The Tyrant (17 page)

“For instance?”

“For instance,” he said rather hesitantly, “has my rich uncle replaced me in your affections?”

The question annoyed her. She said, “I scarcely know Mr. Carruthers, but from what you have told me I could not fail to be grateful to him, if only because he has been good to you.”

“And that properly set me down. As I deserved, for being so crass. Faith, I'll be lucky do I not drive you right into his arms with my jealousy.”

“Small chance of that,” she assured him, albeit with another guilty pang because she had already been wrapped in Carruthers's arms. “I rather gather your uncle is very much enamoured of another lady.” He looked at her curiously, and she said with proper nonchalance, “Rosalie somebody or other.”

“What—Rosalie Smith?” he chuckled. “No competition to you, dear heart, though I could wish otherwise. She's pretty as any picture, but at best would only be a—er—”

“You mean she is his mistress.”

He looked miserable. “I did not say that, Phoebe.”

“You did not have to. It is very clear, and of no interest to me. But I am sufficiently unsophisticated, Brooks, that I would very much like to wed a gentleman who, at least for a while, would be content with—just me.”

He swept her into his arms. “My God! Who could possibly look elsewhere once he had seen
your
radiance? Have no fears, my darling, you are all
I
could ever want!”

The blue eyes gazing at her adoringly were a so much deeper blue than those other eyes, and full of adoration; not a blaze that threatened to consume her. He was so loyal to Carruthers; so faithful in his love; such a gallant young man. She really was most fortunate to have found him. She allowed him one quick kiss, and was left with neither crushed ribs nor bruised lips.

*   *   *

Lady Eloise was taken by Mrs. Carruthers for a stroll through the several gardens and returned full of praise for the beauty of the ornamental water and fountains. It was very clear the two women thoroughly enjoyed each other's company, and when they all were gathered in the small dining room for luncheon, Phoebe thought Mrs. Carruthers fairly glowed with happiness. If there was still animosity between the brothers, neither showed it, and if Lambert noted the swelling beside Jeffery's mouth and the welt along Meredith's jaw, he made no comment. The worst moment for Phoebe was when Meredith presented her to Lambert as his ‘betrothed.' She did not know where to look, but Lambert responded easily, “Miss Ramsay and I are acquainted, Merry, and you've my heartiest congratulations, you lucky dog.” He proceeded to tease Carruthers in so good-natured a way that Phoebe was astounded by his acting ability. He did not manage nearly so well a short while later, his jaw dropping and stark disbelief coming into his eyes when my lady said, “Now, Mr. Carruthers, do, I beg you, favour us with one of your poetical pieces.”

“Lud!” gasped Lucille, turning an amazed stare on her eldest son.

Meredith, who had been in the act of cornering some green peas, was so jolted that the peas sprayed the table. He flushed scarlet, his eyes positively glazing with shock.

Jeffery gave a muffled snort and disappeared into his napkin.

Carruthers shot a stunned glance at Phoebe, who smiled at him benignly, while fighting to smother a bubble of mirth.

Making a recover, Lambert said wickedly, “Oh, yes,
pray
do, Meredith. It would be so diverting.”

“I—could not do so without … seeming to brag,” said Meredith. “Miss Ramsay must recite them, rather.”

“Alas, but I've not a copy with me,” she mourned. “But you
must
recall the ode you writ to my eyes, Mr. Carruthers. I shall jog your memory. The first line, as I recollect, went: ‘Those great and sparkling emerald eyes…'” She rested those eyes on his desperation with demure encouragement.

“Oh,
do
complete it, Merry,” gasped Jeffery, apparently troubled by something in his own eye.

His back to the wall, Carruthers directed a swift and vengeful glance at Phoebe, then stammered, “Ah—Those great and—and sparkling—er, emerald eyes … Ah, Whose beauty—er, fairly petrifies…” He mopped his brow, but struggled on, “petrifies … My-self who—is, er, am—not very wise.”

Lady Eloise stared at him. “Oh,” she said blankly.

Phoebe's eyes sparkled indeed, as Jeffery succumbed to a great shout of laughter.

