Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 06] - The Noblest Frailty (43 page)

Through that hushed silence, Tyndale said, "And then my uncle
stepped on your toy. Is that it, ma'am?"

Devenish gave a gasp of horrified comprehension. The General
whispered, "My God! Oh, my God!"

Mrs. MacFarlane looked up and gulped, "Aye, sir. Oh, how
terrible it were tae see him fly back like that! And… and tae think I
done it!
I
murdered your poor papa, Mr. Devenish!
A eye fer an eye, says the Good Book. And… and here I be, sir, I owned
up… at last…"

Sprawling comfortably on the bed in his nephew's spacious
bedchamber, Colonel Alastair Tyndale watched Devenish bestow gratuities
on the abigail who had cared for Josie during their stay at Steep
Drummond, pinch her blushing cheek, and escort her to the door as
though she were a duchess. "The boy has changed," he thought. "A month
since, he'd have demanded a kiss!" And, as Devenish closed the door and
turned to take up his hat and gloves, he said, "I apprehend that you're
eager to be on your way, Dev. But—will you please spare me a minute
before you go?"

"Of course I will, sir," said Devenish, regarding him fondly.
"Are you quite sure you won't ride with us? Lord knows there's room in
the coach, and nothing would please me more. Or Josie."

"Thank you, my boy. But I'm promised to help Craig plan the
refurbishing of the castle. Still—since you mentioned the child, it is
of her that I wish to speak."

He hesitated, and Devenish, limping to pull up a chair,
straddle it and watch him over the back, was fairly sure of what was
going to be said. He was correct.

Cautiously feeling his way, the Colonel said, "I've no wish to
discourage you, for it's a fine thing you plan. But—you really have no
notion of what may lie behind her, you know. Blood will out. In a few
years you may regret your kindness."

"Forgive me, but I cannot agree, sir. You'd not believe how
Josie has blossomed since I found her. And I've a notion there's good
blood in her. She may, I think, be of French parentage, for she
sometimes will speak the language, and with a flawless accent."

The Colonel's brows went up. "Will she, indeed? I take it you
have questioned her in the matter."

"Oh, yes. But to no avail. She remembers only that she was
stolen, and—" He frowned. "And—brutality."

"Poor mite! Small wonder she worships you."

Devenish grinned. "All the ladies worship me," he quipped. And
thought, "Save only the one
I
worship…"

The Colonel knew him well and thus knew how deep was the wound
he had suffered. He kept silent for a moment, dreading to add to that
hurt, and at last, tracing the design of the eiderdown with one
well-manicured finger, asked softly, "Have you told her you mean to
make her your ward?"

"Er—no. Not yet, sir. I—er, I thought I would break the news
on our way back to Devencourt." He stared rather blankly at his uncle's
muscular hand. The truth was that he still had not really decided to
adopt Josie. At the back of his mind was the thought that he'd see if
he could land a position on the staff of an ambassador. His blasted leg
would keep him out of the military, but he'd as soon leave England for
a while. He might even go out to India, as Justin Strand had done;
which reminded him that he must drop in on Justin and see if a date had
been set for his wedding. Everyone seemed to be getting leg-shackled
these days… lucky dogs…

"If you do tell her," murmured Colonel Tyndale shrewdly, "and
later change your mind, I think it would break her heart."

Devenish started and, glancing up, found those keen blue eyes
fixed on him as piercingly as they had done when as a small boy he'd
quailed before the Colonel's desk. He wondered resentfully if the
guv'nor really could read his mind, and, aware he was flushing, said,
"Whatever I do, sir, you may believe she will be well taken care of."

"I was not speaking of material things. I do not mean to prose
at you, but—this is a very serious undertaking, and a potentially
lengthy one. You mean to take upon yourself the responsibility for
another living being. Another soul, Dev, to be shaped and moulded
and—provided for, through many years to come. If you are to do it well,
it will entail selflessness, compassion, and—love. A large order. Are
you—quite sure… ?"

Rage, swift and white-hot, tightened Devenish's lips. He had
been judged yet again, and found irresponsible! He stood and, taking up
his many-caped drab coat, shrugged into it and said with a taut smile,
"Well, I collect I'd best say the rest of my goodbyes."

