Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 05] - Nanette (21 page)

It was borne in upon the stricken Harry that the old fellow
was deeply disturbed, wherefore he put his own sorrow aside and
enquired, "Whatever did my Sergeant say to so upset you? Something
about Spain, was it?"

"Ar. He says… as they Spanishers eat… " He glanced around
furtively. "Eat—
live worms'
. Ugh! Horrid! Why
should 'ee tell me such a ugly whisker?"

"I rather fancy Sergeant Anderson meant eels. And some of our
customs seem just as odd to them, y'know, Mr. Chatham."

An awed countenance was upraised, and horrified eyes searched
his face. "Ye bean't saying as it's
true
?" Harry
nodded. "Oh… my Lor'! I wish as how ye hadn't of told me! Live… eels!
Wait'll I tell
that'n
to Jarge Brown!" He gave a
whooping cackle of anticipation, slapped his knee, then cherished it
repentantly. "Good day t'ye, sir. And if your Sergeant comes up wi' Mr.
Redmond afore—"

Harry, who had started drearily away, tensed and swung about.
"
What
did you say?"

"Dang me gizzard!" Chatham quavered wrathfully. "Y'don't got
no call t'beller an' roar an' make me jump nigh outta me skin! Ain't I
been a'telling and a'telling of 'ee all this time as how your
Sergeant's lost his gentleman?"

"Y-Yes… but—I heard… there was a duel."

"Ar. Well there was. That's what comes o' all that book
leaning d'ye see? As I says to your Sergeant, y'can't hardly blame they
Frenchies fer bein' a mite put out and running your brother outta
Brittany that way! I'd be—" He stopped, cringing back with a cry of
fear as Harry ran to grasp his arm, his face convulsed. "Mr.
Chatham—what are you saying? Sergeant Anderson was looking for—
my
brother? Today
? Mitchell is—is safely
home
?"

Well—glory! Ain't I been a'telling and a'telling—" The old man
checked and said incredulously, "S" Harry! Ye're a'piping o' yer eye
again!"

"Yes!" gulped Harry, dragging a muddy hand across his
glistening but joyous eyes. "I am, by God!"

"How do you do?" Lady Nerina Tawnish, clad in a gown of ivory
jaconet muslin, her golden curls clustering delightfully beside each
shell-like ear, a trace of shock in eyes as blue as Spanish skies in
summertime, extended one hand. Shaking those slender fingers gingerly,
Harry was horribly aware of Mr. Hawthorne's frayed old coat and shabby
shoes. "I am honoured to meet you, my lady," he said uneasily and
flashing a glance at Nanette, saw her brows raised and dimples lurking
about her mouth. "Good gracious, Harry," she laughed. "Whatever
happened to your clothes? You look dreadful!"

"I fear I do," he said wryly. "And you are most kind to
receive me in my—er, tatters, ma'am."

"No, but I think it splendid," the Beauty said earnestly. She
disposed herself upon the sofa in this cozy parlour and motioned to
Harry to sit down. "Nanette told me how gallantly you volunteered to
escort her. I collect you purchased old clothes lest you attract
attention. And, indeed, a Dandy
would
call notice
to my poor friend in her—her desperate flight."

Nanette went into a squeal of laughter. "
Dandy
?"

Evaluating the benefits of strangulation, Harry smiled tautly
and admitted he had seldom been farther from that species. "Indeed, I
wonder the proprietor allowed me to enter. Had it not been for his good
wife, I doubt I'd have been shown his boot, rather!"

"Another victim of your charm?" Nanette shook her head at him
and, noting the glint in his eyes, added roguishly, " 'Ware our
Captain, dearest! He's a rascal with the ladies… when he's not boxing
their ears!"

Lady Nerina's lovely mouth dropped open. Her eyes became like
saucers, and in pretty dismay she gasped, "He… he never did?
Your
ears, love?"

"Oh… gad . . !" groaned Harry.

"Hard!" his tormentor confirmed, sparkling with mirth. "And
threw me in the river, then made me take off my clothes, and—"

"Aaah…" moaned Nerina. One hand lifted to her temple, her eyes
half-closed and her handkerchief flapped feebly.

"Pay her no heed, ma'am!" Harry leapt to take up that scrap of
fine cambric and lace and fan her with it frenziedly. "She is a naughty
scamp, and—"

"A naughty… scamp…" echoed my lady faintly. And having scanned
the pleasant face above her with eyes that, hidden behind her lashes,
were yet keen enough to discern the familiar look of adoration, she
relented sufficiently to acknowledge that it was a great comfort to her
to know her dearest friend was guarded by an officer and a gentleman.
"Although—" she went on, struck by an afterthought, "Papa has always
held that fighting is wicked…"

"Yes, I know," Nanette put in. "But—Sir Harry fought with
Wellington."

