Читать книгу Historical Romance March 2017 Book 1-4 - Louise Allen - Страница 22

Chapter Twelve

‘Darling!’ Lady Eldonstone, looking like a woman half her age, ran down the steps and reached the door of the chaise before the footman. She stood there while the man opened the door and let down the step, then seized Sara in a fierce hug the moment she emerged. ‘You look beautiful, darling, and do not take any notice of your father, or of Ashe. They are being ridiculous, the pair of them. You must be Lady Marguerite, welcome to Eldonstone. Have you had a good journey? Come along inside, both of you.’

‘Why must I take no notice of Papa and Ashe, Mata?’ Sara dug in her heels and stopped dead. ‘What are they being ridiculous about?’

‘Ashe went down to Sandbay to see you. I think he wants to plot a surprise birthday party for your father next month. He got back this morning saying that you were not there and had left mysteriously and that Mr Makepeace told him some cock-and-bull story about being worried because you left town with a Mr Dunton.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, you know what he and Nicholas are like, so primitive about that sort of thing, which when you consider that your father and I hardly had a conventional courtship and if you can convince me that Ashe was exactly as pure as the driven snow—although I am sure he would die if he heard his mother say so—is most unreasonable of them.’

‘Lady Eldonstone.’ Marguerite had stopped, too, and was listening, white-faced. ‘You have discovered that Sara is helping me to cover up my disgrace and, of course, you do not approve. I apologise, I will tell Lucian that we must leave immediately.’

‘Goodness, child, this is not about you at all. My ridiculous menfolk have come over all male and protective of Sara. I can only hope that your brother is impervious to insult or we may have a very exciting day in front of us.’

‘I believe you will find that the Marquess of Cannock is about as impervious to insult as Papa or Ashe are,’ Sara said, looking round. Yes, there they were, grim-faced on the terrace. She picked up her skirts and ran across the gravel to put herself between them and her lover.

‘Papa.’ She kissed his cheek and received a fierce hug in return. ‘Ashe. Where is Phyllida?’

‘I asked her to stay inside and distract the other guests,’ her brother said, glaring over her shoulder. ‘They are all round at the garden front.’

‘Distract them from what?’ Sara demanded. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Lucian had handed over the reins of the curricle to a groom and that he and Gregory were walking across to them.

‘Us dealing with Cannock.’

‘Lucian does not require dealing with. He is a guest and my friend, as is his sister, and—Ashe!’

* * *

‘Farnsworth, I believe we might be in for a somewhat cool welcome.’ Lucian began to stroll across the gravel towards the steps, assessing the two men standing there with Sara in front of them. He was too far away to hear what was being said, but from the rigid set of her shoulders and the vehement hand gestures, he suspected not all was well. Gregory’s head turned as he looked for Marguerite. ‘Do not react, whatever the provocation,’ Lucian added. ‘Leave this to me.’

This was Sara’s home and he owed her a great deal, too much to cause a rift with her family. Her brother brushed past her, took the steps down two at a time and strode towards them. Instinctively Lucian shifted his stance, but kept his hands down when every ounce of instinct and training told him to lift his fists in the face of the Viscount’s evident hostility. Even so, he had expected some preliminaries, some insults at least, not that Clere would aim a right hook squarely at his jaw. He rocked back three paces, riding the punch, but stayed on his feet.

He ran one hand over his chin and contemplated throwing manners, caution and common sense to the wind and taking out the frustrations of the past few months on the man in front of him. Then he saw Sara run across the carriage drive towards them and gave her the faintest shake of his head. She stopped, then walked forward warily to stand beside him, facing her brother. Her loyalties would be torn between them both and he admired her for even attempting the balancing act.

‘An unusual welcome,’ Lucian drawled, ignoring the pain. Damn, but the man has a punch like a blacksmith’s hammer. It was a miracle his teeth were not all over the drive. ‘Farnsworth, this is Viscount Clere. I suggest you stay out of his way until we establish whether this is his normal greeting to guests or if I am uniquely honoured by a display of pugilism.’ He should be diplomatic, soothing, make a joke of it, perhaps. He needed this family’s help. But he was not going to act the punching bag for anyone, not even this man whom he had always liked and who was reacting as he strongly suspected he would have himself if he was in Clere’s shoes.