Shocked by this unfamiliar hauteur, the Colonel came to his
feet also. He had been very distinctly warned off; a door closed in his
face as it never had before. "I'll not detain you longer," he said
politely. But his love was deep, so that with his hand on the doorknob,
he swallowed his pride and turned about. "Dev, lad, I am so sorry. I
only meant— Don't be too hasty in your plans! This—infatuation of
Yolande's…"

Devenish flinched. "It is no infatuation, sir. Have you not
seen them together? It is… as though they were—one being."

His heart aching, the Colonel gripped the younger man's
shoulder. "If only there was
something
I could
do! I know how—how deeply you have loved her all your life. It must
be…" And he stopped, the words eluding him.

Devenish lifted a hand almost absently to cover the one that
rested on his shoulder. "If I thought," he muttered, "that I would have
the least chance of winning her, I would call Craig out and…" He was
silent for a moment, then raised his brooding gaze, saw the helpless
sympathy in his uncle's eyes, and smiled wryly. "But, do you know, sir?
Of late I've begun to wonder…"

"What, Dev?"

"Only that… I have loved her, as you said, all my life.
But—when I see her with Craig, I think… perhaps, there are degrees of
loving, and—and theirs is something… almost holy. That I will not ever
be granted."

The Colonel had the same thought about the relationship he
shared with his own lady, and so it was that his affection for this
valiant young man, and his comprehension of the grief that he knew must
be intense, overmastered him. He spun around and strode rapidly to the
window, to stand staring blindly into the sunny morning.

A quick uneven step. A strong arm, tight about his shoulders.
And his nephew's voice, husky with emotion, said, "Now, God love you
for that sympathy. You always were true blue. The best and kindest
uncle who ever took in a lonely scamp, and was curst seldom thanked for
it! But—" Devenish turned the Colonel to face him, and smiling rather
uncertainly into those blurred eyes, said, "You know—sir, I have always
felt… I have always, er…"

Tyndale gripped his elbow. "Yes," he said huskily. "I know."

"You were not going to leave without saying goodbye, I hope?"

Craig! Devenish thought, "Damn!" but turned, and said lightly,
"Lord, no. I just came down to see if Monty has assembled the luggage.
My elf seems to have acquired a prodigious amount of paraphernalia
since we came."

"Yes. Dev, I—"

"Don't, Craig!" Despite himself, Devenish's voice was harsh.
"You saved my life, and you're a damned good fellow. If I had to—to
lose her, I could not wish… it to be to a better man."

Craig swore furiously at him. "What a perfectly wretched thing
to say! You might at least have knocked me down."

Devenish laughed. But the worst, he knew, was yet to come.

Yolande's eyes were red, but she put out her hand like the
thoroughbred she was, and said composedly, "Ride safely, my dear. And
take care of your little lady."

He took her hand, stared down at it, so sweetly resting in his
own, and released it hurriedly. Looking up, he saw that she was
blinking rather fast and, reaching back into the many happy years he
had so stupidly taken for granted, feigned indignation. "Now, dash it
all, Yolande. If you're going to turn into a watering pot…"

She laughed shakily. "Odious creature! You always did treat me
as if I were a tiresome little sister."

"Is that what drove me to the ropes?" The words were out
before he could stop them. He saw her mouth twist and said a swift, "I
shall have to be more careful. And I shall expect a very special
invitation to the—ceremony."

"You shall have it—of course. And… Josie shall be a flower
girl, if she would—like…" Her voice broke. "Oh… Dev…"

She was in his arms, weeping. He held her very tight, hoarding
these priceless seconds. "Yolande…" he whispered. And, fighting for
control, said, "No tears, if you please. I seem to—bring you very often
to tears, of late."

"I love you, Dev," she sniffed. "I wish I did not love you—
quite so much." And she pulled away, looked up at him for an instant,
the tears bright on her cheeks, then leaned to kiss him.

"You will… find your happiness… my very dear," she managed,
and fled.

Josie had been granted her wish to ride Molly-My-Lass to the
edge of the Drummond estates; beside her, Devenish rode his beloved
Miss Farthing, and the carriage followed with a groom behind, to lead
the Clydesdale back to Steep Drummond. Montelongo had ridden ahead to
arrange rooms for them in New Galloway, so that they were now quite
alone, and Josie thought she had never been so happy.

