Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (25 page)

Tyndale laughed, but threw a quick glance around. "Don't ever
let Mr. Devenish hear you say that! No matter how he looks, he's a
splendid fighting man, Monty. He saved my life."

The Indian was briefly silent. "Him Monty's brother. Why you
wear petticoats?'

It was a term that had been used in Belgium to describe the
Scots. It was also a term of high respect, for none had so endeared
themselves to the Bruxellois as the Scottish regiments.

Nonetheless, leading his man down the hall to the kitchens,
and happily unaware of how many awed household eyes were watching,
Tyndale carefully explained it was an expression that might better not
be used. At least, in front of the uninitiated. Montelongo grunted.

The night was crisp and clear, a half-moon illuminated the
walkways, and Yolande followed them aimlessly, lost in thought, her
plaid wrapped about her shoulders. The attraction she had felt when
first she met Craig Winters Tyndale had not diminished. To the
contrary, the sight of him tonight in all the glory of formal Scots
attire had stirred her heart in most disquieting fashion. Even now, to
visualize him, the way his grey eyes had sought her out, that
charmingly uncertain smile, made her pulses leap and brought a warmth
to her cheeks. Were these emotions merely the result of gratitude
because he had come to her rescue? Was this rapid heartbeat brought
about by admiration of his military record, or interest because he was
different from any other man she had ever known? She closed her ears to
the wretched voice that sought to whisper "nonsense!" and, not a little
frightened, decided resolutely that she was not falling in love with
Major Tyndale. She
must not
be falling in love
with Major Tyndale! The difference in their stations could not be
ignored, and there were other loves— Devenish and her parents, for
instance. And as for Grandpapa—she shuddered. No, it was quite
impossible. Besides, the Major had paid no more attention to her than
would be required by the dictates of good manners. How foolish to be
constantly mooning over a Colonial gentleman who had made not the
slightest push to court her—and should not of course, do so, when she
was promised to dear Dev. The chastisement did not seem to make her
either more sure, or less miserable, and yet it was the only possible
verdict.

Thoroughly irritated with herself, she swung around very
suddenly and gave a little cry as she came face to face with the very
object of her thoughts. "Oh, my!" she gasped. "How you frightened me!"

"My most humble apologies, ma'am," said Tyndale, remorsefully.
"You passed me by just now and I—er—had been hoping for a word with
you, so I followed. Will you permit that I walk with you?"

"Of course, though I must return to the house. Had you come
out for a breath of air, cousin?"

"And a smoke," he nodded, holding up the cheroot that glowed
in his hand. "A wretched habit I picked up in Spain."

"I was indeed surprised to learn that you had served with our
army over there. I'd no idea you were a military gentleman."

"How should you?" He said awkwardly, "We—er, scarcely know one
another."

"True. And have had scarce two words together since you
arrived. I had, in fact, begun to think you might be avoiding me." And
she thought in dismay, "Oh! Now, why did I say
that
?'

"Perhaps I have," he admitted, his grip on the cheroot
tightening. "Devenish is—well, he's a good man and—and, you and he are—
That is, I mean—you are to be wed. No?"

Even in the moonlight she could see that the cheroot was now
quite badly bent. Her own heart was thundering, which was too
ridiculous. She said with desperate calm, "It has been understood for
many years that we will—will marry."

"I see."

He did not, to judge by the hesitant words, and, wondering
vaguely at the need, she felt obliged to add, "Our estates march
together."

Their progress had become very slow. Tyndale halted to drop
the wreckage of his cheroot and grind it into the dirt. "Not a
compelling reason for wedlock," he remarked, gravely.

Flustered, she answered, "No. Of course. I did not mean to
imply— Suffice it to say he is my choice. And—and that choice is much
applauded by my family."

"Very wisely," he said. But he thought, "And how horrified
your family would be did you wed a Colonial about whom all they know is
that his father was a murderer!"

Watching him from beneath her lashes, she saw the bitter twist
to his mouth and her heart was wrung. Fighting an inclination to burst
into tears, she said with forced lightness, "You seem to like my
grandpapa, sir."

