Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (41 page)

"No! Damn you! I tell you,
Leith
would
know! Harry Redmond would be quick to suspect. And through either of
those thorns in my flesh, the Horse Guards would know! Our friend
Devenish is the catalyst. He must be silenced. See to it!"

The glare in those strange eyes had flared, and Garvey quailed
inwardly. He loathed Alain Devenish and would have been delighted to
see him die as slowly and painfully as possible, provided that someone
else was responsible. Not that he shrank from murder, but he had plans
of his own to bring to fruition, and any public scandal would ruin
these. He dare not mention this, however, and avoided Sanguinet's keen
scrutiny, muttering, "Nothing would please me more. But I doubt it is
necessary, and the least fuss would be our best protection, no?"

Sanguinet continued to regard him for a long moment. Then he
settled back in his chair, the flame faded from his eyes, and in a
faintly contemptuous tone he enquired, "Why is it not necessary,
mon
ami
?"

"Devenish is mad for Yolande Drummond. I have learned she's
chosen Tyndale and that Devenish is a broken man. If Tyndale dies, all
his energies will go to winning back his light o' love. If the Colonial
lives, I fancy he will slink back to England like a whipped cur, with
his tail 'twixt his legs. Either way, he will present no further threat
to us."

Sanguinet uttered a soft laugh. "You are a philosopher, James.
This comes from your own vast experience with
affaires de
coeur
, eh?" The sly gleam in his eyes brought a deeper flush
to Garvey's countenance, and Sanguinet laughed again. "Perhaps you are
right. We will see. Devenish must be watched closely, and destroyed
does he make one false move! I have been twice thwarted and now must
find another distribution point. Annoying. And it will delay me. I had
thought to strike this year. Now—it must be next. Who ever would have
dreamed the Canadian would survive Waterloo, much less come to claim
our castle! Fate can be so wayward!" he sighed. "I doubt we will ever
again find an end for Devenish that would have been so well accepted as
our lovely ploy in Castle Tyndale. And how well it would have served
us… Such a great pity…"

For a while there was silence, each man busied with his own
thoughts.

Sanguinet glanced up at length. "It could have been worse.
And—what is it you English say? Better luck the next time? Let us drink
to that, my dear James."

They did.

The following Saturday afternoon was sultry, with clouds
piling up over the sea and a warm fitful breeze occasionally stirring
the banner atop Steep Drummond. The great house was quiet: Mrs.
Drummond was laid down upon her bed, softly snoring, with Socrates at
her feet, loudly snoring; Mrs. Fraser had gone into the village to
supervise the flower arrangements for tomorrow's church service; and in
the kitchen, Montelongo was comparing bread recipes with the General's
chef. In a certain small study, three people were involved in an
intense discussion, the outcome of which would most logically spell
defeat and despair for two, and a hollow victory for the third. And
because of that same discussion, Alain Devenish was as far away as
possible, riding through the hills with a very small person at his side.

These two also had plans to discuss, and Devenish, having just
been dealt what he was later to describe "a leveller," turned in the
saddle to demand, "What the deuce d'you mean—'thank you, no'? Lord,
child, do you not know the future you would have as the General's ward?
The old gentleman has taken a great liking to you. He's vastly well
breeched and can offer you the best in life. You'll have a splendid
education, and when the time comes, be presented, I shouldn't wonder!
You'll have a Season in London, and—and everything any chit could wish
for! And you say—'thank you, no'? You're wits to let is what it is!"

She peered at him anxiously. "You bean't angry with Josie?"

"No, but—" He straightened and muttered, "I should have more
sense. You are too young to understand what's best, so— dash it all—I
must make your decisions."

Staring straight ahead between her mount's ears, Josie rode
on. She was not a sullen child, but Devenish had come to know that
mulish set to her small mouth and, covertly watching her, he waited in
amused anticipation for the next move.

"I don't know why he wants me," she said, judicially. "I
bean't pretty, Mr. Dev. I don't think I ever will be. Not a Beauty,
anyway."

"No," he agreed. "But there are more important things."

