The Curious Rogue (12 page)

“Was that Sir Henry I saw leaving?” Tretain asked Cavilon as he joined the comte in his study.

“It was,” the other returned cryptically.

The earl saw that the lace scarf which lay before Cavilon on the desk was torn in two. “What did he say to raise your bile so?”

“Sir Henry Jeffries has regretfully informed me that my offer for his niece’s hand has been refused. My... person has been found... undesirable.

“Damn the man. He so much as called me a coward.” Cavilon’s eyes narrowed in frustrated anger. “Elizabeth is being sent to Ashford.”

“It may be for the best,” Tretain said softly. “Even you could not say she was amenable to the match.”

“If I recall correctly, Lady Juliane’s feelings before your marriage were much the same as Elizabeth’s. That did nothing to alter your pursuit,” Cavilon noted coldly.

“But then, you did not have this,” he threw the torn lace to the floor, “to compete against.”

“A true love would have seen through your affectations.
”

“In three meetings I am to overcome this?” The comte
’s
gesture indicated his powdered and laced appearance.

“Perhaps it is just Sir Henry’s old-fashioned ideas about what denotes a man that have led to this and it has nothing to do with Elizabeth,” Tretain began.

“There is more to it than that. Yesterday my wealth was enough excuse for my over-elaborate, foppish mannerisms.”

“Then you should rejoice that the girl did not accept you.”

Cavilon scowled at Tretain. “I know you mean well, but...” He sighed heavily, “I love her. The moment I thought Barney was lunging for her, I knew it for a certainty.”

The earl cocked his head questioningly.

“Barney is a four-footed giant fond of relieving ladies of their reticules,” Cavilon half explained.

“I see,” Tretain said his interest tweaked.

The comte
’s
face darkened, his thoughts far from the incident in St. James’s Park. “I wanted to win her love in spite of my present guise. If she accepted me in this state, I would know it was from affection.”

“How could you have been certain?” the earl questioned slowly. “Your wealth is a great temptation to many. Think of all the plotting mamas and widows upon whom you have used your skills of avoidance these ten years past, if not since you stepped into your first pair of breeches. When love is genuine, you will know it,” he ended earnestly, the distress he saw on his friend’s face troubling him deeply.

“There are so few women of honour, of principle. Some are lured by money, some by a handsome face.”

A deep bitterness had come into Cavilon’s voice. “They swear to love forever but stay only while the jewels and money last. They promise to wed, then fly into another man’s arms the moment the first is from their side. How does one recognize this genuineness you speak of?

“Once I loved and was loved,”
the
comte continued, “or so I believed. You should have heard the vows we swore to one another, the promises we made. But her words meant nothing.” His fist came down on the desk with bruising force.

“She betrayed me. I was gone but two weeks. On returning I found her wed to another who had already come into his inheritance and did not have a father standing in the way of his fortune, as I did. Not a word would she say; she laughed at my protest. I had believed her pure and innocent. Thus I learned a lesson about women I have never forgotten.”

Tretain stared at his hands. There was nothing he could say to relieve such a deep wound.

“In Elizabeth Jeffries I thought to find a woman who would honour any promise she made. Had she wed me even when she loathed me, I would have known then that if I could capture her heart, she would love me always. That she would never play me false.”

“But I did not realize that an agreement had been reached between you,” Tretain noted, puzzled.

“There was none.” The question broke Cavilon’s brooding. “There was none,” he repeated, a studied expression easing his dark look.

“Had you not thought to purchase land in an eastern shire?” the earl asked. “Perhaps you could spend some time with Lord Tenbury. I believe his lands lie near Ashford.” Tretain grinned.

“Mayhaps.” A challenging gleam came to Cavilon’s eyes.

“Wasn’t that Tenbury with you at White’s the other day? Yes. I heard something said about him—about your winning his lands.”

“That is only temporary. The young fool needed a lesson. I had seen he was gambling much too impulsively and there were many waiting to fleece such a young lamb. The estate is mine only if he fails to pay the debt in six months’ time. He is now making the rounds of the bankers. One will be willing to loan him the sum if he can show a less brash nature in the next four months,” Cavilon said reluctantly.

