Scandalous Innocent (4 page)

‘How
dare
you?’ Phoebe was on her feet again and, this time, Sir Leo stood to confront her, watching her eyes like a hawk for the attack she intended, but which did not come. ‘I was doing no more than living my life in the best way I knew how, with genuine love and friendship to all. And when you—’ her voice choked and faltered as the painful memories came back to shake her ‘—and when
you
have lost
your
entire family…and not seen them buried…and have no place to go to mourn them, then perhaps you will be in a better position to criticise the actions of those who have. I kept open house then, Sir Leo, to ease my grief. Yes, I heard the gossip and I didn’t care, until…’ Her tone deepened with emotion, her lungs gasping at the air.

‘Until I happened to remark—’

‘That I was too easy for
you,
and that you’d not be showing up at my door because you like a chase, not a sitting duck. Have I got it right, Sir Leo? Were those not your words? Well, my fine cavalier, let me tell you something. I’d not invite
you
to my door if you were the last man on this earth.’ On a cry of distress, her breath ran out as she swerved round him and ran to the door towards the sunshine and the open space of the garden.

His voice followed her, close behind. ‘And that’s why you changed tack then, mistress. Well, if it took my remark to do that…’

In a flash and a swish of silk, Phoebe whirled round to face him, her eyes blazing like black coals. ‘You great… oaf!’ she said. ‘It was not your impertinence that caused the change, but Sir Piers’s suicide and the scandal it caused. I was being blamed for it, though heaven only knows why. After the duel, I went away to let things die down, but instead it got worse. What was I supposed to do on my return, pray? Dance on the poor man’s grave and carry on as before?’ Shaking with fury, she strode on along the path, past the intrigued gardeners and through the doorway in the wall, through the Fountain Garden and on towards the house, stopping only once to prise a stone out of her shoe, pointedly refusing the offer of Sir Leo’s hand. ‘Leave me alone! I should never have come here.’

‘What will ye do then, lass? Run away again?’

‘Mind your own damned business.’

‘You
are
my business,’ he answered, under his breath. Cursing himself for a fool for leaving matters so long to fester and intensify, he followed her out of the Orangery. He could have sorted things out before this, he told himself, if he’d not been dragged hither and thither by the demands of his office, though other men had managed their affairs of the heart better than he. Yes, he’d made her aware of his disdain, always believing that there would be a moment when he would catch her alone, away from the garrulous friends with whom she surrounded herself. He had watched her from a respectable distance, angrily, jealously, impotently. Then, out of sheer frustration, he had muttered his jaundiced opinion too loudly, not expecting that Kelloway would pick it up and use it to fuel his own fantasies. It had been true that he’d not be presenting himself at her door, but that had not represented the end of his interest. On the contrary, he’d been interested since she had first appeared, but had believed that the usual manner of introductions would not do for her. For one thing, she was young and vulnerable; for another, she was clearly afraid of him. His waiting game had proved disastrous, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Blindly, forgetting her way through the new additions, she ran all the way round to the door on the north side with Sir Leo following, his long stride matching three of hers. At the end of the great hall where the family had met by coincidence in a rare gathering, the Duke’s loud bellow of laughter was cut short by the crash of the door being thrown back on its hinges and the whirlwind entrance of Mistress Phoebe Laker, with Sir Leo close behind. Still bickering in mid-quarrel, still refusing to concede the smallest point, she was, as they entered, somewhat irrelevantly pointing out that he himself had a reputation for loose living, if the truth be told, and who was he to sit in judgement upon others?

The family turned in surprise, not at the storm itself but at the physical intensity of it that felt as if an avalanche was about to sweep them away. Mistress Laker’s lovely face was flushed, her eyes sparkling with angry tears, her whole body tense with indignation.

Sir Leo closed the door quietly, getting the last word in as he did so. ‘Well, nobody else seemed willing to say what they thought, did they? What did I have tae lose by it?’

‘Oh, I was the one to lose out, Sir Leo. You made sure of
that.’
It was then, as she turned, that Phoebe became aware of the brightly coloured group on the chequered floor, staring first at her and then at each other, prompting her towards some kind of explanation. ‘I’m…er…sorry, your Grace. Er…I wonder if I might impose on you to lend me a coach. I’ve decided…well…I think it’s best for me to leave. My gentlewoman…’ Brushing a tear away with the heel of her hand, she looked around her, helplessly, like a child.