This observation carried little weight with the Beauty, who
shook her lovely head and remarked primly that Papa held Wellington "to
be a—Rake!"

Harry's attempts to vindicate his commander were to no avail;
my Lady embarked upon a softly spoken but lengthily confused
denunciation of wars, military men in general, and the Duke in
particular, that brought a gleam of mirth to Nanette's mischievous eyes
and only concluded when Harry was able to insert a gentle, "I doubt we
could have prevailed upon Bonaparte with reason, ma'am, and had we lost
the war—"

"Oh, I should not have liked
that
!"
Nerina exclaimed, "For then we would have even more Frenchmen in
England than we have now. And I do so dislike French food!"

Harry did not comment on this scintillating observation,
perfectly content to look at her, and managing to ignore the twitch
beside Nanette's lips.

Warming to her subject, Nerina resumed, "There are those, you
know, who hold it superior to our own, which I think downright
treasonable when you think that they eat the legs of slimy frogs!
And
put intoxicating spirits into their sauces! I—" She stopped, her eyes
widening and one hand flying to her paling cheek. "Oh! what a
ninnyhammer I am! And you—half-French! Nanette, I
do
beg your pardon!"

With a twinkling glance at Harry, her friend leaned to hug
her, but Nerina refused to be comforted. "You see how it is! I say
silly things sometimes." She spread her hands and, proceeding from
frying pan to fire, said regretfully, "I wish I could be more like you,
Nannette. It is only that I am unaccustomed to being deceitful."

As hopelessly dazzled as he was, Harry could not resist
turning a speaking look on the indignant Nanette. Then he murmured
consolingly, "Of course you are, dear Lady. Who could expect you to be
experienced at such tricks?"

Nanette gasped audibly. Nerina, however, bestowed a
heart-stopping smile upon Harry, then turned to her friend. "Dearest—
please
come back with me! I know how miserable your life was, but only
think—if ever the truth should leak out, you would be ruined…
Ruined
!"

"Well, it shall not leak out," said Nanette firmly. "Who would
recognize me in this frightful gown? And—" she smiled sweetly at Harry.
"In such unsavoury company."

He acknowledged the hit with a grin and a slight lift of the
hand. Nerina, however, apparently found nothing unwarranted in the
remark and sighed, "I suppose you are right. But—what if your
papa
should ask me questions?
Oh
! I should faint dead
away! I know I should!"

"You wouldn't give me away?" Nanette asked anxiously. "But you
are so brave, Nerina. Did you not come and warn me?"

"Yes, that is true." Those breathtaking eyes returned to
Harry. "It was so difficult, sir, to overcome my moral scruples and
come here, for I have been properly instructed from my cradle, though
you might not think so to see me thus—practically alone. Whatever Papa
would say, I dare not guess!"

Papa, thought Harry dreamily, could only say that her voice
was music; her face and figure sublime; that she was beyond words
adorable… She should be guarded like some national treasure or perfect
work of art… He was shocked to realize he was sighing like a callow
youth and said hurriedly, "Why, my lady, I am sure you could do nothing
to cause your papa aught but joy. Do not worry about—"

"But I
am
worried," she mourned, her
eyes still plaintively fixed upon him. "Everything has gone wrong!
Indeed, my life is become—quite a… shambles!" Those long, curling
lashes became beaded with glistening drops, so shattering a sight that
Harry took an instinctive step closer and begged to be apprised of any
way in which he might be of service. With a pathetic quiver in her
soft, sweet voice, Nerina lifted one white hand to her brow and
confided with fearful apprehension that she had been so overset of late
she dreaded lest the result be—Lines! He assured her that nothing could
be farther from the truth, and encouraged by his charming smile, my
lady launched into a long and tragic exposition of her woes. At the end
of a rather baffling ten minutes, Harry was able to deduce that her
come-out had been intended for last autumn, but her brother had been
feared lost at Quatre Bras and then sent home so gravely wounded it had
been delayed. And now, when her Ball was arranged, even to the
invitation list, her grandpapa had fallen victim to some kind of
seizure, which might well lead to a further postponement. "I cannot
think," she mourned, with a tragic little
moue
Harry found enchanting, "why he must become ill now— when he has
managed to go on quite nicely for ninety years."