But the land is yours till then? Would it not be a more forceful lesson if Tenbury were to see you occupy his manor?”

“Mon ami,”
Cavilon rose smiling, “
merci.
” He paused in front of his desk. “But tell me, why was it you called?”

“Only to offer my felicitations,” Tretain lied easily.

“You have found someone for the task you spoke of?” The comte cocked his head suspiciously.

“No,” the earl laughed, “but you would be of little use in your present state. Hie off to Ashford. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavour there.” Tretain reached out and shook his friend’s hand.

“
Merci
. My greetings and apologies to Juliane for not calling to bid her farewell. Send word if the situation with the other matter becomes desperate. Perhaps Martin shall have to make one last journey.”

“Your services will be missed,” Tretain told him seriously. “But then, we have learned never to depend on any one individual.
Bonne chance,”
he added and took his leave.

Cavilon returned to his chair and sat deep in thought for several minutes, then rose and summoned Leveque. “We shall journey to Ashford in Kent in the morn,” he told the valet. “I have acquired some property I wish to inspect. Prepare for a lengthy stay.”

* * * *

Putting the letter on her bureau after reading it a second time, Elizabeth continued to gaze at it shaking her head. Ten days back at Ashly, back in the routine of running her uncle’s household and seeing to the prodigious task of civilizing Tom and Barney, had helped push thoughts of Cavilon back, if not entirely from her mind. Now this strange letter from Lady Tretain forced it all to the fore.

Surely my short note telling Lady Juliane that I was leaving London and could not call upon her could not have prompted this? she wondered. Had Cavilon prompted it?

No
, she thought, pacing to the oriel window in her bedroom. Even a man such as the comte did not reveal such things about himself as Lady Juliane had written.
How strange to think of Cavilon as a man passionately in love with anyone
, Elizabeth mused, thinking of the letter’s contents.
And how very sad that he was betrayed
. She recalled his words about ardour being tiresome, and deep pity for him arose.

“He must have been terribly hurt.” She gasped. “Even as I was by Father’s death.” This sudden realization of the root cause of all her anger and hatred shocked her. “I turned against all things French,” she murmured aloud, “and Cavilon—his overly foppish dress and mannerisms could all have been caused by a violent reaction to this woman’s having played falsely with him.”

And you, too, rejected him,
came the sobering thought.
You rejected him harshly and without good cause or genteel manners.
Perturbed, Elizabeth hurried from her room and down the stairs. At the foot of them she encountered Niles.

“I am going for a walk but shall return in time for tea,” she told him.

“Should I call Spense to go with you, miss?”

“I am not in London now, Niles. Lady Waddington cannot object to my walking in my uncle’s woods,” she returned sharply.

“As you say, miss,” the butler said impassively. He walked before her and opened the doors.

Now, why did you have to snap at him?
Elizabeth rebuked herself as she strode down the gravel drive, then turned south to go into the woods beyond the rambling manor house. Entering them, her steps slowed as she stepped over brambles and broken limbs. Her thoughts became calmer.

Why should you he so upset? she asked herself. Cavilon is in London. You are here. You never made any commitment to the man. In fact, you were tactlessly brutal about your feelings towards him. Lady Juliane must have misunderstood the reason for my return here. Her letter changes nothing.

But would it have, her conscience questioned, if you had known what she has written before your last encounter with the comte?

Shaking herself, Elizabeth forced the question aside. She stamped forward, trying to find relief in physical exertion. Her thoughts left Cavilon and moved towards her father. Then they strangely mingled. A deep sorrow filled her.

Suddenly she was very tired. Looking about, Elizabeth saw that she had come much deeper into the woods than she had meant, but she breathed a sigh of thanksgiving for the privacy this gave her. She sat beneath the shade of the large beech trees. Tears welled in her eyes.

Nothing is right anymore
, she bemoaned her present circumstances.
My steady, safe world has gone awry, and there is nothing I can do to set it right.
She hung her head and huge tear drops fell onto her skirt. For the first time in many years Elizabeth cried freely, sobbed deeply.

Sometime later the tears slowed, but the ache held stubbornly fast. Elizabeth attempted to dry her eyes with the edge of her skirt.

