Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet Page 5

  He pushed open one of those frowning doors and, stooping, entered. She made herself follow despite the onset of a smothering need to escape. This blackness seemed a velvet curtain hung directly before her eyes. The candles dipped lower, and she realised that Damon was starting down the last flight of steps that wound into stygian gloom. She did not move.

  Her palms were wet now, her breathing rapid and uneven Damon glanced back and held out one hand, but she shook her head mutely.

  "Whatever is it?" His cynical sneer enraged her. "You do not believe in ghosts, surely?"

  Her rage fled. "G-Ghosts…?"

  "Nonsense tales spread by peasants and witless bumpkins. They say that one of the monks, long ago when this place was a Priory, loved a village maid. He smuggled her down here one night, but—like you—she panicked and tried to get away…" He paused, and Sophia, paling, took a step closer to him and whispered, "And then…?"

  He said nothing, staring down with sombre eyes. The silence grew more intense, throbbing in her ears until it seemed to Sophia that she heard the faintest of footsteps coming softly up the stairs. She felt goosebumps break out on her flesh and all but jumped when Damon resumed in a hushed tone. "They struggled here—just where we stand…" (She stepped back hurriedly.) "She pushed him, but as he fell, he seized her, and they both went over the rail…" He held the candles lower, and, impelled by some morbid curiosity, she took two hesitant steps and saw dimly, far below, the broken iron railings of the winding staircase, sticking up like so many spears. Had their bodies broken the rail, she wondered? Had that poor girl been impaled and—

  "Down through the centuries," breathed Damon, his lips at her ear, "the monk has appeared often—on these very stairs. And sometimes the girl's screams can be heard… all the way to—"

  A voice echoed distantly through the stillness: a woman's faint yet piercing cry. Sophia gave a sob of horror. A weakness spread through her, and she felt her knees buckle…

  Her face was against his cravat; his arm was about her, and she was in the corridor. "Good gad, ma'am," he said scoffingly, "I'd not thought you the type to become vaporish over such nonsense!"

  She took a deep breath, tore herself free, and stood straight despite her wobbly knees, her eyes holding, she hoped, all the disgust she felt.

  His expression changed subtly, and when he spoke again, his voice was very gentle. "I am truly sorry. I had not meant to frighten you so."

  She knew that he'd had just such a thought, that his every intent had been to so terrify her that she would leave his mouldering old ruin by shanks' mare, if necessary. She was not accustomed to subterfuge. If only she could say what she really thought! But to do so would be to destroy her cousin's one hope. And, therefore, she managed a cool "Of course you did not, my lord. How could you possibly intend such a thing? No gentleman worthy of the name would be so loathesome."

  For an instant, he gazed at her in silence. And then, again, that cry disturbed the awful quiet, and my lady's pride crumbled into dread; her face grew deathly pale, and she fairly jumped for the safety of his arm.

  He chuckled. "It is only Mrs. Hatters, calling us to dinner, ma'am." He gestured politely for her to precede him and, with the candles held high so that she might see, followed her to the stairs.

  Sophia was led in to dinner by the Earl. She made a determined effort to appear lighthearted but was still unnerved and full of forebodings that Clay, knowing her so well, would detect her emotional state. Her cousin was a gentleman in the fullest sense of the word. He would merely have to suspect that the Marquis had behaved toward her in so despicable a fashion and they would leave the Priory at once if, in fact, the two men did not come to cuffs. Anticipating his concern over her distress, she prepared to allay it by revealing her increasing anxiety about Whitthurst. Her fears proved unwarranted; Clay, escorting the vivacious Genevieve, was so delighted by that young lady he scarcely noticed his cousin's arrival. Sophia at once experienced a perverse resentment of his neglect. Fortunately, Ridgley was an excellent dinner partner and soon had her chattering merrily, her dismals forgotten.

  Despite his extreme shortage of servants, the Marquis possessed a most excellent chef, who had, however indignantly, contrived on short notice to provide a superb meal. Sophia ate very little of the asparagus soup, poached fish, roast game hens, and a magnificent mutton pasty. She only began to feel renewed when Thompson carried in the desserts. He was assisted by Nancy Hooper, Miss Hilby's abigail, a ruddy cheeked, comely girl, pressed into service in this emergency. The Earl's attention having been momentarily claimed by Genevieve, Sophia could not but admire the charm of her surroundings. The dining room was large and might easily have appeared barnlike. The walls had been remodelled into a design of slightly recessed arched panels. The main colour throughout was a soft blue, while the areas within the arches were papered in a shadowy floral design of blue, lavender, and green, an effect she found pleasing. Fearing to appear unmannerly, she glanced up to catch Damon turning amused eyes from her.