‘You have seduced my sister,’ the other man snarled. ‘And—’

‘Why not wait until you can find a speaking trumpet, Clere? I am sure there must be one or two of our audience who did not quite catch that announcement. Look, the men scything the grass over there must have missed it.’ The truth was, a fight would be welcome. More than welcome. Some mindless violence... His hands curled into fists as Clere took another step forward.

‘Stop it, both of you.’ Sara managed to wriggle between the two of them when they were almost toe to toe. ‘No one has seduced anyone.’

‘It was ravishment, then?’ her brother snarled.

‘It was no such thing and none of your business whatever it was, Ashe Herriard,’ Sara snapped. ‘I am a grown woman, an independent widow, and you have absolutely no right interfering. And, might I remind you, this is not your house and if Mata is happy to welcome my guests—which she is—what have you to say to it?’

God, she is magnificent. Ashe folded his arms and prepared to leap to Sara’s defence if she showed the slightest sign of needing him. At the moment, though, she appeared to have her brother on the back foot.

‘Father is not—’

‘Good day, Cannock.’

Lucian looked away from the seething Viscount to the tall figure of Sara’s father standing behind him. ‘Eldonstone.’ He inclined his head a trifle, as much courtesy as he was prepared to offer the older man in the midst of this crackling hostility. ‘We came at the invitation of Lady Sara. If we are not welcome we will, naturally, remove ourselves.’ He locked gazes with Clere again. Unfinished business, he promised. You will not provoke me into a fist fight on your mother’s doorstep, but later...

‘Do come in.’ The older man regarded him, unsmiling, his grey eyes uncannily like Sara’s. ‘I feel you and I have matters to discuss.’

One thing, and one thing only, kept him from turning round and driving out of there and that was Marguerite. For her sake he would swallow his pride, shackle his temper and deal with these two angry men. But he was damned if he was explaining himself or discussing his relationship with Sara.

He sent her a quick smile and strolled across the expanse of gravel beside Eldonstone. The colour was up on Sara’s cheekbones and she was bristling at her much taller brother like a she-cat confronting a mastiff. As he passed her, Lucian heard her snap, ‘Don’t you dare,’ presumably at her brother. The Marchioness was already leading Marguerite inside, gesticulating with her hands as she talked. It seemed she had prevented his sister from seeing what had just occurred, thank goodness.

‘My study.’ Eldonstone opened a panelled door at the end of the hallway and gestured for him to enter. ‘Have a seat, Cannock. Brandy?’

‘Thank you, no.’ Not when he was an unwelcome intruder in this place.

‘My son went down to Sandbay to visit his sister and found that she had left early that morning, alone with you. And yet you would have us believe that you, and your entourage, have come direct from there. The rumours were already spreading. Something clandestine is going on.’

‘Not under your roof,’ Lucian said coolly. ‘I do not discuss my private affairs with anyone and if you wish to know about Lady Sarisa’s, then I suggest you discuss them with her. My sister and I owe her a great deal and, she is, as she pointed out to her brother, an independent woman.’

‘She is my daughter and if you have been toying with her affections with no intention of marrying her then your private affairs are most definitely my concern.’

‘Her affections do not enter into this.’ The Marquess’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Lucian deliberately poured oil on the flames. Get it over with. ‘Nor does marriage.’

The big hands that had lain relaxed on the desk curled into fists. ‘In my house—’

‘In your house I imagine that Lady Sarisa would conduct herself with the greatest respect to your wishes. As would I, were I a guest here.’

‘He is playing with words.’ The door in the far corner was flung open to reveal Viscount Clere. ‘Playing with us. Will you or will you not marry my sister?’

