Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 11] - Give All To Love Read online

  Josie gave a squeal of excitement and jumped up and down, clapping her hands. "I knew it! I always knew it! He is so clever, and has done so well! Oh, Guy—how proud you must be!"

  Devenish poured two glasses of wine and one of ratafia, and they toasted the absent Lyon, and then sat together around the blazing fire while Guy told Josie all over again how it had come about. "He has the hands, Belmont say," he finished. "Is a God-given gift."

  "It is, indeed," she agreed. "Such a talented pair of hands to serve those in need!" And after a brief, comfortable pause, she said dreamily, "Do you remember when I used to tell Dev he had the Rat Paws, because he has such an amazing power with animals?"

  They all chuckled, recalling that childish designation. Devenish said, "And it was you, Guy, who finally realized she was speaking French, and that the expression she had not perfectly recollected was not Rat Paws, but rapport!"

  "As well as if it were yesterday," said Guy. "Indeed this, it sometime seem like yesterday. And is long ago. Yet we are no closer to discovering who really is our très belle jeune fille."

  The door opened abruptly. Cornish entered, looking glum and dishevelled. "You best come, guv," he said baldly.

  Devenish stood, frowning. "Little?"

  "And loud," said his unorthodox footman with a wry nod. "Miss Fletcher was feeding 'is nibs 'is soup too 'ot like, and 'e yowled at 'er like wot 'e does and scared 'er so she knocked over the bowl. All over 'is stummick. Lor'—to 'ear 'im yell, you'd think 'e was bein' boiled!"

  "Oh dear!" Josie jumped up. "I must go. I am sorry, but I'll come back as soon as I can—no, please don't get up, Guy."

  She went out with the footman, Devenish watching them worriedly.

  Guy said gently, "You should perhaps go also, Alain. This Sir William he is not the most pacifique of men."

  "By God, but he's not. I wish his sister would come, but apparently she went off to visit an aunt for a day or so. Guy, you'll think us very shabby mannered, but—I don't want Little screaming at the Elf, so if you'll forgive me…"

  Guy said with mock indignation that he hoped he was sufficient of a friend to be "at home, parfaitment," and Devenish hurried out. For a moment Guy gazed after him, pondering the chat he'd had with Leith concerning their unpredictable friend, then he retrieved his crutch and hobbled across the room. It was a pleasant chamber, the furnishings gracefully unostentatious, the rug an excellent example of Persian craftsmanship, and the colour scheme of warm beiges and browns, with splashes of orange here and there, brightening a cold autumn afternoon. At the rear, three pairs of French doors opened onto the broad terrace, matching those of the ballroom in the west wing. Outside, the rain was now coming down steadily, and he wandered over to look out at the gardens. He was intrigued, a moment later, to see a grey horse dash up the drivepath and a woman dismount, toss the reins to a running stableboy, and hasten towards the steps.

  It was ridiculous, of course, but he was seized by the longing just once to meet someone without appearing a cripple. He re-treated with reckless haste to the long table that backed the sofa, perched against it, and whipped the crutch underneath and out of sight. Luckily, a book lay open on the table, and he snatched it up a second before the door burst open.

  As though taken by surprise, he glanced to the young woman who trod quickly into the room.

  "Pray excuse my informal arrival, sir." Obviously much agitated, she came to hold out her hand. "I am Mrs. Bliss. I believe my brother is here?"

  Her habit was soaked and her red hair straggled damply, but he thought her quite lovely with her intelligent grey eyes, her beautiful English skin, and her lack of affectation. Clasping her cold hand, he said, "How do you do, Madame? I am a guest, which is of peu d'importance. Your brother lies up the stairs and is, I assure you, the best of care receiving."

  She was as intrigued by his thin, sensitive face and French accent as she was affronted by the fact that he had not stood up when she offered her hand. She was long past her schooldays, of course, and must look a fright, but one would think he could at least observe the simple courtesies. She thought with a flood of impatience, 'And what nonsense to be worrying about so stupid a thing!' She was the youngest of six children, and fifteen years Sir William's junior, but he was her only surviving brother, and despite his rather irascible disposition, she was deeply attached to him. All she had been told upon returning to Oak Manor was that he had suffered a bad accident and she was urgently needed at Devencourt. Now, hesitating, she asked, "Do you know what happened? How badly is he hurt?"

