Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 09] - Logic Of The Heart (31 page)

The afternoon breeze was freshening, setting the leaves of the
old oak tree to flutter whisperingly, and ruffling Montclair's dark
hair. He moved slightly on the chaise longue they had carried into the
back garden, and Susan looked up quickly from her mending to see if he
was uncomfortable. Dispensing with protocol in these trying
circumstances, he wore only a shirt and pantaloons, the left leg slit
to the knee to accommodate the splints. He was still too thin, but the
slight pucker between his dark brows that always betrayed one of the
violent headaches he still occasionally suffered, was not apparent
today. In fact, aside from the arm that was carried in a sling and the
splinted leg, he looked almost well again.

A week had passed since Miss Trent's visit. It had been a
productive week.
The Dainty Dancer's
cargo was
all safely stowed in the cellar, and for two days Andy and the Bo'sun
had been busily mending sails. This morning Andy and Senor Angelo had
taken the barge to the boatyard near Avonmouth for some much needed
work on the tiller.

By mutual if unspoken consent, neither Susan nor Montclair had
referred again to the possibility of his returning home. Nor had Dr.
Sheswell or the Trents put in another appearance, and although Susan
was well aware that this could only be a respite, she was grateful for
the present peace.

She became aware that a pair of dark eyes watched her, and
averted her own hurriedly.

"Must you always work?" drawled Montclair lazily. "I think I
never see you but you are busied at some task. Yet you fly up into the
boughs do I dare offer to bring only two of my servants here to help
you."

"I like to be busy, sir," she argued. "And besides, I expect
your maids have too many tasks already."

He smiled. "More probably it would be the first time they
really earned their pay. We have dozens of 'em loitering about
Longhills, doing very little."

"A typical male observation," she said in amused chiding.
"With a house as gigantic as yours, the poor girls likely slave from
dawn to dusk, polishing and dusting and mopping and scrubbing, and—"

"And the butler standing over 'em with a heavy whip, no doubt!
Is that how you envision a maid's life at Longhills, ma'am?"

She laughed. "Not quite that grim, but I fancy your aunt knows
how to keep your servants well occupied."

"Well, that's truth, at all events." In spite of his light
tone the laughter had left his eyes as it always did when his family
was mentioned, and there was a hardening to the pleasant line of his
mouth. Susan folded the tablecloth she had repaired, lifted a yawning
Welcome from her sewing basket, and put the tablecloth in. During these
weeks of his illness she had come to know every nuance of Montclair's
voice, every expression of the very expressive countenance, and through
these last few summer days they had chatted in an ever deepening
rapport and said much more than mere words. She had struggled to
convince herself that whatever his peculiar relationship with Miss
Trent, it was none of her affair. She enjoyed him for his whimsical
sense of humour and his easy way of conversing with her. He never
ignored her remarks; he solicited and listened to her opinions— and if
he frequently argued with them he did so as one would argue with an
equal, not with the amused tolerance toward an inferior intellect that
was so often shown females by gentlemen. Indeed, in some ways she felt
as comfortable with him as though she'd known him all her life. And in
others— She snipped that thread of thought and said quietly, "Mr.
Valentine, you do not— that is to say, there does not appear to be a
great depth of affection between you and the Trents."

"Your first impulse was correct, Mrs. Sue. I have no love for
them—save for Barbara, of course."

"Of course." A spark of resentment lit her eyes, but she went
on. "Was your mama excessive fond of them?"

"She scarce knew them. Lady Marcia was sister to my father. He
could not abide the lady, and being a very forthright gentleman, told
her so to her face during one of their less civilized quarrels. For
years afterwards the two families were estranged."

"How dreadful. Were all communications at an end, then?"

"Yes." He said dryly, "It was an exceeding peaceful time." He
saw her brows arch, and added, "You are wondering, I think, why my
mother appointed Sir Selby as Geoff's Administrator? Her own brothers
both had died young, and my papa's surviving younger brother suffered a
bad accident many years ago, as I told you. Mama was ill, and she knew
that Geoff—" He checked, frowning, then said with his half smile,
"Well, he's one of those charming men who always manage to, er— He's a
bit of a scamp, and, er—"

'A family trait,' she thought, but inserted shrewdly, "And
expert at resting all his responsibilities on the shoulders of others."