Lucian curled a lip at him for the drama and received a glare in return. A bout in the stable yard would be so very satisfying. ‘No,’ Lucian said baldly, staying where he was and crossing his legs. Marriage was not what their relationship was about. They were lovers. Sara was not ready for marriage to anyone, he could tell that, and as for himself, he had other plans. Long-standing plans that involved the careful and considered choice of the next Marchioness of Cannock.

‘No, he will not,’ said Sara, emerging from behind the screen in the opposite corner. ‘Why should he? Why should I, come to that?’

‘Give me strength!’ The Marquess slammed one fist down on the desk. ‘What is this? A French farce? This confounded room has too many doors—and I have two disrespectful offspring. Ashe, sit down. Sara, if this man has seduced you, he must marry you.’

Her colour was up and so was her chin. Under any other circumstances Lucian would have sat back and admired the show, but this was his lover under fire and, magnificent as she was, it was his battle to fight, not hers. He stood up and went to stand at her side, not touching. ‘Lady Sarisa makes her own decisions, her own choices. She is an independent woman with enough force of character to withstand seduction. I believe she has made it clear that she does not wish to discuss her personal life. As for my own, I would simply point out that I would not dream of abusing my hostess’s hospitality by any behaviour that might cause her distress or embarrassment.’ And if they could not interpret that to mean that he and Sara would behave with perfect propriety when under her parents’ roof, then he would have to draw them a diagram.

Sara gave him a fleeting smile. ‘Lord Cannock is my lover, although he is too discreet to say so in as many words. It was a mutual decision, naturally, as he is a gentleman of honour,’ she said, before he could add anything. ‘And no seduction was necessary on either side.’ She turned to look at her brother. ‘And don’t grind your teeth, Ashe. You know perfectly well that if one of your friends was having an affaire with a widow of his own class you would not turn a hair. In fact, if you hadn’t met Phyllida when you did, I expect you would have been dallying with widows yourself.’

‘That is irrelevant.’

‘Then you are a hypocrite,’ she flung back.

‘Damn it, you are only twenty-four, Sara. What some older woman about town does is completely irrelevant. You have no experience of rakes and you know it.’

‘Lucian is not a rake.’

‘How do you know?’ That silenced her. As she sought for an answer Ashe spun round to face Lucian. ‘You marry my sister or you will meet me.’

This was getting out of hand. Sara had gone white and he suddenly realised why. It was not simply the hostility and her distress at arguing with her father and brother, although that must be affecting her. But she had already lost her husband to a duel and now her brother was not only raking that memory up but making her fear that she could lose her lover, or, far worse, her brother, the same way.

‘Actually, I have the priority for a challenge,’ he drawled. ‘You struck me.’

‘Damn it, then challenge me!’

‘Lucian.’ Sara’s voice shook and he felt as though he had hit her.

He glanced down and shook his head in reassurance before meeting her brother’s furious gaze. ‘Whether I call you out, Clere, or you call me out, I will delope. I will not risk killing Sara’s brother. If you do not delope, then you will be meeting me with the intent to kill me. Is that clear enough? And what your sister does when she is not under her parents’ roof is her affair, not yours.’

‘Exactly.’ Sara had the tremor almost under control now. ‘Now, are we welcome, all of us, or do we leave? Because if Lucian goes, I go.’

‘You are always welcome, Sara,’ her father said. ‘And Lady Marguerite needs our help, from what your mother hinted. So, no, my darling, you do not leave.’ He rose and held out his hand to Lucian. ‘I am sorry for your reception, but when you have a daughter of your own you will understand. I happen to trust mine and to trust her judgement. You are welcome here for as long as Sara is happy.’ For the first time he smiled and Lucian felt he knew what meeting a tiger face to face would be like. ‘On the other hand, if you make my daughter unhappy I will not trouble myself with the formality of a challenge.’

‘Understood.’ Lucian returned the firm pressure of the big hand with its calluses from years of handling reins and weapons. He did not make the mistake of offering his own to Clere, nor would he forget that blow outside just now. There would be a reckoning for that.