  Lady Branden, allowing Thompson to place a dish of cherries blancmange before her, said, "I was sure you'd be at Amanda's come-out Ball, Damon. Everyone was asking why you are become such a recluse. Lucinda was most put out and well justified in view of your close friendship with Bolster."

  The Marquis was spared the necessity of a reply, as Genevieve cried dramatically, "And I was into the blackest despair cast! My rascal of a cousin have abandon the entire human race. Why you do this so strange thing, Camille?"

  "Because, my pretty creature, I have business here."

  "You never mean the spa?" Lady Feather's howl vibrated the glasses. "You do not go on with it, Camille? Good God! You must be mad! A commercial venture? And against his wishes? Vaille is raving, I'll wager!"

  "Quite possibly, ma'am. But I'd have wagered no one could reach my Priory tonight—instead of which I am surrounded by… charming guests."

  His Aunt leaned forward and waved her spoon at him. "Not so charming as to be turned aside from unwanted subjects. Take care you do not provoke him too far. Philip will stand for just so many queer starts and then pull the rug from under you. What on earth possessed you to build an hotel out here? God knows there are enough of 'em in Town— or Bath, or Brighton!"

  "True." His polite smile was unwavering, but he was irritated that such a discussion had been forced upon him in front of strangers. "But my hotel stands upon the shore of a jewel of a lake, and—"

  "Lake!" she snorted. "If it has a lake, why should you be so daft as to surround it with canals? Or has some cloth head filled my ears with stuff?"

  Sophia was so diverted as to meet Damon's glance and surprise an echoing gleam in his eyes before she hastily lowered her lashes. "The land was very cut up about the site," he explained. "It was Whitthurst's thought to install the canals, Venetian fashion. We shall have gondolas on summer evenings and wandering musicians. It should be very effective, I think."

  "And romantic," sighed Genevieve. "Ah, but I can scarce wait to see it."

  "Egad!" frowned Lady Branden, more practically inclined. "Must be costing a bowl of lettuce! It had better be a success! Though I doubt it."

  "Never say so," he laughed. "Some of my stockholders are here tonight. You'll put them into high fidgets with your gloom!"

  Lady Branden looked around in surprise. "They are? Which of you poor innocents has been gulled by my slick nephew?"

  Damon uttered a groan and cast his eyes at the ceiling.

  "Me, for one," the Earl chuckled. "And Charlotte and Lady Sophia's brother."

  "True," said Damon. "Without Whitthurst's contribution my spa could never have been built. He deeded us much of the land about the hotel itself, and all the lake frontage."

  His words seemed to blast in Sophia's ears. She kept her eyes downcast, her heart thumping so violently it was all she could do not to betray herself. How smug he sounded, doubtless gloating over how he had, as Lady Branden said, "gulled" his trusting nephew! Well, the treacherous Mar
quis was in for a rude shock. He did not have "Whitthurst's contribution"! The fact was that Stephen owned only a half interest in the lands Damon believed to have been deeded to his precious spa. Poor Steve, having no head for business, had apparently forgotten that his sister's signature must be obtained before the lands could be disposed of. When she'd first returned from Rome, Sophia had been too desperately occupied with striving to keep him alive to bother with the mountain of papers awaiting his attention. When at last she had settled down to that dreary duty she had discovered most of them to be unpaid bills, and had been astonished to come across the Deed, already signed by Stephen in readiness for a transfer of ownership. Accompanying it had been a letter from Sir Horace Drake, pointing out that Lord Whitthurst was half-owner, and asking that he require his sister to sign the deed also, in order that Title might be transferred to the Marquis of Damon's Spa of the Swallows, now under construction in Dorsetshire. Incredulous, Sophia had skimmed through the long and involved letter, deducing that for some inexplicable reason, Stephen had been persuaded to give a great deal of property to the man who exerted such a great influence over him—and that without the acquisition of that property Damon's ambitious plans would be ruined. Seething with resentment, hurt by her brother's suffering, dreading lest at any moment she lose him, and crushed by the burden of their financial disaster, she had signed the Deed. Instead of returning it to Sir Horace Drake however, she had sent for the faithful Amory Hartwell, entrusted the Deed into his hands, and begged him to act as her agent and borrow as much cash as possible against their acreage. Her only stipulation had been that under no circumstances was it to be built upon. Delighted to be set a task by the lady he hoped to win, Hartwell had departed vowing he would persist until he obtained such terms as must delight his goddess.