The Duchess hurried forwards, with arms outstretched. ‘Dear me, Phoebe love. What is all this about? Of course you can’t leave. Not yet. Isn’t there something we can do to help?’ She tried to enclose her guest in a motherly embrace, but Phoebe was too agitated to accept it.

‘No, nothing at all, thank you, my lady. I can’t stay, that’s all.’

The Duke, rising as usual to the diplomatic challenge and making no concessions to his two young stepdaughters, called across to his secretary, ‘What ha’ you been up to then, Leo? Had your hands where they’re not wanted, eh?’

Sir Leo was used to his master’s crudity. ‘Mistress Laker and I are having a discussion, that’s all, my lord, and I’m winning. That’s why she’s so annoyed.’

‘We are
not
having a discussion, my lord,’ Phoebe said, loudly. ‘And he is
not
winning. And I am
not
annoyed. I simply wish to leave, unless you can find an
extremely
long document for him to transcribe into medieval Latin that will keep him occupied for the next few days, after which he’ll retire with a
blinding
headache from which he’ll—’

‘Whisht…lass!’ said the Duke, coming forwards. ‘What’s amiss here? I knew ye did nae like him much, but ye canna wish the man dead, can ye?’

‘Yes, easily, my lord.’ She brushed her hands crisply over the skirts of her gown as if to dust him off. ‘And to be buried in the Outer Hebrides.’

The Duke whistled through his teeth and looked again at Sir Leo. ‘Man, she means it, too. It’s as bad as that, is it? I thought—’

‘Yes,’ said his wife, ‘we know what you thought, dear, but we have to try to find a solution to this problem, and running away is not one of them. Come, Phoebe love, can you not accept an apology from Sir Leo for…?’

‘Sir Leo has offered me no apology, my lady.’

‘Nor is Sir Leo likely to,’ said the man himself, resting on the edge of the billiard table and taking up one of the ivory-tipped cues to examine it.

‘Nor would I accept it if he did,’ Phoebe retorted, tossing her bouncy ringlets.

‘Stalemate,’ said the Duke, philosophically.

‘I believe you’re right, my lord,’ said Phoebe, looking round for the best way to make an escape. ‘It
is
stalemate. I do not accept a word of Sir Leo’s explanation, such as it is, and he doesn’t accept mine.’

‘Such as it is,’ he murmured, chalking the cue.

‘Sir Leo!’ The Duchess’s reprimand cracked across the hall like a whip. ‘Put that cue down and try to take this seriously, if you will. Mistress Laker is a guest at Ham House and we have a duty to make her visit memorable for all the
right
reasons. And playing a game of billiards by yourself will do nothing to help matters. Think of something useful, will you?’

Promptly, Sir Leo obeyed. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady, I meant no disrespect. I’ve been trying to think of something that would help Mistress Laker since she arrived. Indeed, I told her so at our first meeting, but she has her reasons for not wanting to listen.’

‘Then something must be done,’ said the Duchess.

‘A coach would be best,’ said Phoebe. ‘Or I could walk. It’s not far.’

Young Katherine, eager to help but bursting with curiosity, felt that things were moving too fast. ‘What did Sir Leo say to make Mistress Laker so very angry? Was it about this morning?’

Her elder sister nudged her with a frown. ‘Hush, Katherine. They’ve been over that ground, and Mama is asking for suggestions. What about a sword contest?’ she said, innocently.

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Betty dear,’ the Duchess said. ‘That’s about as helpful as Sir Leo playing billiards.’

‘With respect, Mama,’ Elizabeth persevered, ‘it’s not ridiculous at all. I happen to know that Mistress Laker has this last three years been taking fencing lessons from Signor Luigi Verdi. Isn’t that so, mistress?’

Horrified by the revelation of her secret, Phoebe’s tightly strung nerves sharpened her voice like a butcher’s knife. ‘That’s nobody’s business but mine. Where did you hear that?’

The Duke came to the rescue. ‘Never mind where she heerd it. Is it true?’

Phoebe had no alternative but to give him the truth. ‘Yes, my lord, but—’

‘Well, then, why not put it to the test? A good oldfashioned bout or two wi’ the tuckes has settled many a dispute.’

‘That’s really not a very clever idea,’ said the Duchess, unconvincingly, which suggested that she thought it was.

Sir Leo took no persuading. His answer came fast and decisive. ‘I’m game, but the lady would not—’

‘Yes, she
would!’
Phoebe retorted. ‘It’s time somebody took that clever smile off your face. I could do it.’

