Give All to Love Page 8

  Her chin lifted even higher. She said—disdainfully, “You sense and you suspect—and for these nebulous notions I am to abandon my friendship with a most charming—”

  He fairly sprang to grip her wrist and jerk her close to him. “Do you think I say such things lightly? Pay heed to me, little elf. If I catch him trying to fix his interest with you—”

  “Fix … his interest? But—but you have said I am too young to be thinking of such things.”

  He released her, took up his quill pen, and stared down at it. “I—er, had supposed you to be—so. But, I have come to think I was—mistaken.”

  Unutterably shocked, she studied his averted profile. “Do you say—my arguments have at last won you over, dear sir?”

  For possibly the first time in his life, Devenish began to tidy his desk. “That,” he mumbled, “and—and other things.”

  Instinctively, her hand went to her bosom.

  “No, no!” he said. Then, scarlet, added, “Well—I meant, what others said of it—I mean—of your probable age.”

  “I see. Then—you think I am of an age to—to receive offers?” She waited for a denial, but none came. Her heart sinking, she went on, “In which case you should perhaps give me a list of—of acceptable gentlemen, so that I may not—disgrace you further.”

  The paper he held was crushed convulsively. “For Lord’s sake! As if you have done so!”

  “But—you just said…”

  “Oh. Fontaine. Yes—well, his pretensions you must certainly depress.” His jaw set. “Or I will! As for the rest—”

  She returned to stand very closely before him and prompt meekly, “Yes, Papa?”

  Reluctantly, he looked down into her upturned, trusting little face. His own softened. He said, “You roast me, you vixen. You know very well.”

  “I am confused,” she said with a sigh. “To have been sixteen this morning, and one and twenty this afternoon is—unsettling. As always, I need your guidance dearest—ancient.”

  He wrenched away again and said disjointedly, “How may I know who you will—like. There are many fine young fellas your own age. That nice Van Lindsay boy; or Freddie Hilby. Or—what about young Drummond? Or—Lyon? Now, there’s a—”

  Josie had retreated to the window during this summation, and now interrupted, “So you have heard of John’s attentions to me.”

  A pause. Then he said coolly, “No. He—likes you, does he?”

  “He says he does. And I like him. Very much.”

  “Oh.” He leaned back against the desk, watching his ward’s slender but shapely figure outlined against the window. Josie and John Drummond … “Well then,” he said heartily, “that should do very nicely, I’d think.”

  She whirled and flew to stand before him, crouching a little, her eyes blazing.

  Startled, he drew back.

  “Horrid! Evil man!” she hissed.

  “N-Now—Josie—you have plagued me to—to admit you are older. And you said you liked the boy, and—”

  “And of a sudden you can scarce wait to push me to the altar, can you! You cannot wait to be rid of your—your encumbrance!”

  “Encumbrance, is it!” But her lip trembled; he saw the glitter of tears and, groaning, pulled her into his arms and, stroking her hair, murmured, “My little elf—how can you even think such stuff?”

  “B-because,” she sobbed, “I know what—what a trial I’ve been to you.”

  “Never!” He put her from him, smiling into her tear-wet eyes. “You were never naughty, or sulked, or went into tantrums. Or very seldom. How I shall go on without…” He frowned, and stopped, wondering why he was saying such things when he had determined to behave quite differently.

  “I am so glad, Dev,” she said, hugging him tight. “Then we may go on comfortably. Just as we are.”

  “We-ell, yes. Until I—er, become a benedick, at all events.”

  She all but leapt back. “What?” She searched his face. “Have you—fixed on a lady? Who? I have been hearing whispers of the infamous Isabella.”

  “There is nothing in the least smoky about the lady,” he said loftily. “Even if her brother is unspeakable. Bella is”—he turned to his untidy desk once more—“very lovely, and does, I feel sure, return my regard, so—” His words were cut off as a cushion bounced from his head. “Wretched brat!” Grinning, he turned on her and snatched away the cushion. She was at him in a flash, her darting hands tugging at his neckcloth, tearing the handkerchief from his pocket, seizing a handful of flowers and jamming them into his thick hair, eluding his desperate attempts to restrain her, until he caught her at last and, weak with laughter, they clung to each other.