"Oh," she sighed, looking with glad eyes at clear heaven, lush
meadows, and contentedly grazing cows. "Oh, ain't it a 'licious
morning?"

"What?" muttered Devenish. "Oh—er, yes. Delicious."

"I doesn't see," she persisted, "how everything in the whole
world couldn't be anything but filled with happy on a day like today."

"You cannot be filled with
happy
, my
elf," he protested. "Frightful grammar."

"Yes, Mr. Dev." She slanted a mischievous glance up at him.
"Just the same—I is."

He smiled, his heart like lead.

" 'Course," said Josie thoughtfully. "You ain't. Not just at
this minute, p'raps. But afore you knows it—
voila
!
you will be."

As always, her use of French intrigued him so that for a
moment he forgot his misery. "How so? What I mean to say is, I
am
happy. As a cursed lark, in fact."

"No." She shook her small head so that the curls bounced
beneath the bonnet of primose straw that Yolande had bought her.

"Nonsense. After all, we're going to Devencourt, my, er, home,
and—"

"And you hates Devencourt."

He stared at her. "Josie—are you
quite
sure you're only eleven?"

"I be very old sometimes," she said, matter-of-factly. "All
ladies is. And I be a lady—or, I will be, when you—" She broke off,
looking guilty.

"When I—what?"

"I'm not s'posed to know."

He thought, "Oh, God!"

"But," he said rather stiffly, "you, ah—
do
know?"

"Yes. Oh, yes!" She all but jumped up and down in the saddle,
her small face radiating joy. "And you won't be sorry, Mr. Dev. Not
never! I'll be the bestest daughter what ever you had! I'll take care
of you and be perlite and learn to talk pretty like—her. I know I won't
ever
be
pretty like—her, but you won't have to go
to that great crawly place and be sad all alone."

Torn between dismay and laughter, he asked, "Who told you?"

"Oh, the servants knew." She said airily, "You cannot keep
nothin' from the servants, you know. Aunty Caroline says."

He blinked. "
Aunty
… Caroline?"

"She telled me to call her that. I was frighted of her at
first, but she's a dear. Monty says she talks too much." She giggled.

They rode in silence for a while, then he said carefully, "I
hope poor General Drummond may not be utterly cast down because I took
you away from him."

She thought about that. "I 'spect he was. But some folks gets
to dance on a bubble, and some gets to be casted down. Like me and you."

There should be an answer to that, he thought dully. But he
could not seem to find one. They were at the brow of the hill. In
another minute Steep Drummond would be out of sight. It was as well. He
did not want to see it. Never again. But somehow he was drawing his
horse to a halt, motioning the carriage and groom to move ahead, and
turning aside to guide his mare to the brow of the hill and the shade
of a great tree where he had sat once before. His mount began to crop
at the rich grass, and Devenish, quite forgetting the child beside him,
leant forward in the saddle and gazed across the lush green valley to
Steep Drummond. Was she at one of the windows that twinkled in the
morning sunlight, looking out, trying to see him? Was she—out of the
affection she bore him—grieving to see him go? Yolande… my own, my
love… Yolande…

A small sound roused him from this hopeless yearning. He
glanced around and straightened in dismay. Josie's head was bowed. Even
as he watched, something bright and glittering splashed down upon
Molly-My-Lass's broad shoulder. He reined closer. "Child… ? Josie? Do
not! Whatever is it? Please—do not cry!"

"I can't… help it," she sobbed, raising a woebegone
countenance. "I cannot bear it when your eyes gets… so awful sad. Like
you was all full of tears inside. I—I
wants
to
make you happy. I
wants
so for you to not—not
give a button for her. But—I cannot help! I cannot
help
you. And, oh, Mr. Dev—Josie
loves
ye so!"

Who could not be touched? A heart of stone must have melted
before that youthful anguish. And however cracked it might be at
present, the heart of Alain Devenish had never resembled stone. He
reached out, Josie leaned to him, and in a trice she was sitting across
his saddle bow, sobbing gustily into his cravat and clinging to him
with her skinny little arms.

"Milady Elf," he said, stroking her soft curls, for her bonnet
had fallen back during the change of mounts. "Hush, now. If you keep
weeping, you will make me even more full of tears."