"Utterly selfish," put in Nanette, smiling into the flash of
Harry's irked glance. "But then, one can never rely upon old people."

"Have you noticed that?" Nerina asked, amazed at such
perspicacity. "It is a sad truth, is it not? To be old must be very
unpleasant. I shall die young."

Harry protested against this gloomy pronouncement but was
ignored as Nerina went on to remark that old people were not beautiful.
Disregarding Nanette's ironic grin, Harry said staunchly that Lady
Nerina must be lovely when she was eighty, and doubtless would be
surrounded by flirtatious old gentlemen. His effort, alas, was not well
received. Papa, said Nerina, much shocked, found flirting disgraceful.
She was not 'that kind of girl and hoped she had not given Sir Harry a
false impression. "And yet—oh, my! How could you but harbour such
thoughts of me when I am unchaperoned in this
dreadful
place!"

Her patience at an end, Nanette exploded, "Oh, for heaven's
sake, stop sniffling and behaving like such a stupid! You have your
maid and your groom, and are scarce ruined because you speak with
friends in the parlour of an inn!"

"N-No, but Papa will not think so! He has such great plans for
me, and if I am disgraced I shall never receive offers from anyone
above a mere
baronet
and Papa will be furious!
Oh, I wish I had never left Ann's and come here!"

Nanette slanted an hilarious glance at Harry. His answering
grin went slightly awry, seeing which she said crossly, "Then return to
Ann at once, you foolish girl! I am indeed sorry that I asked you to
meet me here!"

At this, Nerina burst into tears. Harry muttered a scolding,
"Be still, vixen!" and hastened to drop to one knee beside the grieving
Beauty. He took up one small hand and, patting it, said kindly, "Dear
lady, I beg you will not so distress yourself. Miss Nanette spoke in
haste, but meant no harm, and—"

"I meant every word!" hissed Nanette under cover of the dainty
sobs.

"—and if you will but give me the name of your groom, I shall
have your carnage called up and you can soon be on your way home," he
finished.

"It—it is… Roper," my lady said unsteadily, lifting
tear-drenched eyes devastatingly to his. "Thank you, Sir Harry. You
are—s-so good."

He stood, bowed, and turned to the door.

"Even if you
are
a mere baronet…"
giggled Nanette as he drew level with her.

He glared but was undone as her eyes slowly crossed and her
chin lolled. Battling a laugh, he whispered, "Shrew!" and stalked past.

When he returned, the two girls were seated side by side on
the sofa, chattering happily. They both stood when he came into the
room, and having embraced Nanette and vowed to "say exactly" as she had
been instructed, Nerina turned to Harry and extended her hand. "I hope
you will forgive me if I was silly," she smiled sunnily. "I am not a
clever girl, you see."

He bowed over those delicate fingers. "You are delightful, my
lady. And it has been my very great pleasure. If I can
ever
be of service… I beg you will call upon me."

"You may have to call quite loudly," Nanette advised
helpfully. "Especially if he is posted to India."

Harry regarded her without appreciable rapture.

"Oh," said Nerina. "Have you bought a pair of colours, then?"

"Not—ah—yet, ma'am."

"If he cannot, he will likely enlist," offered Nanette.

"In… in the… ranks?" gasped the Beauty, one hand flying to her
throat.

"It is—possible, my lady," nodded Harry, his palms itching to
box someone's ears.

"How…
dreadful
. . .!" said his Golden
Goddess.

It was peaceful beneath the oak tree, but although he was
seated comfortably enough, Harry frowned, for the echo of a mocking
laugh rang in his ears, and pale eyes haunted him. Sanguinet had tried
to kill him, beyond doubting. Why? Because of his duel with Mitchell?
Thank God old Mitch
was
alive! The intensity of
that emotion brought with it the recollection of his searing anguish.
Only a sadist could deliberately cause another human being such a depth
of grief… Some dawn, with a Manton in his hand, he would avenge that
piece of savagery! Some dawn—and not too far hence . . !

His fingers clenched over an unfamiliar object. He glanced
down and discovered he held Lady Nerina's dainty handkerchief. His grim
countenance softened. Had there ever been a more bewitching little
vision? So sweetly feminine; all gold and pink, and daintiness
personified. And how loyal, that despite her fears she had ventured to
try and help her friend. Looking back, he was forced to the reluctant
admission that she
had
seemed a little more
preoccupied with her own predicament than that of Nanette. Yet who
could do any less than worship so exquisite a Beauty . . ?