 “La, Miss Jeffries, must you be so thorough in everything you do?” a nasal voice drawled at her side.

Elizabeth started violently, “Cavilon,” she gasped, disbelieving the sight in puce satin and lace before her.

“It is terribly un-English to carry on so.” The comte tossed his second kerchief to her lap. “But seeing how you have done a—” he tapped his cheek reflectively, “I believe it is called ‘a bloody good job of it’, I daresay it can be disregarded as unpatriotic.”

For a moment anger surged through Elizabeth; then, studying Cavilon’s ridiculous pose and considering his even more absurd words, she burst into laughter.

Cavilon fluttered his lace kerchief to his lips to conceal his relieved smile.

Elizabeth held out her hand, and then withdrew it. “I forgot. You mustn’t soil your gloves,” she teased, still laughing.

“But if they are removed, then they cannot be soiled,” Cavilon said lightly, deftly removing the white gloves and tossing them to the ground. With an elaborate bow, he offered his hand to assist her.

His sudden seriousness dispelled the foppishness, but the look was gone in an instance. An awkward silence descended as Elizabeth stood, conscious only of the firm gentleness of his hold.

“My lord.” She finally removed her hand. “How do you come to be here? I would not have thought our English countryside would be attractive to you.”

“La, Miss Jeffries, even I tire of... society. I... my dear, what are you doing?” Cavilon feigned shock.

“There is no reason to waste a perfectly good pair of gloves,” she told him, picking his off the ground. Elizabeth handed them to him. “And now, will you tell me why you are here? Are you a guest of Lord Tenbury?”

“I doubt that he would think so. I won his estate in a game of hazard,” Cavilon noted carefully.

“It certainly was a hazardous game for Lord Tenbury,” Elizabeth said with lightly concealed surprise.

“A lesson to the unwise,” the comte quipped. He smiled.

“I am most pleased to see you somewhat restored to your usual mien, Miss Jeffries. Was the matter serious?”

“My lord, we all know you are never serious,” she answered lightly.

“La, you have understood me perfectly. Can you not see how well we would deal together?”

“Uncle Henry would not agree, but then he does not value his toilet as highly as you do yours. Nor is his as... striking as yours.” She paused, a finger on her chin, and surveyed him from peruke to shoes.

“Dare I hope, Miss Jeffries, that you are not of your uncle’s thinking?” he asked, half serious, half teasing.

“Oh, I assure you, my lord, I think your dress as memorable as Uncle Henry does,” she quipped.

Cavilon retreated. “And how do Tom and his four-footed friend fare?”

“Why, you remember his name!” Elizabeth said, surprised. “Actually, once we found Aunt Waddie’s—Lady Waddington,” she explained. Her inflection warning Cavilon not to utter the quip on the tip of his tongue. “Once we found her vinaigrette and explained that Barney was not a lion all went fairly well.

“I am currently trying to teach Tom how to be a page but,” she shrugged hopelessly, “I doubt I have the patience for such work. The experience has almost destroyed my hopes of being a governess.” She forced a smile. “But it will soon go better.”

“Have you thought Tom might be better suited to being a groom—having worked with animals, that is?” the comte suggested with a yawn.

Elizabeth frowned deeply at him, and then shook her head when she realized that he simply baited her with his attitude. “I shall consider that,” she finally said with a begrudging smile.

“Now I must go... before Barney is sent in search of me. Naturally the distance to Ashly is too far for you to even consider walking,” she noted dryly.

“
Naturellement
,” Cavilon agreed with a wry smile. “But I shall see you again...
ma petite.”

Shaking her head, Elizabeth laughed gently. “Perhaps,” she said softly. Waling away from him briskly, she retraced her steps. A short distance away she paused briefly and glanced back to find Cavilon still gazing after her. On impulse she waved at him, but turned before he could respond.

If nothing else is in his behalf, she thought, he can make me laugh.

* * *

Barney’s loud barking told Elizabeth that she was nearing Ashly. At the edge of the wood she halted and watched a rider mount and ride away. When he was out of sight, she dashed forward thinking he might have brought word from her brother.