  Unable to escort her, and miserably caught in this trap of his own making, Guy was aware that she must judge his manners execrable. Embarrassed, he blundered, "Devenish said they thought his back it was broken—"

  Before he could finish the sentence Mrs. Bliss whitened and with a little shocked cry started for the door. He grasped her arm. "Wait, s'il vous plait! This, it is—"

  But, frantic, she tore free and ran towards the door.

  Guy, having leaned too far, was thrown off balance and fell heavily.

  Mrs. Bliss heard the crash. Glancing over her shoulder, she checked, amazed to see the Frenchman sprawled on the floor. She started to stammer apologies, while waiting for him to get up, a process that appeared to cause him a surprising degree of difficulty. Bewildered, she saw him twist around and reach under the table. He kept his face turned away, but as he retrieved the crutch, he slanted a glance at her. His face was crimson and he looked utterly humiliated. Her heart fluttered oddly. She flew back to kneel beside him, and said with her warm smile, "I am so glad this is why you did not stand when I came in. I thought you fancied me so horrid a sight I did not warrant your courtesy."

  It was the last thing he had expected her to say. And she was neither making frantic efforts to help him stand, nor babbling her remorse for having caused him to fall. His agony of embarrassment faded. He said, indicating his crutch, "I am a little the disabled one, you see."

  "Yes. Was it from birth? Or the war?" Amused by her frankness, he hesitated, picturing her horror was he equally frank. "It was," he replied, "a—sort of war. And the thing important, Madame Bliss, is that your brother has not the broken back. A bad sprain, merely. Devenish and Miss Storm, they are with him now."

  "Oh, thank heaven!" She gave a deep sigh of relief. "Sir William can be tiresome, you know, but I am rather short of brothers, and should purely hate to lose him." She stood, smoothing her habit. "I fancy," she added with a twinkle, "that poor Devenish and Miss Storm will be not at all reluctant to lose him, however! I must go up." Hesitating, she ventured tentatively, "I expect you would prefer I not offer to help. People who have to endure such a nuisance are usually so very proud."

  He grinned, and suddenly did not feel at all proud. "If you could be so kind as to the little stool bring, I can get onto that, and then, together, we may restore my equilibrium."

  She went gladly to fetch the stool, and by the time she returned, Guy had managed to struggle to his knees. He was able to perch on the stool, and then, with the crutch on one side and Mrs. Bliss's helping hand on the other, he regained his feet. "Voilà!" he said breathlessly.

  "Fata viam invenient," she cried.

  He regarded her uncertainly, "Alas, my Latin she is not just excellent. Fate will—er… ?"

  " 'The Fates will find a way.' My Latin, you see, is better than my French! And if you will forgive me, I must go to my brother now, Monsieur— Oh dear, here we are, chatting away, and I do not even know your name."

  A wary light came into the fine eyes. He said gravely, "It is Sanguinet, Madame. Guy Sanguinet."

  Her expression did not change, yet he could feel her withdrawal as she responded politely and left him.

  Josie had donned her new evening gown, a pale blue velvet with a deep frill at the hem, a low, heart-shaped neckline, and long, fitted sleeves that tapered onto her hands in extended peaks. An opal pendant sent its subtle gleams from above her white breasts, and opals were also in her ears. She k
new she looked very well, and this happy knowledge was confirmed when the two gentlemen stood to face her as she entered the drawing room.

  "Ma foi!" said Guy admiringly. "You have entertain the princess, I see, Alain."

  "For seven superlative years." Devenish crossed to take his ward's hand. "It was well worth the wait, m'dear."

  She blinked archly at him. "Oh no, have I kept you waiting? Very well, we can go in to dinner now, if you wish. Pan is having a tray sent up, for she has the headache. I restrained Cornish from thrashing the gong in the nick of time."

  Devenish grinned, offering his arm. "Thank the Lord for that! Poor old Little would likely have fallen right out of bed."

  They commenced the long journey to the dining room, and Guy asked, "How does he go on, this victim of your fiendish pet?"

  "I am sure his sister will manage to calm him," said Josie, thinking that Dev's limp seemed more pronounced of late. "I understand you were the one to receive her, Guy."

  "And on the instant cast myself at her feet." His smile went a little awry. "Is a most charming lady, that. We had the—ah, what is it you say? The cosy chat. Upon the floor."

  They halted, Josie with a ripple of laughter, Devenish staring his astonishment. Guy chuckled and, as they resumed their stroll, told them what had transpired. "She is, so I understand, the widow," he finished idly.