"I do. He is such a fine old fellow."

"Yes, he is. I wish he lived closer to us, but he loves this
old house."

"I can see why he would. It has great character. I am—very
glad he invited me to stay. Though—I'm surprised he did so. Under the
circumstances."

She caught her breath and, dreading what he would say next,
yet longing to hear him say it, faltered, "Cir-circumstances, cousin?"

The moonlight on her lovely upturned face was driving him to
distraction. Clenching his fists, he mumbled, "My—er, father. And—and
Devenish's father."

"Oh." Of course that was what he had meant. What a ninny she
was! "But, you see, Grandpapa does not know about that."

"No?" Tyndale's heavy brows drew together. "I thought everyone
knew."

"Only those who were there at the time knew. It has been kept
very quiet down through the years. I did not know of it myself until
very recently."

"But—there must have been dozens of people—servants, workers
on the estate… ?"

"They were loyal, and were paid well to hold their tongues."
She smiled. "Besides, Scots tend to be a secretive people. They have
had to be."

Somehow, they had stopped walking. Not speaking, they stood
gazing at one another.

The wind sighed softly through the trees. In the stables, a
horse stamped and snorted restlessly. High on the hill, the windows of
the house shone bright amber, and from them came the distant sounds of
laughter.

Tormented by Yolande's nearness; by the faint scent of her
perfume; by the terrible temptation to sweep her into his arms and kiss
those sweetly curved lips, Tyndale wrenched his eyes from her face and
stared down at the path. He thought, "My Lord! I
must
get away from here!" And he said, "If your grandfather
did
know that my father is believed to have murdered Stuart Devenish, would
I still be welcome?"

She did not answer. He raised his down-bent head and looked at
her gravely. Her eyes fell away, and she turned from him.

"Yolande," he persisted, softly. "Would I? Would he give me
the benefit of the doubt? Or—would he be outraged?"

With slow reluctance she answered, "He, would be outraged. He
has introduced you to so many of his friends. And they would—would
feel…"

He stiffened. "Insulted. I see. Then I had best be upon my way
as soon as may be."

Spinning around, not wanting him to go, she protested
involuntarily, "Why? After all these years, the secret is not likely to
suddenly become public knowledge."

"It could." Ah, but how sweet, how unbearable to see the
concern in her dear face. "Our presence here might awaken old memories;
set people to talking."

It was true. She could only ask miserably, "Then—what shall
you do?"

'Tell the old gentleman I simply
must
leave tomorrow. But there is no reason why Devenish should accompany
me."

"If he promised to go, he will," she said, adding stoutly, "he
is the soul of honour and will not break his word."

He said with a wry twinkle, "His honour may be severely
tested. If the castle has not been lived in for twenty years and more,
it must be in a sorry state, and probably beastly damp into the
bargain."

"Oh, no. I doubt it is that bad. Colonel Tyndale comes up at
least once a year, and there has been a caretaker of sorts, until
recently. I know most of the furnishings are under Holland covers, and
I suppose you will find the carpets rolled up, and the linens stored
away. I will ask our housekeeper to pack some bedding for you, but I
believe you will find cedar chests very amply supplied with linens
needing only to be aired."

"You are too kind, Cousin Yolande," he said gratefully.

She thought, "No. I am only afraid," and avoiding his gaze,
she began to walk on once more. "Well," she responded, "you are, after
all, one of the family. And—you have, I believe, become a good friend
of Alain's, no?"

He hesitated, then said slowly, "Not exactly. There is—ah, too
much between us, you see."

Yolande glanced at him and found in his eyes a smile touched
with sadness. Her face flamed. She knew suddenly that she herself was
one of the reasons why the cousins could not be friends. And she knew
also that Craig Tyndale loved her. She thought numbly, "What a fine
bumble broth it would create did I love him also. Dev would kill him!"
Fear closed an iron fist around her heart. She said something, heaven
knows what, and hurried back to the house, Tyndale silent beside her.