Montclair said in a troubled way, "No, really he is the best
of men, but—he simply cannot tolerate my uncle. Now that he is of an
age to end the Trust and take control, I am sure he will return very
soon."

"But meanwhile," she pursued, "your uncle, having been made
Administrator, is able to follow his own course while your brother
keeps out of the country?"

"Not where I can help it," he said with a sudden fierce scowl.
"The deuce of it is, legally he does not really have to heed me. I
think the only reason he bothers with me at all is for fear I might
appeal to my great-uncle Chauncey. He was my mama's favourite uncle,
and is a grand old fellow. He wields no real authority in this
instance, sad to say, and lives mostly retired in Wales now, but he is
still a power to be reckoned with, and my uncle Selby treads very
softly around him." He smiled nostalgically. "You may know of him since
your family was Navy also. Admiral Lord Sutton-Newark."

"Yes indeed. I have heard my grandfather mention that name,
and with great respect.
Did
you ever appeal to
him?"

"Lord, no," he answered indignantly. "A fine booberkin he
would have thought me! Unable to deal with such a one as Selby Trent!"

"That is nonsensical! Your brother is older than you, and he
could not deal with the man! And Sir Selby has all his retainers, his
wife, and his son marshalled against you, and opposes your every wish.
I should think—"

Curious, he interrupted. "How did you know all that?"

She hesitated, then said rather airily, "Oh, Senor Angelo is
acquaint with Miss Trent, you know, and she—"

"Has babbled all my secrets, has she? Wretched chit!" He
checked, then added with a sober look, "No, I must not say that. She is
a darling, and heaven knows has much to distress her. I only pray we
may deal well—"

"Mr. Val! Mr. Val!" Priscilla ran from the house, her skirts
flying, her little face alight and well sprinkled with flour.

Montclair grinned, and shifted on the chaise, sitting up and
reaching his good arm to her. "What makes those lovely eyes sparkle so,
Lady Priscilla?"

She giggled ecstatically, and ran to be hugged. "I'm going to
Tewkesb'y with Starry an' the Bo'sun to get my new specs, and Bo'sun
George says he might buy me a ice. An' you know I is not a
real
lady."

"Bless my soul!" he said, smiling into the bright little face.
"How you have deceived me! Now tell me what you've been up to with
Starry that smells so delectable."

"Oh, we've been cooking. We din't have much time, 'cause
Bo'sun George is waiting to drive us, so I must go and put on my bonnet
and mittens quick. But I cooked you a special biscuit for your dinner,
Mr. Val. Wait till you see it! It's 'normous, and I poked hund'eds an'
thousands of currants into it, 'cause I know you like currants."

"Indeed I do. I can scarce wait 'til dinner time. Faith, but
I'm glad to know you're such a good cook. If you do decide to wait for
me, and accept of my offer, I'll eat well!"

She squealed with delight, jumped up and down twice, bade them
both a hurried farewell, then went racing back inside to get ready for
the long-awaited journey to Tewkesbury.

Montclair leaned back, watching the flying little figure.
"What a sweet child she is," he murmured, fondly.

"Yes," agreed Susan, watching him. "And what is all this about
offers, sir?"

He chuckled, and turned his head lazily against the chaise to
look at her. "Not quite what you might think, ma'am. I am honoured to
inform you that your daughter is prepared to sacrifice herself on the
altar of matrimony, and has selected me as a possible mate."

"Good—heavens!"

He sighed and said in tragic accents, "You do not approve!
Alas. However, there is a stipulation, so do not worry yourself unduly.
Mistress Priscilla considers marriage very silly, and only for old
people."

Susan laughed a little uncertainly. "That is not exactly a
stipulation, is it?"

"No, but her reluctance to enter such a state is balanced
against her need for a rich gentleman, and I had to tell her I have
neither title nor a great fortune." Susan tensed at this, a frown
coming into her eyes, but far from being an expert in the ways of
women, he did not see this danger signal, and blundered on. "She is
very sensible, and says that she cannot marry anyone who has less than
a hundred guineas."