  "Aha!" Devenish clasped the slender hand that rested on his arm. "Methinks I detect a note of interest. What say you, milady?"

  Josie leaned to him, replying exuberantly, "I think it would be perfect! Guy—she is just the one for—"

  "Par grace!" Guy threw up a hand, laughing. "We just now have meet and you have us already wed! You must harbour against the pauvre dame the big grudge do you choose for her husband such a one as myself!"

  She frowned at him, wondering if he could really be unaware that despite his affliction he was an extremely attractive man."One judges a person by the soul—not the ability to waltz," she advised severely.

  Guy murmured, "You are sure your ward has only seventeen of the years, mon ami?"

  "Changed my mind," said Devenish. "Fifty, if she's a day!"

  "Evil old man!" Josie exclaimed.

  "In either event, you speak with much kindness, ma belle. But—one must be honest. I am far from a—a fit mate for the desirable young lady.''

  "He means," said Devenish, laughing, "that you are surrounded by crocks!"

  Josie wrenched her hand from his arm and, as they both turned to her, flared, "I am surrounded by idiots! I could scratch both of you! And I would—if only—" Guy was watching her with dismay, and Devenish, clasping both hands behind him, stood with his fair head bowed like a chastened small boy, an attitude that never failed to make her laugh. She snatched Guy's hand and slipped her arm about Devenish. "Only—I love you both so very much," she said merrily. "And I refuse to let your silly denigrations spoil my happiness. Guy—did you know I am to have a come-out ball? It is to be the very grandest affair! You will come? In fact— Oh! You had just as well stay, hadn't he, Dev? We have set the date for three weeks from tomorrow! Oh, do say you will stay, Guy! Lyon can come straight here when he returns from Town, and it will be so much fun for us to make the lists. You can help write the cards. Do say you will!"

  For a long moment, Guy was silent. He had no need to glance at Devenish, who would, he knew, repeat the invitation. He wanted very much to accept—not only for the pleasure of being in this merry madhouse with these dear friends, but for another reason as foolish as it was unwise. He said slowly, "Merci bien, Milady Elf. I will stay."

  "Bedlamites, I tell you!" declared Sir William vehemently, restoring his fork to a well-cleaned plate. "With the possible exception of poor little Miss Storm! How she has managed to retain her sanity in a house full of pigs and servants who either cannot see or cannot walk about properly, or have not the remotest notion of proper conduct, is beyond me!" He shook an admonitory finger at his sister's amused face and added, "I'll tell you what I think, Faith—I'll be lucky do I get out of here alive!"

  "Oh, come now, dear," said Mrs. Bliss, taking the tray and setting it on the chest of drawers. "It's not that bad, surely? Mr. Devenish was perfectly charming to me when—"

  "Charming, is it? I wish I may have had you with me when I found him hopping all over his ballroom like a dashed rabbit!" Sir William cast a quick glance to the door and, lowering his voice, hissed, "I swear it! And when he wasn't hopping—he was dancing!"

  "Dancing? With whom?"

  "A home question! With himself my lass! All—alone! Mad, I tell you! And then there was all that gammon about the pig being a Turkish Dervish or some such balderdash! Aye—smile! I wonder you don't laugh out loud because I'm lying here with my back almost broke!"

  Whereupon, of course, she fussed over and cherished him and assured him she meant to do everything in her power to make him comfortable.

  "Well, so you can," he said. "Get me gone from this madhouse!"

  "Yes, dear. In a few days, perhaps—"

  "Few days, my black hen! At once! Today!"

  "Now, William, be reasonable. The doctor says you must not be moved for at least a week."

  "The doctor's an ass, to give him the benefit of the doubt!"

  "Very likely. But I do not mean to argue the point with him and perhaps cause you to suffer irreparable damage. Mrs. Robinson is preparing a room for me, and—"

  "And she may cease wasting her time! You will not overnight in this den! Have you lost your wits, ma'am? This is a bachelor establishment!"

  Her patience beginning to wear thin, she said, "William, how can you be so Gothic? Mr. Devenish's daughter is here, and—"

  "Daughter my eyebrow! The chit ain't but a few years younger than he!"

  "Her companion is a most formidable dowager, and there is the housekeeper, who—"

  "Who tipples."

  "No—does she? How very odd that— Oh, what matter? The point is that I am a respectable, middle-aged widow, and you must be aware that Devenish would scarce seek to compromise me in front of his family and friends."

