Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (2 page)

Sir Martin departed on the first of several tours about the
room, during which he animadverted bitterly upon the frivolity,
thoughtlessness, and ingratitude of one's children. Never, he declared,
would he have so vexed
his
parents. Especially
when they had been nothing but good to him. It was a sorry world when
youth today was so insensitive, so selfish. "Devenish," he said,
passing his meekly sewing wife on his third lap, "is a splendid young
fellow, of impeccable lineage."

"So I told her, Sir Martin."

"He has looks, charm, and a generally sunny disposition. The
girls are fairly crazy over him. He owns a magnificent estate in
Gloucestershire and will take control of a respectable fortune in a
month or so, to say nothing of Aspenhill, for Alastair Tyndale is not
like to wed at his age. Does
he
know about this
nonsense, I wonder? Good gad! He would be heartbroken! All our days
we've planned that the estates would be joined. What a splendid
heritage to be whistled down the wind only because some silly chit
decides Devenish is—what was it she said? Volatile? Volatile, indeed!
The boy's high-spirited as any colt, is all. He's been in a few
scrapes, I grant you, but conducted himself very well in that damned
mess in Brittany last year, and by what young Leith says, is pluck to
the backbone."

"Yes, dear. But—" She looked up at him and asked gravely,
"Could you compel Yolande to marry a man she does not love?"

"
Love
? Good God, madam! People of our
order do not marry for love!"

Her ladyship said simply, "I did."

Sir Martin stared at her, snorted, stamped up and down, put
his hands behind him, and stared at her again. Then, with a wry laugh
he marched to sit down beside her, removed the embroidery and tossed it
ruthlessly over his shoulder, and took his wife in his arms.

After a moment, Lady Louisa pulled back, straightened her
demure lace cap, and said a trifle breathlessly, "Now, Martin! Pray be
sensible."

"I am being sensible," he argued, dropping a kiss on the hand
he still held. "You know very well, Louisa, that when you look at me in
just that way, it always makes me feel—"

"Then I'll not look at you at all, sir," she said primly,
withdrawing her hand, but submitting when it was promptly reclaimed.
"Now, I have been thinking ever since I spoke with Yolande this
morning, and I have a plan which I hope may work. Yolande must not
marry Devenish only to please us, my dear."

He scowled. "Why not? Chances are that once they are wed she
will settle down and be perfectly content."

"Oh, yes, that is very possible. And nothing would be more
delightful than for her to discover she really is in love with Dev.
But—suppose she should find to the contrary? She is scarcely the type
to take a lover. And even if—" My lady paused, eyeing her husband with
disfavour as he exploded into a hearty laugh.

"Apologies, m'dear," he said, patting her hand. "But I was
just picturing Devenish's reaction to such a triangle." He chuckled
again, "Lord! Can you not imagine that young volcano? Yolande may not
know her own heart, but Dev has no such reservations. Yolande is his
world. He would tear the man limb from limb!"

"He would, indeed. And I believe you are right, he worships
her. What a pity he does not tell her so."

"
Tell
her so? Oh, gad! You ladies and
your romantical vapourings! Dev comes over every day, don't he? He
takes her riding, brings her gifts. Why only yesterday he—"

"He brought her that fox kit he found! A pretty gift! Not only
did it keep Yolande up all night with its yelping, but it was full of
fleas and bit one of the maids when she chanced to step on it while she
was making the bed. She fell into strong hysterics and the kit raced
out, with the cat in hot pursuit, throwing the entire house into an
uproar!" Regarding her amused spouse with indignation, Lady Louisa
said, "But you prove my point, Sir Martin. Alain has no more notion of
how to treat the girl he loves than a Clydesdale knows how to dance a
quadrille! And thus, I think—" She waited out another howl of laughter
from her lord, who was fond of Clydesdale horses and could envision the
scene she had suggested. "I think," she resumed severely, while he
wiped his eyes, "that we should send Yolande to visit her grandpapa."

"What—in Ayrshire?"

"Since my own papa has gone to Paris, my love, I scarcely
think such a journey appropriate."

"But why journey at all? Oh—do you think the old fellow might
banish some of her silly megrims?"