  “Colonel the Honourable Tristram Leith,” announced Wolfe imperturbably.

  Chapter 5

  “Tris!” Rather red in the face, Devenish greeted their guest, both hands outstretched. “Welcome! Welcome!”

  Returning his strong clasp, Tristram Leith’s fine eyes, alight with amusement, flashed to Josie’s blushes. Badly wounded at the Battle of Waterloo, Leith’s face was still streaked on one side with scars that failed to render him less than a fine-looking man. Before the battle, his looks had been such as to reduce London’s ladies to sighful yearnings. The scars had faded now; his thick hair was near-black, his dark eyes keen, his tall frame as lean and supple as it had been when Devenish first had met him several weeks after the battle. He wore a well-cut riding coat and tight-fitting moleskins, and his topboots gleamed. He had no need to apologize for his appearance, but said, “Had I known you intended to array yourself for my benefit, I’d have worn something more formal.”

  Devenish scanned him uncertainly.

  Leith removed a blossom from the untidy fair hair. “A fine way to behave,” he scolded, sotto voce, then turned to bow over Josie’s hand and drop a kiss onto her uplifted cheek. “Lovelier each time I see you, Milady Elf,” he said with a fond smile. “You’d best take care, Dev, else you’ll have some lucky fellow taking your ward off your hands.”

  “Just as I’ve been telling her,” said Devenish blandly.

  “He has, in fact, been instructing me on whom I am to choose,” Josie explained.

  “Oh, has he?” Leith chuckled. “So that was the cause for the uproar. Lucky I came when I did.”

  “Lucky for us,” Devenish said heartily. “You can stay a week at least, I hope?”

  “Have you brought Rachel and the children?” asked Josie eagerly.

  “My four ladies are still at Cloudhills,” he answered with a smile. “And I regret that I can stay no longer than tonight. I’ve a message for Guy, and then must dash home. Craig and his family are joining us for a week, and I’ve the deuce of a lot to attend to now that my father and Dora are in Brazil.”

  Disappointed, Devenish said, “No, but they’ll not miss you for a day or so.”

  “Perhaps. But I miss them. Dashed if I can see how you stand the life of a bachelor!”

  On her way to give instructions to the servants, Josie said, “He will not be one for much longer, Tris.” She directed a mocking glance over her shoulder. “My aged soul is to be wed—very soon.”

  “Devil he is!” Taken aback, Leith asked, “To whom, sly-boots?”

  Devenish tightened his lips, irritated.

  Josie called sweetly, “Tell him, dearest…” and closed the door.

  “Baggage!” muttered Devenish, and waved the Colonel to a chair.

  Watching as he limped over to the credenza whereon rested decanter and glasses, Leith grinned. “Yes, but what a charming one.”

  “Isn’t she?” Returning to hand his friend a glass of Madeira, then sit on the edge of his desk, Devenish said proudly, “Who’d have dreamed that tragic waif would become such a beautiful lady?”

  Leith glanced at him, but his response was tardy. He was at once the recipient of a blazing glare. Devenish snarled, “I suppose you think she is not beautiful?”

  Leith’s deep chuckle sounded. “Swords, or pistols? No—trul
y, I think her delightful, and if I judge her pretty rather than beautiful, I am likely prejudiced because to me there is but one beautiful lady in the world, and I have her.”

  Devenish threw a frustrated glance at the ceiling. “Once a Staff Officer, always a Staff Officer!”

  “No—really, your little elf is a delight, and has grown up, Dev. Which is more than I can say for you. What’s this I hear about a feud with Little? I vow you’re the same fire-eater manoeuvred me into that damnable fight with Shotten, the very first minute we met!”

  “Manoeuvred you! Like blazes, Tris! The truth is, you stole my quarrel!” He grinned, his anger vanished. “At the Cat and Dragon, wasn’t it? And do you remember the time that rascally farmer was trying to sell a ten-year-old nag to some poor moonling—”

  “Whereupon you had to intervene and tell the moonling the hack was ten rather than six, and the farmer called you—let me see—ah, a dang rude little shrimp of a dandy!”

  “Whereupon I punched his fatuous head for him!”

