Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (10 page)

Marietta turned with a start as she heard her name called.
Fanny was coming to join her. She felt ridiculously flustered to have
been caught watching the invalid, but Fanny said lightly that she'd
come to help with the wash and to escape Arthur's chatter. "All he does
is talk about the Major. I declare the child is positively bewitched!"

Marietta smiled. "He does seem to have taken a great liking to
the man. And you have not, I think."

"I'm sorry he was hurt, but," Fanny shrugged, "I'll own I'll
be glad when he has gone away. He is too—too devious."

Holding one end of another sheet, Marietta asked, "In what
way?"

"In every way!" Together, they hung the sheet, and Fanny said,
"Have you not noticed that whenever something comes up concerning his
background, he evades? Never a straight answer. That business about
Freddy Foster, for instance. I asked if he knew Sir Frederick, and
instead of a simple yes or no, he managed to avoid answering
altogether. I tell you, he has something to hide!"

Suspecting that what he hid was a close acquaintanceship with
kegs and bales of illicit goods, Marietta refrained from comment.
Irked, Fanny took a towel from the basket and snapped, "Oh, you may
smile, but were I in your shoes I would make haste to depress his
pretensions, for it is certain that Papa will have none of him as a
suitor!"

Marietta was taken aback. "As a—
what?
Fan, you cannot be serious! The man has never so much as looked at me
in that way!"

"Not while you face him, perhaps. But when you do not see, he
can scarce tear his eyes from you, and I've sometimes spied an
expression in those cold eves of his that is more like fire than ice!
I'll not deny that he can be charming. But, consider dearest, he is
little better than a vagrant, with not a penny to his name! It will not
serve, and you know it!"

Marietta laughed. "No, really! How can you be so foolish? Do
not have us betrothed only because I'm sorry for our treatment of him."

"What about his horrid treatment of a little child?"

"You know that was unintentional. Only think of how he must
have felt when Arthur slammed that broom into his back. And I might
very well have killed the poor soul because of my silly suspicions! But
he scarcely even taxed me with it!"

Fanny gave a scornful little snort. "Perhaps he is enjoying
his convalescence too much to risk jeopardising it."

"That is unkind."

"If it is, I am sorry. But I do not like to see you so—so
intrigued by a very ordinary man who is
so
much
older than you are."

It was true. Marietta did find the Major intriguing. She said
slowly, "I'll admit I think him very far from being ordinary. Do you
never feel that his is a very strong and commanding nature? Yet he is
willing to play childrens' games with Arthur. I would like to know more
about him. Besides, I doubt he is more than a year or two older than
Blake Coville."

"Mr. Blake Coville has as good as offered for you. Mr. Innes
Williard is absolutely besotted and you'll not fend off an offer from
him for much longer. Either of them is a hundred times to be preferred
over a man who is a considerable enigma! And if the Major, or whatever
he is, is so strong and commanding, why has he only a little donkey
between himself and destitution?"

Marietta answered defensively that Major Diccon also possessed
a magnificent grey stallion, to which provocation Fanny tossed a pretty
shoulder and went off in a huff.

Shaking out a bolster cover, Marietta wondered why she had
become so annoyed by her sister's remarks, and whether, if she really
had to choose between Major Diccon and Innis Williard, she would—

"So here you are, my pretty!"

One of the gentleman in her thoughts was close behind her, his
bluff voice causing her to swing around hurriedly. "Mr. Williard!" She
shook his hand politely. "My apologies. Was there no one in the house
to greet you?"

"Pshaw, I do not stand on ceremony, Miss Marietta." His ruddy
face was wreathed in a grin and his bold dark eyes devoured her
hungrily. "Don't worry about my seeing you in your apron. I think we're
on such terms that I need not be shy about finding my way to your side
if my knock at the door goes unanswered."

Marietta tried unsuccessfully to free her hand and wished that
he would not stand so close. As usual, he was clad in the latest
fashion, but his garments seemed never quite to fit properly, and for
all the fobs and seals and the great ruby ring on his square hand, he
had none of the quiet elegance that the Major managed to achieve in a
plain coat and riding breeches. She dreaded that Fanny might be right
and Williard meant to offer. He must be closer to Aunty Dova's age than
her own, and although many ladies admired his rugged good looks, she
could not like his loud voice and aggressive manner.

