, somehow overcoming
her dismay at the news of those unbelievable losses at the tables.

He shuddered, then turned his head and looked down at her, his
eyes full of pain and helpless longing. Then, he bent and kissed her,
very gently this time, a loving kiss, but having in it an element of
farewell that terrified her. "My 'small candle,' " he murmured softly.
"Perfect, pure, and indeed, Unattainable. No, my very dear, I'll not
add
you
to my list of follies."

"Even knowing you will… break my heart?" she said, tremblingly
aware that he was too strong for her, that at last she had met the man
she could not bend to her own will.

He nodded. "Better a broken heart than a lifetime of regret."
And he left her standing there, blinded by her tears.

The intentions of both Admiral Lord Wetherby and the Buchanans
to leave Dominer the following morning were foiled. During the night
the fog had thickened, closing down like a dense blanket over southern
England and making a journey of any length out of the question.
Euphemia awoke feeling listless and exhausted, for much of the night
had been passed in pacing the floor and fighting useless tears. She had
waited too long for Hawk to doubt her choice and thus through the hours
of darkness had alternated between admiration for his unselfishness and
rage that he must be so stupidly proud. By morning, she had decided
that, if there was no other course, she would be like Charlotte Hilby,
who pursued the man she loved with such quiet but unrelenting
persistence that even those who had been initially most opposed to the
match were now sighing that they wished Vaille would marry her and be
done with it!

Aided by a sympathetic Ellie, Euphemia repaired the ravages of
her tears so successfully that, when she entered Kent's room, the boy
thought her as lovely as ever. He greeted her with the shy anxiety he
had shown since she had warned him against imposing on the Hawkhurst
family, but his love for her was unchanged, and he listened attentively
as she explained that their departure must be delayed until the fog
lifted. "Hopefully, though, we will be able to get away later in the
morning," she said, with hollow cheerfulness. His small face fell, and
touching the pale hair, she said softly, "You like it here, don't you?"

He ran for his tablet and pencil and, sitting on the bed
beside her, printed with painstaking care, "Kent loves him." Euphemia's
eyes stung. She had to fight to keep her voice steady as she asked,
"Mr. Hawkhurst?" He nodded, his face sad. "He saved your life," she
said, blinking rapidly. "He is a—a brave and good man. Why, how nicely
you have written that. Have you been practicing?"

He brightened and, taking up his pencil again, wrote proudly,
"He helpt me."

"Mr. Hawkhurst?" she asked, and the careful pencil spelled
out, "Sumtimes. But mostly the Admirable."

"How very kind of Lord Wetherby. We shall thank him before we
leave, though I believe he plans to journey with us, for part of the
way, at least. I will ask Ellie to come and help pack your things. Is
there anything being washed today? We must not—" She checked as the boy
held up one hand in the oddly assured manner that sometimes
characterized him. He darted away but returned, beaming mischievously,
to lift her hands one at a time and place them over her eyes. Euphemia
waited, and in a moment something was laid across her knees, and her
hands were pulled down.

An old stuffed toy had been presented, a bear, once white, but
now grubby from much handling, and with one ear missing, the damage
covered with a faded blue patch. One of the servants must have given it
to the boy. Watching his bright expectant face, Euphemia took up the
bear, said that he looked a splendid old warrior and saw at once the
words must have been inspired, so brilliant was the smile he turned
upon her. Touched because he was so grateful for the smallest
manifestation of kindness, she hugged him and left him gathering
together his few possessions.

In the corridor, Admiral Wetherby turned from closing
Carlotta's door and raised a wanting hand. "Spare yourself, my dear.
Lady Bryce indulges in an orgy of repentance. I tried in vain to
convince her it was the party of the season. You do but waste your
time."

She commended him for his efforts, but said she must try, and
went in to see the poor sinner. Wetherby had been right, however, and
for half an hour she strove to no effort. While Dora laid cold rags
across her aching brow, and Euphemia did everything she might to
console her, Carlotta wallowed in her misery and degradation. Not until
the door opened to admit Hawkhurst's tall figure was any progress made.
With his eyes tired and his cool boredom more marked than usual, he
said, "For pity's sake, Aunt, do stop being such a henwit. After a life
of total abstention, you must judge God harsh indeed does

He condemn you to hellfire for one small error at a moment of
great stress!"

"Garret!" she cried, shocked out of her wailings. "Such
language in front of Miss Buchanan!"

He darted an oblique glance at Euphemia, who had risen at his
entrance and moved to the window. "The lady has bivouacked with an
army," he said dryly. "I doubt she's heard a deal worse than that. And,
as for you, love, the
ton
may enjoy a triumph,
but they adore a failure. You're likely being sympathized with
throughout Wiltshire at this very moment."

"And… laughed at!" she gulped, the tears starting again.

"Perhaps. But they were vastly diverted. Furthermore, I've
often had a suspicion Monica Hughes-Dering is inclined to favour the
decanter. Last evening she positively mellowed and left having called
me 'dear boy,' a term she's not used to me in years."

Carlotta put aside the wet rag and sat bolt upright, her eyes
brightening. "She did, Garret?"

"She did. So you may celebrate not only the most entertaining
party held in the county all year, but the apparent relenting, to some
extent at least, of one of my severest critics." He turned from his
aunt to Euphemia and, with features composed and emotions chaotic,
enquired, "I trust you slept well, Miss Buchanan? I fear your brother
will not choose to travel in this murk, however. It would seem you are
condemned to remain with us for another day."