  “Yes—and he and his damned great hulking sons beat you to a pulp, and I’d my work cut out to bring you off still breathing!”

  They both laughed. Devenish said, “Those were good times! It seems such a little while ago. Only yesterday, in fact, since I found my Elf.”

  There was a wistful quality to his slow smile, and Leith, his lazy dark eyes seeing so much more than they appeared to, asked quietly, “Nothing wrong, is there, old fellow?”

  “What? Oh, no. Nothing. Save that—I wish the years had not flown quite so fast.” He shrugged. “The cry of all fond parents, I fancy.”

  Leith gazed thoughtfully at the fire, then murmured, “You could not expect to keep her safe hidden for—”

  “Safe hidden? Now, just what the hell do you mean by that?”

  “Saints preserve us! Must you take me up so? Dev—you have, in a manner of speaking!”

  “Then I take a dim view of your manner of speaking! Besides—I’ve not hidden her well enough, apparently. Fontaine’s spotted her.”

  “Of course. He spots every pretty girl. He was captivated by her at Jerry’s ball last—”

  “Blast it! Everyone seems to have seen that, save me! Why didn’t you warn me, Tris?”

  “Why the deuce should I warn you?” said Leith, mildly amused by his volatile friend. “You have, I presume, eyes in your head. And at all events, what’s so wrong about Fontaine’s interest? Good catch, I’d think.”

  “Had he marriage in mind.”

  Leith stared and, considerably shocked, said, “He’s a gentleman, Dev.”

  “He’s a nobleman! The two ain’t necessarily synonymous!”

  There was a moment of complete, taut silence.

  All his amusement flown, Leith, knowing this man almost as well as he knew himself, said quietly, “Can you tell me?”

  “Dammit—I have no proof.” He hesitated. “But—just in case,” he said reluctantly, “and on the understanding it cannot be repeated … you remember that beastly Morrissey business?”

  “Good God!” Leith leaned forward. “You—think the man was Fontaine?”

  “I happened to see him with her very late one night. I’m dashed certain her family didn’t know she was out. She stopped after she got out of the carriage, and looked back. I saw her face…” He was silent briefly, then said, “And his sire banished him to America. The Earl’s been in a black rage ever since. Won’t hear his name spoken.”

  Leith said, “Not much to go on, Dev. You could be wrong, old fellow.”

  “I could be.” But Devenish’s face was grim, and Leith, dismayed, knew that there was no doubt in his friend’s mind.

  “Well, enough of that ugly business,” said Devenish. “You said you’ve a message for Guy. I think you meant for me, as well.”

  Leith shook his head, smiling faintly. “Yes. Right, as usual. I saw Mitch in Town before I went down to Sussex.”

  “How is he? Has he set fire to the House of Lords yet?” But, something in Leith’s expression warning him, he asked sharply, “He’s all right? He’s so blasted outspoken in his efforts for the working classes! I’m afraid he—”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. Mitch is very well, and sends you his affectionate regards. It’s—Guy.”

  “Oh, Lord! Lyon said people were getting stirred up again.”

  “They are. Mitch thinks some hotheads are entertaining thoughts of—well, an impromptu trial. Or worse.”

  They exchanged grim glances.

  “Deuce take it! What does he mean to do?”

  “Said he’d talk with Canning and Wellington. The thing is—” Leith frowned worriedly. “I wish poor Castlereagh were alive still. Canning’s a rather chilly sort. And the Duke’s not too well, I think, and badgered to death, as usual.”

  They were quiet then, the shadows lengthening in the room, and both men mentally reliving their desperate and hard-won struggle against the might of Guy Sanguinet’s ruthless brother.

  Devenish said, “It’s as well I’ve asked Guy to come down here for a few days. I’ll try to keep him longer. He has Lyon, of course. Which reminds me, that young rascal means to offer for Josie. They’d make a good match, don’t you think?”

  Leith took a swallow of his Madeira, leaned back his head, and regarded his friend without answering.

  Devenish reddened, squirmed, sampled his wine, and said explosively, “All right, blast it all! What?”