Lucille looked from Lambert's muffled hilarity to Jeffery's tears, and said indignantly, “Well, I think it is really quite remarkable!” She smiled consolingly at the sweating Meredith. “And you two boys are behaving disgracefully.”

“For which,” growled Meredith, “there will be a moment of reckoning.”

He had not spoken with real animosity, but Jeffery's mirth was wiped away. One hand lifted involuntarily to his damaged mouth, and for the balance of the meal he was subdued. Guessing that he was miserable and repentant, Phoebe felt sorry for him.

When they left the dining room, Meredith asked very softly, “Would you prefer to ride to your execution, Miss Ramsay? Or to drive?”

She stifled a giggle, and replied that since it was rather muggy, she really would prefer to ride.

Coming level with them in time to hear this, Lambert asked good-humouredly, “Are we allowed to accompany you?”

“Certainly not,” Meredith answered. “Find your own lady! I'll not have you dazzling Miss Ramsay with your glorious scarlet coat and making me look a drab fellow by comparison!”

Lambert said nothing, but stood very still for an instant, his smile rather fixed.

*   *   *

Jeffery succeeded in detaining his brother in the Great Hall and offered a humble apology for his unsportsmanlike behaviour. “I explained to Mama that I had struck a foul,” he said, “and I know she feels very sorry for what she said to you.”

Meredith walked up the stairs with him. “It takes two to make a quarrel. I'm a deal short on tact, I fear. No, do not go on with your humility, for the love of heaven. I'm glad to see your sparring improves!”

Jeffery glanced at him shyly, met a wide grin, and gripped his shoulder in silent gratitude.

When they reached the first-floor landing, Meredith paused. “Do you care to ride with us to the Minor?”

“Thank you, no. I've another—appointment.”

They strolled on, and after a minute Jeffery voiced the thought that was in both their minds. “Mama did not mean it. You know that. She—she is deeply attached to you, Merry.”

“Yes.”

“It is only … Oh, damme, I know you do not care to hear it, but—sometimes you
do
look so blasted well like him.”

“Whereas you had the good sense to resemble the Bain-bridges.” Meredith cuffed him gently. “I know that, too.”

When they parted, Meredith said, “I shall not ask with whom is your appointment. I ask only that you do nothing that may cause Mama distress.”

Jeffery grinned. “I'd not dare! You carry an invisible sledgehammer in your dashed fists!”

*   *   *

The afternoon had become sultry and still, a line of clouds darkening the eastern horizon. Phoebe was a little surprised, on going down to the ground floor, to find Sinclair waiting alone, a set expression on his face. “Your beau has gone stamping off to the stables,” he imparted tersely. “It seems he don't care to be kept waiting.”

“Oh, does he not! Surely I am not very late?”

“Course not. What's half an hour to you ladies?” But his anger was almost palpable, and Phoebe linked her arm through his as they walked to the back door. “He has really put you out of curl. What is it? Something to do with our fugitive?”

“No. He—he properly warned me off, is all. And—I've done
nothing,
that is what rankles.”

“Oh, dear. The little village girl? I rather gather that she is—er, his.”

He pulled away and said vehemently, “That is not so! She's the loveliest, purest, most innocent of creatures! I'd like to know what gives him the right—” He checked, scowling darkly.

“Just so, love. If
you
owned the villages—”

“I'd not think it gave me the power of life and death over the folks who dwell in 'em! The man is so set up in his own conceit, one might think him a—a veritable deity!”

“Good gracious! What did he say to you?”

He shrugged, and muttered sullenly, “No straight-out accusations. Just some aimless chatter that brought things around to her, and then a remark that she is so lovely he's already had to warn some of the local bucks that she is one of ‘his people' and he'll not have her annoyed. ‘Annoyed,' indeed!”

“Is that all? It sounds to me as if he was most—”

“Well, he was not! Those damnable icicles he has for eyes fairly stuck right through me and half a yard out of my back! Damned puritanical busybody!”

She fought a smile. “Are you being quite fair, Sin? If he has some reason for supposing—”

“
If
he has, then it's his mealy-mouthed brother has put the notion in his head.”

“Perhaps you'd best not ride with us, dear.”

He flung open the door and waved her through. “I wish I might not, but however top-lofty he is, we
are
indebted to him. I wish to heaven we weren't! And I can well guess how much you wish it, poor girl.”