  Through it all, she had never dreamed that today she would be a guest in the house of the very man against whom she plotted. Nor that his relations would be so kind to her. She told herself defiantly that her revenge had been well justified. She had suffered a twinge of anxiety just now when Ridgley said her brother was a stockholder, not merely a victim of Damon's smooth-tongued chicanery. But from the moment of her arrival, the erratic behaviour of the Marquis had branded him a Creature; and one whose unscrupulous cunning would eventually have duped her gentle and trusting brother out of every last sou, stockholder or not! Despite these reflections, she was shaken, and recovered her composure only when the servants left the room, and Feather changed the subject, making a pointed remark about Genevieve's reputation.

  "I have not the smallest notion of what you speak," said that young lady, albeit shooting a guilty glance at her cousin.

  "Well, I have, mon petit chou," said Damon sternly. "You left a trail of broken hearts all across Europe!" Ignoring Genevieve's prompt but rather wistful denial, he asked, "Has she been at it again, Feather?"

  "I doubt there's a whole male heart left in Devonshire," affirmed Lady Branden, "Including that of your old friend, Hartwell."

  Sophia caught her breath, and her hand tightened convulsively on her spoon. Hartwell? Amory had never mentioned that he knew the Marquis.

  Damon was leaning forward eagerly. "I was not aware he is in Devon."

  "I doubt he is," said Miss Hilby, her tone chill, "if he has learned of our departure."

  "Gad!" The Marquis settled back in his chair, smiling reminiscently. "Haven't seen Amory since…" He checked abruptly.

  "Since that nasty business in Town," the Earl finished. "Very close shave, that. Did you hear—" He stopped with a gasp and glared at Damon indignantly.

  "Hear what?" demanded Lady Branden.

  Damon's face was a suave mask. "You were speaking of Hartwell, dear lady."

  She continued to regard him suspiciously. "What's all this about nasty—"

  The Marquis glanced to Miss Hilby. "Oh, Feather," she intervened, "let's not speak of that sordid business. It was horrid, and Lady Sophia looks tired."

  Startled, Sophia protested, "No, but really, I am not."

  '"Course the child's tired." Lady Branden slammed down her serviette. "After the day she's had and worried about her brother! Ladies, shall we leave?"

  The ladies stood, the gentlemen pulling back their chairs and promising to join them very shortly. Clay ushered them to the door, and Thompson began to remove the covers. The Earl leaned closer to Damon and grumbled softly, "That hurt, if you must know, Cam. Caught me right on the blasted shin bone!"

  "Apologise. But we don't want Feather nosing about, do we, Ted?"

  Ridgley paled. "Gad! You're right, of course. She'd be here forever!"

  As the last notes of "Eine Kleine Nachtmusick" died away, there was a moment of quiet in the music room. Sophia was deeply moved, as music had the power to move her. The Marquis of Damon played magnificently. She joined the enthusiastic applause, the men rose to their feet, and Genevieve ran to embrace her cousin.

  Feather, seated beside Sophia, fumbled for her handkerchief and dragged it fiercely across her eyes. "Wretch!" she growled. "He plays so divinely, and weeping women always make me want to cast up my accounts!"

  Struggling against a laugh, Sophia said, "Then he should never play."

  "God forbid! I look forward for weeks to the time I can hear him—and weep. Silly great creature that I am!"

  "Let's have something else!" cried Ridgley eagerly.

  "It grows late, and you've all had tiring journeys." Damon shot a mischievous glance at Sophia and added "And other— wearing experiences."

  Sophia contrived to maintain a look of complete unawareness.

  "Besides,"—Miss Hilby nodded—"you must be up early, Camille, in case his grace arrives."

  Damon gasped, and the Earl stared at the beauty as though her copper curls had become writhing adders.