She said, "You should have been properly received, sir. But I
think my papa could not wish me to be private with you here. If you
will be so good as to release my hand, we can—"

Instead, he held her tighter, his eyes glittering as he thrust
his face close to hers. Words tumbled from his lips and he all but
panted, "Much your papa will care if I have you all to myself for a
minute. He likely thought to dodge me, but he need not have worried. I
don't mean to press him for payment. What is money, after all? And if
we can keep it in the family, my dear, why—"

Marietta wrenched free and made for the back door. Surely Papa
had not been so unwise as to borrow from this man? "You must discuss
financial matters with Sir Lionel," she began.

Moving very fast for such a husky individual, Williard was
before her, blocking her retreat. "Come now, sweeting," he said,
affecting a persuasive manner. "There's no need to be coy. You're no
green girl, and I've been about the world! You know my feelings for
you, and I'd thought you would like a double wedding. Sir Lionel and my
pretty sister, and you and—"

Enraged, she interrupted, "You forget yourself, sir! If you
have spoken to my father in this matter, he has not mentioned it to me!
Nor have I given you any cause to suppose I would welcome a declaration
from you, much less one offered in such terms and in so improper a way!
Be good enough to let me pass!"

He did not like to be crossed, and at this his dark brows drew
together. Marietta's cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with
wrath, her head held very high. She looked even more desirable, but
that she would react in this way to his very generous proposal was as
annoying as it was unexpected. Isolde had agreed with him that the chit
would be overjoyed by such a grand chance, but whatever Miss Warrington
felt at this moment, he could not think it was joy. Resentful, he
pointed out, "I do not ask about a dowry. Did you remark that? I know
your father is properly in the basket. If you are ashamed that you
bring nothing to the union, do not give it a—"

"Pray have done, sir! Had you approached my father in the
correct fashion—"

"Do not take that tone with me, my girl!" His hand shot out
and grasped her wrist. "I do you the honour of offering you my name,
and you dare to turn up your nose? You should have left those high and
mighty airs with the dim-witted London beaux who are easily fooled! You
do not fool me! Your father lost five thousand guineas to me, and has
begged for time. I'm a patient man, and for your sake would be willing
to wipe out that debt, but do not try my patience too far, or—"

"What a pity about your ears."

With a startled oath, Williard whipped around to face the
owner of that sardonic drawl.

Marietta, who had been stunned by the amount of Sir Lionel's
indebtedness, pulled her hand free with a gasp of relief that at once
became apprehension. Major Diccon stood watching them. He looked
haughty and contemptuous, but he was also pale and had been ill. If Mr.
Williard lost his temper, as was his habit, the Major would be no match
for him.

"Who the devil are you, and what are you doing here?" roared
Williard, his face assuming a crimson hue.

Diccon said icily, "I am a guest in the home of Sir Lionel
Warrington. I cannot think that you have a similar claim." His lip
curled, his eyes raked Williard from head to toe, and he added, "I
believe you must not have heard Miss Warrington desire you to move
aside." His voice sank to a purr. "Do so!"

With a snort of rage Williard stamped forward and swung his
heavy riding crop high. Diccon's eyes narrowed, and he crouched
slightly.

Alarmed, Marietta stammered, "Thank you, M-Major Diccon. I
feel sure Mr. Williard is—is leaving now."

What Williard read in Diccon's face she could not tell, but
his impassioned glare faded, he lowered his hand and growled, "Major,
is it? Well, you're a damned impertinent jackanapes, whoever you are!
But I'll not discipline you in front of the lady." He turned about and
stamped towards the gate in the hedge, blustering, "Your father won't
thank you for this day's work, I promise you, Miss Marietta!" Diccon
took a step toward him, and Williard hurried for the safety of the
gate. Passing through, he shouted, "Set one foot on my land, fellow,
and my men will know how to deal with you, major or no!" The gate
slammed behind him.