"I think it is a very true saying that 'Absence makes the
heart grow fonder,' and Mr. Alain Devenish has been taking your
daughter entirely too much for granted."

"Well, if it's absence you want, m'dear, she could go to your
sister in Town for a month or two. Don't have to travel all that way up
to Scotland."

"I think she does have to," said Lady Louisa thoughtfully.
"She must be far away. Where Devenish is not like to follow."

Despite his rantings, Sir Martin doted on his pretty daughter,
but at this, he said with a slow smile, "I own no property on the moon,
my love."

"To the moon, sir?" Mr. Alain Devenish blinked down into the
cold blue eyes of the man who leaned back in the big chair behind the
desk, and, running one finger around his elaborately tied neckcloth
that suddenly seemed too tight, protested, "No, really, Uncle! I've not
been gone
that
long, surely?"

Colonel Alastair Tyndale rested his elbows on the arms of his
chair and regarded his nephew over interlocked hands. Twenty years
separated the two men, and few, seeing them together, would imagine
them to be related. Devenish was slender and not above average height,
with curling blond hair, intensely blue eyes, and features almost too
delicately carven for a man. Tyndale was tall and broad with a
loose-limbed, athletic body, and a head of thick brown hair beginning
to grey at the temples. His nose was strong, his chin a fierce jut, and
his mouth a thin, uncompromising line. Only in the eyes was there a
similarity, and that very slight and not so much a matter of shape or
colouring as of expression. The eyes of both men were seldom without a
humorous twinkle, and if in Devenish that twinkle could in a flash
become a glare of rage, in his uncle it could as swiftly be replaced by
inexorable purpose, a determination approaching ruthlessness.

"You have been gone," sighed the Colonel, drawing a rather
battered timepiece from the pocket of his waistcoat and consulting it,
"precisely eight hours and forty-five minutes. You doubtless forgot I
had expressly requested that you return to Aspenhill by three o'clock
so as to meet Lord Westhaven."

As always when his guardian was displeased, Devenish began to
experience the unease that had afflicted numerous junior officers
quaking before Tyndale during his years in India. Despite the fact that
he and his late mother's younger brother were often at loggerheads,
however, Devenish was fond of his uncle and chagrined by the knowledge
that he had once again disappointed him. He took a turn about the
pleasant, panelled room and stood frowning out across the lawns of this
house wherein so much of his young life had been spent. "I was at Park
Parapine, sir," he offered.

"So I had presumed. It was my understanding that you were to
accompany Yolande on an early ride. One can but hope that the length of
that—er, ride, indicates a satisfactory resolution of your—ah,
problems."

"Lord!" muttered Devenish, under his breath. He swung about
and returned to toss his slender body into a deep chair beside the desk
and divulge that he had not spent the entire day riding. "I chanced to
run into Harland," he said. "I think the old boy's lonely, now that
Lucian is off honeymooning. Nothing would do but that I go over to
Hollow Hill with him. He's leaving for Paris next week." He shrugged.
"I forgot the time. And Westhaven." Flashing a contrite glance at
Tyndale, he added, "Did I cause you to be embarrassed? My apologies,
sir, but—I really have no interest in politics, you know."

"It would be enlightening to learn," the Colonel sighed,
straightening a paper on his desk, "what
does
interest you. Besides Yolande Drummond."

Devenish flushed, his lips tightening with resentment, but he
said nothing.

"From your demeanour," Tyndale went on, "I have to infer that
my cousin's child has once again refused to set a date for your
wedding."

The tone had not been unkind, but Devenish squirmed. "She
says," he imparted indignantly, "that I am a here-and-thereian."

The shadow of a smile crept into the Colonel's blue eyes. "She
is not without justification, would you say?"

"What, because I found University a dead bore? Because I did
not—er, take to the military, or—"

"You were
sent down
," Tyndale
intervened, his voice suddenly holding a touch of steel, "because you
played a childish prank upon the Proctor. You were
obliged
to leave the army because of just such another prank. Had you failed in
your studies, having tried your best; had you been asked to resign your
commission because of some blockheaded military injustice, I could
better have understood matters. You are five and twenty, Alain. In two
months it will be time for my guardianship to end, and for you to take
over the reins at Devencourt. It is past time you had moved back there.
Oh, I know why you have not done so—my estates chance to march with
those of the Drummonds. But your lands stand in need of an owner—a
resident owner."