  "Your… your pardon, Charlotte?" Damon stammered.

  "You expect your Papa, do you not? In London, the Duke told me distinctly he would visit you within the month. I rather gathered it would be this week."

  Sophia and Clay exchanged tense glances.

  Damon took a deep breath and said, "I hope not—since the bridge is out."

  "But your working men will have it newly made by tomorrow, you say—no?" asked Genevieve.

  "Perhaps, my lord," murmured Sophia innocently, "your Papa could stay with us at 'The Gold Crown'?"

  "What?" Feather exploded. "You're never throwing us out, Damon?"

  "Not tonight, of course, dear ma'am." His face betrayed only affection. "But longer, I am persuaded, would be unendurable for you. The workmen are here from dawn to dusk, you see, for we are renovating one room at a time. And—"

  "And are no sooner opening the door to us than you wish us gone—is that it?" The eyes of the formidable Feather were angry, yet also held hurt.

  Damon spread his beautifully expressive hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  "Of course, it is not, Feather." Miss Hilby clasped one of those outstretched hands. "Stop scolding him so! He'll not banish us from his gloomy—and now isolated—old dungeon. Will you, Camille?"

  A long look passed between the two. It was a romance beyond doubting, thought Sophia. But surely the lady was too old for him. 'Five and thirty if she's a day.' Still, she was certainly lovely enough to follow in the wake of his beautiful French mistress, and— They were all smiling at her. "Oh! Your pardon!" she gasped. "I was woolgathering. How terribly rude of me!"

  "Not at all, m'dear," said Feather kindly. "I was only telling my fiendish nephew he cannot heave us all out of his ruins since it would be improper for you to be without a chaperone while you await your brother's arrival."

  "But, dearest of Aunts," said Damon, "Whitthurst is an invalid, and the Priory's swarming with noisy workmen all day! Not salubrious, you see."

  "Then stop 'em!" rasped Feather. "The Priory's been mouldering for centuries. Won't collapse if it has to wait a few days to get its face lifted."

  "Whitt must be improving," Ridgley put in absently, "if he can su
rvive riding all this way through a howling storm. Surprising. Felt certain he was going to turn up his toes, but—" He stopped as Feather dug an elbow into his ribs.

  "Clumsy oaf!" she scolded. "Sophia's worried to death for the boy."

  "He is not a boy," Damon corrected sharply, "but a courageous fighting man who was well aware of the risks when he undertook to serve his country."

  Sophia was shocked by such blatant hypocrisy. Mistaking the reason for her pallor, Ridgley patted her hand. "Sorry, m'dear. Ain't the soul of tact, am I? But Cam's right, y'know. Whitthurst acquitted himself very well."

  "He did, indeed!" Unable to restrain herself, she said ringingly, "And I am excessively proud of him. And of those other gallant gentlemen willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of—those of us who stayed at home." Fully aware that Miss Hilby had frowned at these words and that the Marquis was very still, she swept on. "Where would England be, I wonder, without such selfless dedication?" And seeing Clay's stunned expression, she could have cut out her tongue.

  The Marquis raised his glass in salute and with his cynical grin murmured, "Where, indeed?"

  Chapter 5

  Despite the fact that she was bone weary, sleep was long in coming to Sophia that night. As soon as she turned down the wick on the oil lamp, she was wide awake and lay there, her feet cuddling the hot brick, her brain whirling. It had been so odd to undress and prepare for bed without Meg and Miss Jarrett to aid her. They were more like family than maids, and she missed them as much for their companionship as for their services. They had been with her since she left the schoolroom, had both accompanied her to Italy, and been pillars of support through the nightmarish fiasco of her homecoming.

  Her first intimation that anything was amiss had been a letter from Mama saying that she had accepted an invitation to accompany friends to India. She had long wished to visit her favourite brother who was stationed in Darjeeling, and she hoped, she said, that her health might benefit by the avoidance of an English winter. It had sounded logical, yet the decision seemed to have been reached in such haste, and there was little mention of Whitthurst. Trying not to worry, Sophia had at once written to her brother, but receiving no answer had despatched an urgent enquiry to her Uncle George in Hampshire. His reply had been long in coming and couched in such vague terms that her anxiety had increased and she had sailed for England on June 22, only four days after the Battle of Waterloo.