The morning dawned clear but cool, and by the time they were
ready to depart the sun was growing warmer, giving rise to hopes for a
nice day. The General had been at first amused, then irked by Tyndale's
quiet insistence that he must leave, but had capitulated at last. Since
Devenish would not draw back from his promise to accompany his cousin,
the end result was that they all would go. "If only," grunted Sir
Andrew, "to detairmine if yon pile o' rubble is fit fer human
habitation, regarrrding which, I hae me doots!"

It had been decided that Josie would stay at Steep Drummond
until Devenish returned, and he would then take her back to England
with him, hoping to obtain the benefit of Lady Louisa's wisdom in the
matter of her eventual disposition. Meanwhile, however, she formed part
of the small cavalcade, her peaked face bright with happiness as she
nestled beside Yolande in the open curricle Devenish drove.

Yolande was outwardly as bright as she was inwardly disturbed.
The ravages of a sleepless night had been concealed by Peattie's deft
hands, and she was radiant in a primrose muslin dress buttoned high to
the throat, a beautifully embroidered yellow shawl about her shoulders,
and the poke of her bonnet a foam of primrose lace.

Despondent because he was leaving her, Devenish rallied when
she smiled at his glumness and assured him she would anxiously await
his return. She was so affectionate in fact that he was soon in high
gig, all his dismals flown.

Sir Andrew led the parade, riding a fine bay gelding, with on
one side of him, Mr. Walter Donald, his friend of many years who had
over-nighted at Steep Drummond, and on the other, Tyndale, astride his
big grey. Next came the chaise containing Arabella Drummond and
Caroline Fraser, who quarrelled politely all the way, each convincing
herself she was scoring the most hits. Following, Devenish drove the
curricle, and, bringing up the rear was a landaulette bearing two
footmen and various hampers and bottles that promised an excellent
luncheon.

Yolande exerted herself to maintain a cheerful facade,
responding with every appearance of gaiety to Devenish's easy banter.
Josie, impressed by his proficiency with the reins, eventually
interjected the observation that he was "a regular top-draw-yer!"

He laughed. "That's 'Top Sawyer,' my elf. Where did you learn
that term?"

"Benjo," she replied, gazing up at him, ever hopeful of
bringing the approving smile to his eyes. "He said I could manage the
pony and trap so good because my old man was a Top Draw—I mean, Top
Sawyer."

Yolande murmured, "Dev, we really
must
try to discover something of her background." She lifted the child's
hand that was confidently tucked into her own and, marking the fine
bones and long, slim fingers, said, "There's good breeding in her, I'm
sure of it."

"
We
must?" he said eagerly. "Yolande,
does that mean you're ready to allow me to announce our betrothal, at
last?"

Yolande shifted her glance from the child's hand to Devenish's
handsome, hopeful face. Dear Dev. She
did
love
him. And surely countless women had married gentlemen with whom they
were not deeply
in
love? She knew she could make
him happy, unless… "Dev," she said, watching him steadily, "are you
quite
sure
you are in love with me? No—do not
answer so quickly! Think on it for a moment. You love me, of course,
just as I love you. But—is there no one else? Are you really
in
love
with me?" And, realizing what she had said, she could
have bitten her tongue.

Devenish had suspected that his passion was not as fully
returned, but the confirmation was like a knife being turned in his
breast. He managed to keep his face from revealing his hurt, and said
staunchly, "I really am, m'dear. But if you ain't in love with me, it's
only to be expected, and I don't mind. That you love me at all is far
more than I deserve."

It was the most romantic speech she had ever heard him utter,
and she reached across the child to him, her heart touched.

Taking that small, gloved hand, Devenish searched her face,
waiting.

"Yes, you may announce it," she murmured, smiling at him. "We
will settle the details when you return from the castle."

He gave a whoop of joy that brought the heads of the riders
twisting around, and so alarmed his horses that he had to relinquish
Yolande's hand and give his full attention to his driving.

"Jove!" he said with a guilty grin, succeeding in quieting the
teams at length. "Almost had us in the chaise with your aunts! A fine
set-to that would have been!"

Josie's head was bowed. Yolande stroked the dark curls and
asked gently, "What is it, dear? Are you sad?"