  “You know what.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a young and lovely girl, and shall marry someone of her own age. If not Lyon—well, you say I’ve kept her hidden, but—dash it, I cannot have her presented, Tris. And she’d never be given a voucher for Almacks. If I gave her a Season in Town and—well, if those fools snubbed her because of her lack of birth, I think I’d—”

  He looked ready to do murder just at the thought of it. Leith hid a smile and suggested, “You could give her a come-out ball.”

  Devenish thought that over. “I could, I suppose,” he muttered. “But it must be soon.”

  A faint frown tugged at Leith’s heavy brows. “Dev,” he said, “you may tell me to go to Jericho, but—a few months ago you were insisting your Elf was a mere child. Now you’ve encouraged her to consider offers of marriage and are planning a ball to launch her. What the deuce are you about?”

  Devenish took their glasses over to be refilled. “Josie told you. I’m planning on a wedding of my own.” He turned back, met Leith’s stunned expression, and said quickly, “But I’m not ready to make an announcement, so be a good fellow and do not tease me. Where do you propose we hold this ball? In Town?”

  Struggling to regain his composure, Leith said, “What? Oh—well, with Christmas so near I fancy most parties are already planned. Why not here? You’d have to accommodate a crowd overnight, at least, but you’ve room enough, Lord knows. There’s the Crown in the village, and you’re not impossibly far from Stroud and Gloucester. You know all our lot would come, and rope in whomever we can in addition. Between the lot of us, we might even snare a Duchess or two. Lucinda Carden will help; she’s fond of Josie.”

  “By Jupiter!” said Devenish. “Be dashed if I won’t do it!”

  * * *

  The air was cold in the early morning, and a fine mist wound about the stableyard, eddied to the movements of the impatient horses, and left a wet gloss on the cobblestones. Devenish cupped his hands and bent to receive Josie’s foot and throw her up into the saddle. She smiled down at him as he adjusted her stirrups, then touched his cheek with her whip. “Well, poor old soul,” she said, twinkling at him. “I have been away for almost three weeks and this is our first ride together. Are you not going to tell me how well I look?”

  She wore a riding habit of blue wool, with collar and cuffs of silver fox, and a jaunty cap of the same fur was perched on her dark curls. She looked very well indeed, and he said, “Of course you look well. I’m sure your mirror has already told you so.”

  “How ungraciou
s.”

  “Very well,” he capitulated, grinning. “You are the loveliest sight to gladden my aged eyes these past three weeks.”

  “Not too gracious, Dev,” she cautioned. “Lady Isabella will be jealous.”

  Climbing into his curricle, Leith checked for a startled second, his dark eyes becoming very wide, but he said nothing as he settled himself.

  Devenish mounted up and restrained Santana, who showed an inclination to jump over Leith and the curricle. “Lady Isabella thinks my daughter is exceeding pretty,” he said lightly, “if ageing rapidly.”

  Josie flung at him, “I hope Santana sits on you!”

  Laughing, the Colonel took up his whip. “Peace, my children. Or I shall be off without you.”

  Devenish on one side of the curricle, Josie on the other, they clattered out of the yard and followed the drivepath through the estate until they reached the lane that wound through the hills to connect with the Stroud road. Along the way, Josie chattered happily with Leith about the proposed ball, Devenish listening and inserting an amiable comment from time to time, until at last he remonstrated, “Give over, little one! You will drive poor Tris to distraction. Since he was so clever as to suggest a ball for you, you must not now submerge him in it.”

  Leith at once disclaimed, but Josie cried anxiously, “No, am I doing so? Oh, I am sorry, Tris! Dev’s right—it was so good of you to think of it. I know I’m being a prattlebox, but—oh, I am so excited!” From the corner of her eye she saw the twitch to her guardian’s lips and laughed. “Very well. I shall say no more about it. Leith, you will give my love to your dear wife and children, and— Rachel will come to the ball, no? Oh, and we must not forget, dearest, to invite Tristram’s General—what’s his name? I always forget, and— Oh, dear, now I’ve done it again!”

  She looked comically dismayed, and the two men laughed heartily. And so they went on through the misty morning, three good friends, too warmed by their pleasure in one another’s company to be chilled by the dank air that swirled about them.

  They said their farewells at the crossroad, and the two riders sat their fidgeting horses looking after the curricle until Leith turned at the last bend to wave back at them, then disappeared from sight.