She stifled the hurt and said stoutly, "Yes. And I don't give
a button for being one. Nor would you, if you stopped to think of it."

"Me?" he exclaimed, startled. "But I've no wish to be a
Beauty, elf!"

She giggled, "
Me
, I mean, silly! I might
not grow up to be pretty like—" She checked, seeing a muscle ripple in
his jaw, and went on quickly, "I mean, I c'n
do
things, Mr. Dev. And in a year or a bit, I'll be all growed and you
can—"

"Jo…
sie
… !" he uttered trenchantly.

"You can turn off your housekeeper," she went on, twinkling at
him. " 'Cause I'll be able to keep house for you and sew on your
buttons and cook, and—"

"And scrub the floors and wash the windows and do the laundry,
I suppose? Devil take it! Can I not make you understand that the
General offers you the life of a Lady of Quality? I remember you once
said that you wanted to be just like—like Miss Yolande. This is your
chance."

She said rather wistfully, "if I
was
like her, would you like me then?"

Devenish's heart twisted. If she were like Yolande… Poor
little plain, ignorant, lowly born child, how could she ever begin to
be like the exquisite lady he had lost… ? But the poignant note to her
voice had not escaped him, and therefore he shifted in the saddle and,
drawing his mount to a halt, appraised her critically. It was not an
unpleasant face. It simply had no one feature that was noteworthy. The
eyes were bright and alert but neither large nor of exceptional hue;
the dark curls showed a regrettable tendency to frizz, the chin was too
pointed, and the nose, although straight, lacked distinction. And yet,
despite the many hardships she had endured in her short life, her mouth
seemed always to tremble on the brink of a smile, and whenever he
spoke, her eyes would fly to him with a look of eager expectancy. He
thought, "She is like a cheerful little bird, waiting confidently for
the crumbs of happiness she knows will come," and realized he had
become fond of her.

He said with a smile, "I like you just as you are, but I've
nothing to offer you, little one. You cannot live in a house with two
bachelors, it wouldn't be right."

"But—but couldn't you ward me, like the General was going to?"
she asked desperately. "I want to stay with
you
,
Mr. Dev."

"You think you do now, but the time will come when you'll
thank me for making you stay here. I've scarce a feather to fly with,
but General Drummond's an extreme wealthy gentleman."

"I don't give a button!" she declared fiercely. " 'Sides,
you're getting older all the time. I heered you tell the Major that
you'll come into your 'heritance soon. So then we could go to your
other house to live, and I wouldn't have to live with two bach'lors."

"No. With one. Infinitely worse!"

"No, oh no!" She reached out, tears glistening on her lashes.
"If you don't take Josie, who will take care of you? You don't like
that other house of yours. You'll go there and be lonely and sad
inside, 'cause of—her."

Astounded, Devenish gasped. "How do you know I don't like
Devencourt?"

She dashed tears away with an impatient hand. " 'Cause I know
your looks," she said, sniffing. "And you get such a funny one when you
talk about it."

He was silent. It was true, he still had the same feeling of
being trapped whenever he thought of living in the old place. When he
had planned to take Yolande there as his bride it had been so
different; the house had been often in his thoughts, then, and he'd
known a sense of contentment, envisioning their life together, and the
improvements they would make. With Yolande at his side, he could have
been perfectly happy. Now… "I will not be going to Devencourt," he said
slowly. "I shall stay with my Uncle Alastair, until—" Cold drops struck
his face. "Heigh-ho! Rain again! Come along, Milady Elf! I'll race you
back to the house!"

"Sir," Tyndale said earnestly, leaning forward in his chair, I
will most gladly lay my financial expectations before you. I think you
will find them not contemptible."

General Drummond was miserable, but this remark diverted him.
"You've the castle, I'll admit, and some very fine land about it. But I
had supposed that to be the sum of your fortune."

"I doubt you were the only one to do so," Tyndale said, adding
with a wry smile, "It does not seem to have occurred to anyone that my
mother may have been an heiress."

The General blinked. "It didnae occur tae me! Is that the
case? Have ye a respectable competence, perhaps?"

"No, sir. I rather think I'd have to name it a—a considerable
fortune."