"There is no cause for me to remain here now," Devenish
grunted.

A frown twitched at Tyndale's brows. "Good God!" he exclaimed.
"Never say Yolande has cried off?"

"Lord, no! Never that, sir! But she has made it clear I must
change my ways before—" Devenish broke off. "Oh, blast! I shouldn't
have said there was no cause for me to stay. What a clunch I am!" He
leaned forward in his chair and, with the smile that had ensnared many
a hopeful lady, said earnestly, "You know I am more than grateful, sir.
You know I've no wish to leave
you
!"

Tyndale's grim features were lit by an answering warmth.
"Thank you, Alain. And
you
know I've no wish to
scold you. God knows, your conduct last summer in the Sanguinet affair
made me very proud. Incidentally, have you heard from Leith? Is there
any further word on the Frenchman?"

"I am in touch with Tristram, of course, sir. He feels that
Sanguinet remains a menace to England. Somewhere—God knows where—he's
up to his tricks. And—when we least expect it…" He scowled. "His scheme
to kidnap the Regent was damnably clever, but if he strikes again,
Tristram thinks it will be with men. An all-out thrust for power." His
blue eyes ablaze, he drove one fist into his palm. "Now,
there's
something I would be interested in, by Jove! I hope to God I'm about
when the Frenchman does play his cards!"

"I cannot think he will do anything so unwise. He would have
to be a complete lunatic to persist with plans about which he must know
the authorities have been warned."

"He is a lunatic! I believe he has some miserable scheme to
take over where Bonaparte left off. He knows our warnings were laughed
at. He knows Tristram was as good as cashiered and that both he and his
bride are in deep disgrace. Oh, Sanguinet will not give up, I do assure
you, sir. He will merely contrive again."

"If he contrives, lad, it may be to your doom. He is a
vindictive man. Have a care."

Devenish's blithe response that he was sure Monsieur Claude
Sanguinet had more weighty matters on his mind than personal vengeance
incurred Tyndale's displeasure. The Colonel embarked upon a lengthy
discourse regarding the menace of the ambitious and wealthy Frenchman.
At the close, Devenish said meekly that he would write out his will and
carry a pistol the next time he left the estate.

Tyndale stared with suspicion at his nephew's angelic
innocence and grunted, "Very good. Meantime, I've a task for you. A
pleasant one, I hope."

"A task? For the military, sir?"

"Nothing so impressive." Tyndale stood and marched around the
desk to perch against the edge. Reaching back, he took up a rumpled
paper and glanced at the closely written lines that filled the page.
"Westhaven brought me this letter. It appears to have had a rough
journey, arriving at length in his hands and he was kind enough to
deliver it whilst he was here. It concerns your Canadian cousin."

Devenish glanced at the tattered letter curiously. "I was not
aware I
had
a Canadian cousin."

"No? Yet you will, I feel sure, recall that I had a brother,
Jonas."

"Oh, the firebrand who had to leave the country! Because of a
duel of some sort, was it not?"

The Colonel's eyes clouded. He said broodingly, "We are none
of us a very stable lot, I fear. But Jonas was rather more than wild. I
have not gone into details before, because there seemed little
likelihood we would ever see him again. Indeed, we will not, for he is
dead, so I learn."

"Oh, I am sorry, sir. Were you fond of him?"

"I was deeply fond of him—as I was fond of your own father. It
seems that his wife died a few years back, in childbed perhaps, for he
has left a son, and the boy is on his way here to visit the land of his
forebears."

A revolting suspicion had taken possession of Devenish's mind.
Eyeing his uncle warily, he asked, "A boy, sir? Did
he
write that letter?"

"No." Tyndale replaced the sheet on his desk and explained,
"It was written by Jonas's solicitor begging that we receive the little
fellow and do all in our power to assist him. In what way, I could not
determine, for the page is very travel-stained and some of the words
were obliterated. I expect the poor child will find England strange and
terrifying, as would anyone arriving orphaned and friendless in a new
land. Therefore, I wish that you will—"