“Mmmn,” said Phoebe.

In the stableyard, Carruthers was chatting with a groom who held a fine dapple-grey horse.

“Oh, but he's splendid,” Phoebe cried enthusiastically.

Carruthers bent to receive her foot and throw her into the saddle. “He is called Showers, and is one of my sweetest goers.” A spirited roan gelding was led out, and Carruthers went on, “Ramsay, this fellow is yours. You shall have to watch him. He's a tendency to run away.”

Sinclair concealed his admiration of the fine animal, and murmured a cool acknowledgement.

Carruthers gave him a grave look, and whistled. A magnificent bay mare with three white stockings trotted from the stables to dance around and halt beside her master.

Sinclair quite forgot his anger. “I
say,
but she's a beautiful animal! How is she called?”

“Spring. And she's a handful, as she means to prove, I'm afraid.”

He was right. Spring was full of fun and went in dancing circles, Carruthers making no attempt to restrain her. Sinclair recalled belatedly that he had been dealt an unwarranted insult, and was haughtily silent. The clouds that had fringed the horizon were sliding up the sky, and a hot, fitful wind began to stir the tree-tops. Phoebe felt the tightness in her head that the presence of lightning always brought, yet she was exhilarated by the beauties about her and scarcely noticed her brother's withdrawal.

They followed the estate road at first, passing several neat cottages which Carruthers said were the homes of retired servants. They rode past softly swaying fields of young corn, leaving the road about a half-mile past the cottages and turning north through open land where fat black cattle grazed contentedly. Uphill, gradually, and a low slate wall blocked their way, stretching off to right and left. Carruthers asked with a twitch of the lips, “Do you fancy you can negotiate this, ma'am?”

Before Phoebe could give him the set-down he deserved, Sinclair interpolated heatedly, “My sister can take a sight higher obstacle than that stepping-stone!”

“Indeed?” drawled Carruthers. “I shall have to find you some worthwhile jumps, ma'am.”

He leaned forward in the saddle, spoke softly to Spring, and the mare cantered along and sailed over, as light as thistle-down. Showers was only a head behind, clearing the wall neatly. Sinclair, angry, set the roan at the wall very fast. The big gelding soared high into the air, landed much too close to Spring, drawing a startled shout from Carruthers, and was away at a thundering gallop, Sinclair's roared “Whoa's” echoing behind him.

“Damned young fool,” fumed Carruthers. I
told
him the brute tends to run away! Why in the devil did he take that little wall as though it had been ten feet high?”

“Because he is the smarting victim of unjust calumny,” she replied.

He snorted impatiently. “Don't like to be forewarned, eh? And here I'd fancied I was treading lightly.”

“My brother is more interested in books than petticoats. But he is growing up, of course.” Watching him from under her eyelashes, she added, “I think he is really smitten. Your village lass must be a rare charmer to have won so many admirers.”

At once his dark brows twitched into a frown. “Many? I know of only one other. Shall we get along, ma'am? Those clouds look rather threatening, and I'd not have you soaked to—”

“No. First I must talk to you.” She glanced around and then felt silly. As if anyone could overhear, and yet how pervasive was the threat, even now. “I was chatting with Captain Lambert, and—”

“You know him well?”

It seemed an idle question, but again she paused. What an ideal opportunity to tell him that she was promised to his nephew; but Brooks clearly wished to handle the matter. Carruthers turned to her with an enquiring expression, and she replied quickly, “We have had his acquaintance for some years. And I have been so anxious to tell you that he says the whole countryside from here to the coast is to be beaten. Will Lascelles be safe where he is?”

He reined up. “Devil take it! No, he will not. Did Lambert say when this search is to begin?”

“No. Only that he is subject to recall if needed to participate in the hunt. I rather gather it is imminent.”

He swore under his breath. “Then we must move Lance tonight. Certainly we cannot do anything by daylight, so we'd as well have our ride, if— Oh, blast!”

Following his irked gaze, Phoebe saw Justice coming up, limping painfully, his tongue lolling, and in a state of near exhaustion. Carruthers dismounted and dropped to one knee beside the dog. “You confounded old fool,” he scolded.