Yolande gave a gasp and stared at her love in astonishment.

Tyndale turned to take up the slender hand resting on the arm
of her chair. "I'd not intended to deceive you, my dearest girl. You
did not seem to care, one way or the other. And I thought my chances to
be nil, so said nothing."

"And did not press your suit, because you are so honourable a
gentleman," she murmured.

He was silent, mesmerized by the look of adoration in her
beautiful eyes, and they gazed at one another through a breathless
moment.

The General gave an irritated snort. "Oh, do stop your
fondling! How can I discuss business matters with you looking at each
other like a couple of moonlings? This is a perfect example of why the
ladies are usually excluded frae such conferences." He cast a darkling
glance at his granddaughter's radiance. "As they should hae been this
time, too!"

"Yes, and I know just what would have happened had I not
insisted upon coming," she asserted with rare defiance. "You would have
convinced Craig of his unworthiness—"

"I need no convincing of that," murmured Tyndale, pressing the
hand he still held.

"—for my sake," Yolande went on, a dimple appearing briefly
beside her pretty mouth. "And he would have agreed that it would be
inhuman to tear me from family, friends, and country—"

"Very true. But I've no intention of so doing," he
interjected, again.

"Also for my sake," she continued resolutely. "And the upshot
of it all would have been that—for my sake—he would have walked out of
my life. Only,
for my sake
, I cannot let that
happen."

"I apprehend," the old gentleman said gravely, "that the Major
is a splendid young fellow. I've had word from a friend at Whitheall
concerning his military record, and I'd be a clod not to be impressed.
Now, it would seem he is eminently qualified from a more practical
aspect to seek your hand. Besides which—" a faint smile warmed his
troubled eyes—"any fool can see you care for each other."

Yolande's fingers gripped very tightly about Craig's lean
hand. Two young hearts thundered as they waited tensely for the
decision.

"Accidents do happen," said the General with slow
deliberation. "I had one myself was almost fatal. I was just a lad, and
shot an arrow into a rustling bush. Nigh killed my favourite cousin…
Never have been able to touch a bow and arrow since. But—had I the
slightest proof that Stuart Devenish died as the result of such an
accident, however foolish, I'd withdraw my objections in a trice, and
do all I might to convince my son and his lady to accept you, Tyndale.
But… dammitall! I'll be honest, even though my words will be unwelcome
to you both. It is my belief that Jonas, with his wild temper and
intolerance, did just as he stood accused of doing. That he
deliberately pushed his unwanted brother-in-law to his death. And to
have my beloved granddaughter sneered at and derided because she had
wed the son of a murderer…! No! Tyndale, I've no wish to distress you.
But—
that
is what I cannot countenance. I wish—I
really wish that I could offer you hope, but…" One powerful hand was
raised in a helpless gesture, then fell back onto the mahogany desk
again.

Tyndale's head had lowered. It was no more than he had
expected. And one could not blame the old fellow: He was doing his
utmost to protect his beloved granddaughter. Lord knows, the decision
was one he himself would likely have made, under the circumstances.
But… how could he bear to part with her, knowing that she loved him,
and loving her so much that life had taken on so new and glorious a
glow of happiness?

"No!" cried Yolande, jumping up. "This is so wrong! Grandpapa,
you must see that Craig has done
nothing
! Oh, do
not, I beg of you—do not drive me to run away with him!"

Craig, who had stood also, said gently, "That you will never
do, my beautiful lady. I'll wed you with honour, or not at all."

General Drummond grunted his approval of these sentiments.
Yolande, however, watched Craig with frantic eyes, and said a shaken,
"Not even if you know I will never marry anyone else?"

He took her hand and kissed it and, holding it in both of his,
said softly, "I came to Ayrshire with two aims in view. One was to find
my inheritance. The other was to clear my father's name. I've found my
inheritance, but I've scarcely begun an enquiry into what really
happened out at the castle four and twenty years since. Have faith in
me, dear heart. I'll prove it was an accident—I know it!"

Her heart sank. She said miserably, "and what if it is not
possible to prove it?"