‘Yes!’ cried Elizabeth, clinging to her sister’s hand, and already ahead of everyone in her imaginings. ‘And if Sir Leo wins, he gets to marry Mistress Laker, and if—’

‘And if I win,’ said Phoebe, lifting her chin, ‘I get to kill him!’

For a few stunned moments the room fell utterly silent except for the sonorous ticking of a clock somewhere while the girls’ minds ran riot through mixed fantasies of love and hate, revenge, submission, conquest, mastery and sweet defeat, their own as well as Phoebe’s. In effect, what Elizabeth at seventeen was proposing for her rival in love was what she wanted for herself, with the exception of the death scene which would make the whole exercise pointless.

In her case, however, these fantasies had become even more distorted since the recent discussions about her own future, a future that would never involve the man she adored above all others, who would never be allowed to sue for her hand, even if he’d wanted to. Loving him one moment and hating him the next, wanting his happiness yet wishing to punish him for being unattainable, Elizabeth saw this as a chance to put herself in Mistress Laker’s shoes and to fight him, physically, to feel the emotion of being conquered and won, as she would never be. Mistress Laker was the perfect go-between, angry like herself, and with just enough skill—according to Signor Verdi—not to disgrace herself over a few bouts. But not enough to win. Sir Leo would claim Mistress Laker’s hand and, despite their antagonism, it would end as all the best romances did with the two opponents accepting their fate, whatever it was. She, Elizabeth, would feel it. It was the nearest she would ever come to being pursued by her heart’s desire. By proxy.

Even so, she knew that her heart would break when the fantasy was played out and the fiction became fact. Helping it along was more for her own benefit than for theirs, for the nature of that kind of dream was in delusion.

‘That’s all very well,’ said the Duke, ‘but there’s a penalty for that kind o’ thing, mistress. Did you know that? Besides, I’d not be too happy for my best man to be killed just now. He’s got letters to write. And if I were you, I’d not be so hell-bent on a fight to the death wi’ a man like him. He’d cut you into collops before you could blink.’

‘I really don’t care, my lord, whether he does or not. He’s already damaged my name. Why not the rest of me?’

The bleakness of her reply shocked them all, even the ones who understood it better than the rest. ‘Phoebe dear, don’t say that,’ the Duchess whispered. ‘This is a silly idea. Shall we forget it and try to find another way?’

‘No, my lady, thank you. The chance of making him sweat with fear the way his last opponent did is too good to miss. Whoever wins, it will have been worth it.’

‘Then let’s not forget,’ Sir Leo said, sauntering towards her, ‘that the stakes are high, Mistress Laker. I get you for a wife when I score two hits.’

‘It’s academic,’ Phoebe replied, glaring at him. ‘But I accept. And when I score
my
second hit, I’ll make sure you die with as little dignity as he did.’

‘Whisht!’ said the Duke, on a long slow breath. ‘What on
earth
did he say to cause such scorn, lassie? Wouldn’t his disappearance do just as well?’

Phoebe chose to answer that with some questions of her own. ‘So am I to take it, my lord, that in the unlikely event of a win for Sir Leo, he gets
his
prize, but when I win, all I get is his disappearance for a while? I’ve had the pleasure of not seeing him for three whole years, you see, and three more is not
quite
the same as eternity, is it? That’s what happens to those who fly too close to my flame—my parents, my brother and Sir Piers. They die. What’s so special about
him
that he should be spared? If I deserve any reputation at all, let it be for bestowing the kiss of death where I will. And I think you would be unwise, my lord, to underestimate my skills with a rapier. I’ve three years of hard practice behind me.’

‘And Sir Leo has had twenty,’ the Duke replied, throwing up his hands, ‘but if you’re still wanting to settle matters this way, go ahead. I doubt it’ll take long. I’ll go and find the foils.’ He was not impressed by Phoebe’s dramatic speech.

‘Not foils, my lord. Rapiers. I’ll have no guards on the points.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said the Duchess, trying again to take Phoebe’s hands. ‘Are you sure about this? I know how it pains us when our loved ones die so suddenly and violently, and then Sir Piers, which I
know
was not your fault. But it should not be like this, love. I had no idea… I didn’t mean it to… Oh, what have I started? You mustn’t
kill
him, love. Really, you mustn’t. It can be settled peacefully, can’t it? None of us wants bloodshed.’