"Oh." In a clipped voice Susan remarked, "Well, I fancy you
told her you are betrothed, which put an end to that nonsense."

"Certainly not! Why should I? Now tell me, ma'am, seriously.
You have instilled the proper values into her, I'll not deny. But what
do you mean to do with her? She is exceptionally bright and should be
educated, for—"

"For what?" she snapped, annoyed with him on more than one
count. "The Marriage Mart? Hah! With our reputation to aid her, she'd
not get one toe across the threshold!"

His smile faded. "I had not meant to imply that."

"Then what had you meant to imply? You must know that is all
women are considered good for in these days. A girl must be educated,
certainly. Up to a point. She should speak French and some Latin. She
must know her Bible and be able to read the globes. She should sketch
nicely, paint, and play the pianoforte tolerably well, and a good
singing voice is an asset. And above all, she must be well bred up to
know her place in the world, which, as you yourself remarked, is to be
a conformable wife and turn a blind eye to her husband's little
affaires
de coeur
!"

"The deuce!" growled Montclair angrily. "When did I ever make
such a gauche remark?"

Barbara had said that of him, and her confidence must, of
course, be respected. Susan evaded hurriedly. "I suppose you will deny
that what I have said is truth. But the fact remains that Priscilla
will have a vastly better chance of making a good match is she kind and
stupid, for a clever woman is considered a threat and unfeminine!"

"Indeed?" he drawled with a curl of the lip. "So your plan for
her future goes no further than finding her a wealthy husband! There
are
more important things than money, you know."

Stung by his scorn, and driven by hurt and the need to strike
out at him, she snapped, "Easy said when you have plenty, but odd as it
may seem, I've no ambition to see her marry into poverty and live in a
garret."

She had stood as she spoke, and taken up her basket.

Struggling to rise also, Montclair reached for his crutch and
responded irritably, "Not that, certainly. But this preoccupation with
a good marriage—or in other words, a wealthy one—is—"

"Gauche, I suppose," she interrupted, glaring at him. "Then
pray tell sir, what other course suggests itself to you?"

"Lord save us all, ma'am, the child has an excellent mind.
Unlike most predatory females she might be content with an average
man—even a man with no title and an honest occupation!"

Predatory females! "Oooh!" gasped Susan, infuriated. "Shall I
tell you what
this
predatory female prays for,
Mr. Montclair? Shall I?"

He bowed precariously, and said at his most cynical, "I am all
ears, ma'am."

"Which are precious small of comprehension," she riposted. "I
pray, sir, that the day may dawn when the height of a female's ambition
is not merely to find a suitable mate!"

Quite as angry as she, he jeered, "Then what shall be the
height of this legendary creature's ambition, Mrs. Henley? To enter a
nunnery perhaps?"

"To have," she said through her teeth, "some interests of her
own! To perhaps be permitted to voice an opinion and not hear it
tolerantly sneered at! To be permitted to
hold
an
opinion without being thus judged a bluestocking!"

He said hotly, "If ever I heard such stuff! I'll have you
know, ma'am, that my mama was exceeding well read! Why, she probably
read two or three books a—a day!
And
discussed 'em
with my father! And as to females holding opinions—good God! Have you
never listened to my aunt? The woman holds sufficient opinions for a
regular army of—"

"Mrs. Sue!" called Martha Reedham from the back step.
"Company!"

"How very well timed," said Susan with quelling dignity. "Your
pardon, sir."

"Oh—hell!" Valentine gave her his tentative grin. "Sue—please
don't rush away angry with me. What the deuce are we quarrelling about?
You know I want only the best for Priscilla. I'm just clumsy about the
way I say it, I collect."

Her antagonism vanished as swiftly as his mood had changed.
She said with a flash of dimples, "Very clumsy. So I
shall
rush away, and leave you to ponder your misdeeds, Mr.—" She started
off, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Mr.—what?" he demanded.

"Valentine…" she said provocatively, and hurried to the house
guiltily aware that she was as naughty a flirt as he; and that he was
smiling after her.