There came a burst of soft applause from the house. Mrs.
Cordova stood in the open scullery door beaming at them. "Oh, well
done, Major!" she trilled. " 'Faith, but you properly frightened the
creature! Do you not agree, Etta?"

Marietta said, "To say truth, for a minute, sir, I really
thought he meant to attack you."

Diccon smiled his lazy smile. "Then I must be thankful I was
able to bluff him. He's a big fellow. I only hope I did not step in
where angels would fear to tread."

In Marietta's ears was the echo, 'Five… thousand… guineas…'
She said with an effort, "Oh. I mean—no! You were most kind, and I
thank you."

He bowed, watching her worried face gravely.

Mrs. Cordova said, "And I thank you, too, sir. I never liked
that man! Which reminds me—you have a caller with a horse, Major. He
would not come in, and is waiting on the terrace. It is the man who
waits, you understand? I suppose the horse also waits, but—" She gave a
sudden shriek of laughter. "My, how confusing this becomes! His name,
he says, is Monsieur Yves, and something is causing him the greatest
distress."

"He said that?" asked Diccon sharply.

"Oh, no." Mrs. Cordova held out her skirts and essayed a risky
pirouette on the step. "I could tell. I often can, you know." She
murmured in a far-away voice, "I see many more things about people than
they suspect. You must let me tell your fortune, Major."

"It would be my pleasure, ma'am." Mrs. Cordova beamed at him
and hurried down the steps, and he said hastily, "But for the present,
I beg you will allow me to rob your vegetable garden." Receiving her
permission, he bowed slightly and left them, walking briskly to the
neat rows of vegetables and then around to the front of the house.

"He stole a carrot," said Marietta. "Did you see the horse? I
only caught a glimpse, but it's a beautiful animal."

"And costly." Mrs. Cordova nodded. "It would be interesting to
know how he came by the creature." Another pirouette and she murmured,
"I fancy most men tread softly around our major. I wonder why he does
not want me to tell his fortune."

Yves' shaggy little pony and Orpheus were tethered at the
lodge gate, and as the two men left the terrace and started down the
drive-path, Yves halted. " 'Allo? 'Allo?" he said, annoyed. "I do not
care to make the shout. It is truth that beside you Yves is always as
if walking in the ditch, but if you could your mind remove from the
tres
belle
mademoiselle, you might 'ear those things I say."

Diccon flushed slightly. "A proper fool I should be to allow
my hopes to drift in that direction. I apologize if my mind wandered.
Now tell me—have you finished the deliveries?"

Yves directed a much-tried look at the sunny skies. " 'Ave I
not said it? Your beast I bring to you now, for we sail tonight."

"Tonight! There'll be a moon, you fool!"

"And the more large fool I, if we stay."

The grey stallion nudged his master's shoulder and whinnied a
greeting, and Diccon caressed the silken neck affectionately before
giving in to rank flattery and offering the carrot in his pocket.

Watching this fond reunion Yves said solemnly, "They come,
mon
ami.
Two with the long memory who love not this Yves, but
who love much less my Diccon."

"They're not alone." Diccon shrugged. "Likely at least half a
hundred men would rejoice to hear of my departure from this world. Yet
I live."

"Ah, but suppose I tell you that a week since these two they
sail from a small French fishing village at dead
of
night? Suppose I say that one 'e is very tall and very white—like the
dough? And the other"—he threw his arms wide—"much of a Chinese walking
mountain?"

Diccon stiffened and stepped away from the velvety muzzle that
was tickling his neck. "Monteil?"

"Mais oui!"
Yves nodded vigorously. "This
same Monsieur Imre Monteil who vow your death. The monstrous Ti Chiu,
also! If you 'ave wisdom, you go very fast away. Like me."

"Nonsense. Wherever he may be going, Monteil would not dare to
set foot in England again. And even if he did, he'd never think to look
for me here."

"Do you forget that this evil one was so thick as
inkle-weavers with the mighty Claude Sanguinet? Like as not 'e still
'ave many spies, and if 'e desires a man to find—that man is found!
Listen,
mon ami!
To stay in this place—" Yves
offered the dramatic and all-encompassing shrug that covers every
imaginable situation and can be achieved only by a Frenchman. "Ce
n'est
pas la peine!
"