The room the footman showed him to was large, luxurious and decorated in an eclectic mix of fine furniture of the previous century and rich, dark, Indian fabrics and embroideries. It felt a little like being inside an exceedingly masculine jewel casket.

‘Lady Marguerite’s chamber is opposite, my lord,’ the footman volunteered when he had checked that hot water had been delivered to the dressing room. ‘Lady Eldonstone thought you would prefer her ladyship to be nearby. Mr Farnsworth is just around the corner to the left. An informal luncheon will be served in the Green Dining Room in half an hour.’

Lucian tidied himself up, grimaced in the mirror at the bruise on his chin and went in search of his sister. A maid opened the door to his knock and he found Marguerite happily exploring a room that was swagged in pale silk embroidered with flowers and animals.

‘This is lovely, Lucian! It is like being in a garden. Lady Eldonstone is so kind and understanding—Lucian, your chin?’

‘I walked into something.’ No more than the truth. ‘Ready for luncheon?’

‘Of course. I am starving.’ She dimpled at his grin. ‘I know, how unladylike of me. But I am. We must collect Gregory.’

‘Mr Farnsworth will make his own way down.’ He trusted them—up to a point. Showing the little minx the location of her lover’s bedchamber was positively begging for trouble. ‘Concentrate, Marguerite. This is the first act of a play, remember. Your reputation hangs on its success.’

She nodded with all the confidence of youth and Lucian gave mental thanks once again for Sara’s help. ‘It will be all right, do not fuss, Lucian.’

‘We haven’t met the other guests yet,’ Lucian said grimly. All they needed were a couple of those eagle-eyed dowagers, able to spot a scandal at twenty paces, and the acting would have to be of a very high order indeed.

When they located the Green Dining Room the first sight of the assembled company was promising, he thought. Everyone there was known to him, at least by sight, although for Marguerite, not yet out, they were all strangers. Lady Eldonstone had organised a casual buffet with several tables scattered through the room and out on the terrace which was accessible through the open full-length windows and the guests were standing about chatting while servants brought in various dishes to set out on the sideboard.

Two young bachelor acquaintances from his clubs came over at once. ‘Cannock, this is a surprise. Ma’am,’ Toby Peterson said, beaming at Marguerite.

‘Marguerite, this is Sir Toby Peterson and Lord Hitchin. Gentlemen, my sister, Lady Marguerite.’

‘Delighted, Lady Marguerite.’ Sir Toby moderated the smile to something more respectful. Marguerite, Lucian was amused to see, blushed and smiled back. He only hoped that her devotion to Gregory held firm in the face of close encounters with other personable young men or they really were in the soup.

‘What’s wrong with your face, Cannock?’ Hitchin enquired, loudly enough for several heads to turn. ‘Nasty bruise coming up on your chin.’

‘An unfortunate collision,’ Lucian replied. ‘I should have been more careful. Is that Fitzhugh I see over there?’ He abandoned the inquisitive Hitchin and moved to greet an acquaintance from White’s. His wife expressed interest in meeting Marguerite and made her way over to detach her from the baronet.

‘She misses her own young sister,’ Fitzhugh confided. ‘We fired Annabelle off in fine style this Season, but now Marie is like a hen without a chick. She’ll keep an eye on your sister with these young bucks around. Her first time out, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, I thought it sensible to let her try her wings before her Season. It always seems cruel pitching the girls straight from the schoolroom into society and the bear pit of Almack’s.’ Time, he thought, to change the subject away from Marguerite. ‘That racehorse of yours did well at Wincanton.’

Sara came in and began to circulate, her expression when they met decidedly cool and collected. Was she play-acting for her family’s benefit or had he upset her in the study? he wondered, schooling his own face. Hell, this could be a long week.

Something white fluttered to his feet as she passed. ‘Your handkerchief, Lady Sara.’ He stooped to pick it up and, as she took it from him, her fingers curled into his palm for a moment, the nails gently raking the sensitive flesh. ‘Stop it, you tease,’ he murmured and she chuckled, a low, wicked sound, as she moved on.