  "What friends?" he demanded, fixing her with a suspicious stare. "I heard a coach drive up. Who arrived? Three blind mice, I suppose!"

  She laughed. "No, no. The gentleman seems quite sane, and besides, is an—er, invalid. Scarce a menace, you see."

  "Perhaps not." Shifting painfully, he grunted, and moaned, "What's the fella's name?"

  "Oh—I paid no heed," lied Mrs. Bliss, straightening his pillows. "A Frenchman, I believe, but most mannerly."

  "If that ain't just like Devenish! Well, that settles it, m'dear! I'll not have you sleeping under the same roof with a Frog! Never met one yet who could leave the women alone! Ring that blasted bell, and we'll have one of the loobies in here. No—it ain't no manner of use arguing, Faith. You can come back in the morning. And bring Wright with you. Should've sent for him before this. I'll give you a list of what he's to pack…"

  Nothing would move him. Sighing resignedly, Mrs. Bliss crossed to the bell pull, wondering what her fiery brother would say when he discovered the identity of the Frenchman.

  Three days later, Faith Bliss settled herself against the squabs of the luxurious chaise and turned to her radiant companion. "How very kind of Mrs. Grenfell to have volunteered to play chess with my poor brother so that I might accompany you to Cirencester today. William is quite an enthusiast, but will never admit that he cheats. I dare swear he has told me fifty times how the game is played, but whenever he makes a move I do not understand, he tells me it is a rule he'd forgot to explain."

  The two young women laughed merrily. "It is the very same with Dev," said Josie, her face framed by the sable of her hood. "He tries and tries to tell me about some facet of the law that Mitchell Redmond is fighting to change, and I declare each time he tells me, it becomes more ridiculous. Either I am very wooden-headed about politics, or our laws are completely stupid. What with the Corn Laws and the Enclosure Acts, one might think we w
ere governed by a set of ogres!"

  Mrs. Bliss arched her brows. "Mitchell Redmond… ? Good heavens! You never mean Lord Redmond? Why, I am not even allowed to speak his name at the Manor. The very thought of him is anathema to my brother!"

  "And to many others, I'm afraid. Mitch will fight to the last drop of his blood for the rights of the poor, which makes him exceeding unpopular—especially among the mine and factory owners. But he is the dearest man you could wish to meet. And"—she put a hand on Faith's arm, adding with a twinkle— "extreme handsome!"

  "He is? I'd fancied him to be old and shrivelled up, and so evil he had four horns on his head and cloven hoofs!"

  Josie laughed delightedly. "But, no! Mitch is—now, let me see—I fancy he is no older than Dev, and married to the very dearest lady. They have two sturdy little boys, and a darling baby girl."

  "Bless my soul! And you say he is handsome. As handsome as your guardian?"

  "Oh, no. But then, who is?" Josie sighed, her eyes becoming troubled. "We worry about Mitch, for he takes such dreadful chances. There are those, Dev believes, who would stop at nothing to silence him."

  "Surely not! In England?"

  "I pray not. But only look at poor Mr. Perceval. Murdered by a madman in the House of Commons, in front of everyone!"

  "Yes. Dreadful! But that was eleven years ago. I cannot think such things would chance today."

  "They do, though. Only last week, Mitchell was attacked. Dev had a letter from Jeremy Bolster telling him of it. He could not read it—very few people can read Jeremy's hand. But when I deciphered it, we learned that Mitchell was confined to his bed by reason of a brick heaved at his head by some rabid hooligan."

  "How awful! I expect it must have been in the newspapers, but what with my driving to and fro each day, I've been remiss in my reading of late. Is—er, that where Monsieur Sanguinet went driving off to in such a hurry the other day?''

  The sparkle was reborn in Josie's dark eyes. Suppressing a smile, she replied, "Yes. They are the very best of friends. I fancy Jeremy and Harry will be en route to Sussex also, and should it transpire that Mitch is badly hurt—which Jeremy thought was not the case—why, then they all will go. All the Nine Knights, as the King calls them." Her eyes dreaming, she murmured, "There were really twelve, you know, only one was a lady and Prinny does not include poor Diccon, because they said it was his duty since he was an Intelligence Officer, and Craig refuses to be included, because he said he did nothing save join in the battle for a few minutes and get himself shot. But—" She broke off with a gasp. "Oh! I am not supposed to speak of it!"