Page 17 of Dangerous Illusions (Dangerous #1)

I T SEEMED TO DAINTRY as if someone had created a tableau vivant.

Charley, holding the new blue Paisley silk scarf she had unwrapped, sat with her mouth agape, her eyes wide and focused on her grandfather.

Melissa, caught in the motion of slipping a gold bangle on her thin wrist, was utterly still.

Sir Geoffrey and Susan stared at St. Merryn; and Charles and Davina had frozen so that the former’s smile and the latter’s look of polite welcome as Daintry led Lady Catherine toward them, had become as fixed as if the expressions had been painted on their faces.

Lady St. Merryn, reaching for her salts bottle, was the first to move, and Cousin Ethelinda, ever vigilant, leapt to spare her even that small exertion.

Awakened from his own shock by their movement, St. Merryn snapped, “Damme, I won’t have it! You must be Penthorpe!”

Lady Ophelia said, “Pray moderate your tone, St. Merryn. There are children and ladies present.”

“I never raise my voice,” he snarled, “and you keep your nose out of this, Ophelia. I won’t tolerate any more of your damned meddling. Only look where it has got us now!”

“I quite fail to see how this imbroglio relates to me,” she retorted.

“It was your own impulsive assumption that began it, you know. Had you waited, as any reasonable man would have done, to allow the young man to give his name—or indeed, his calling card—to your footman, as I have not the least doubt he meant to do before you snatched the moment to yourself, as so frequently is your habit and indeed, the habit of most men—”

“Spout me no more infernal nonsense about the imperfections of men,” St. Merryn shouted at her. “Men are the superior sex because we are superior, and that is all there is about it.”

Charley said matter-of-factly, “Men are superior only in matters of muscle, Grandpapa. It has been proven, you know—or at least, it has been written,” she added conscientiously, “that the female brain is quite as capable of logical th—”

“Go to your room, you unnatural child!” St. Merryn roared, rounding on her with frenzy in his eyes.

“But—”

Daintry, recognizing that the earl’s love for his granddaughter was presently outmatched by his driving need of a quarry upon whom to wreak vengeance, snapped over her shoulder, “Charles, I will deal with this,” as she strode forward, snatched Charley up from the floor by one arm and hustled her out of the room, pulling the door shut behind them on her father’s outraged declaration, “But, damme, you must be Penthorpe!”

In the blessed near-silence of the corridor, Charley said with an air of dignity at odds with Daintry’s firm hold on her arm, “I am dreadfully sorry, but he was wrong, you know.”

Giving her a shake, Daintry retorted, “I don’t care if he was, young lady. You have no business to talk to him that way, particularly when others are about. You will be fortunate if your papa does not thrash you soundly for such bad manners.”

“He won’t,” Charley said forlornly. “He never does.”

Worried about Deverill but caught off guard by a sudden bubble of laughter in her throat, Daintry released her, saying, “Your grandfather was right, you know; you are unnatural. Do you expect me to believe that you want your papa to spank you?”

“No, of course not.” The child grimaced.

“I do not approve of violence, and most certainly not when it is directed toward me. But Papa pays me no heed at all. I heard you tell him you would deal with me, but he had not begun to move, you know, so there was not the least need for you to speak to him.”

“Your grandpapa had begun to move.”

Charley shuddered. “I know. Honestly, Aunt Daintry, I spoke without thinking, but it was nonsense that he was speaking. Aunt Ophelia says—”

“Sometimes,” Daintry said with a sigh, “I think Aunt Ophelia would have done better to interest us in needlework, like Cousin Ethelinda. Independence for women is an excellent notion, but in reality …” She strained her ears to make sense of what seemed to be an unceasing low roar from the drawing room.

Taking advantage of the pause, Charley said, “I’d rather teach Victor to come to me when I want him than learn to sew, and I’d much rather read history than learn to run a great house like Mama says I must, but”—she sighed—“Grandpapa once said that a female who argues facts of history might as well have a beard.”

“At least he didn’t quote Samuel Johnson to you, darling. Johnson believed the only virtuous woman is a silent one.”

Charley giggled. “Even Grandpapa would know better than to expect me to be silent.”

“Perhaps,” Daintry agreed, “but you may be sure he will not want to see your face again soon. Go upstairs now, and try after this to behave like a lady of quality.”

“If that man is truly not Lord Penthorpe, then who—?”

Daintry pointed toward the stairs. “Go, Charlotte.”

Charley went without another word, and shaking her head, Daintry turned back to the drawing room, pausing a moment to draw a deep breath before opening the door.

The first person she saw was Deverill, and when his gaze met hers, she saw both amusement and frustration in his eyes.

The amusement disappeared when Sir Geoffrey said loudly over the rest, “But damme, I say again, if he is not Penthorpe, then who the devil is he?”

Astonished that the point had not yet been clarified, Daintry caught Deverill’s gaze again. His rueful shrug coupled with the din that greeted Sir Geoffrey’s question informed her that he simply had not yet attempted to make himself heard.

St. Merryn snapped, “Damme, I don’t care who he is if he ain’t Penthorpe, for it’s Penthorpe I want to see.

Where the devil is the fellow, I ask you?

Stands to reason since he’s sent this fellow in his stead”—he glared at Deverill—“that the young whippersnapper means to delay his visit indefinitely or to turn tail altogether. Well, I won’t have it!

He’s betrothed to my daughter, and by God, he will marry her.

I have put my foot down, and there is no more to be said about it. ”

“Stuff and nonsense,” Lady Ophelia said.

When the earl turned indignantly to glare at her, Deverill said calmly, “I am afraid there is more to be said, sir. Penthorpe is dead. He fell at Waterloo.”

“What? Upon my soul, what did the fellow go and do a thing like that for? Are you sure?”

“Perfectly sure. I saw his body. In point of fact, he had a premonition beforehand and asked me to bring the news to you if he fell. When you mistook me for him, I was dumbfounded, sir, and I behaved badly. I am entirely at fault and can do no more than beg forgiveness, undeserving though I am to receive it.”

“Never mind that now,” St. Merryn said testily.

“What I want to know is, who is going to marry my daughter? I’ve got a surfeit of women in this house, as you see, and here I thought the whole business was settled and I could get rid of one of them.

Now I’ve got to begin all over again. I say,” he added with a speculative look, “you ain’t a married man, are you, lad? ”

“No, sir, I have not that honor.”

“Honor be damned, it’s the one thing the Almighty did that I’d like to call Him to account for. To declare it a man’s duty to marry when he’d never done it himself was a curst bad thing!”

Lady St. Merryn gasped, “Blasphemy! Oh, how can you say such a thing? Where is my handkerchief, Ethelinda? Ring for some hartshorn at once. I feel quite faint.”

As Cousin Ethelinda rushed to obey, St. Merryn snorted and said to Deverill, “There, you see, lad. Too damned many women in this house, and now your friend Penthorpe has left Daintry on my hands. Damme, but perhaps all is not lost. Who the devil are you, lad? If you’re eligible, by God, you may have her! ”

Seacourt laughed, but Charles exclaimed, “Father, really!”

Daintry saw Deverill frown and, holding her breath, looked quickly at her great-aunt, whose eyes were alight with expectant laughter. Daintry could see nothing funny in the situation.

St. Merryn, hands on his hips, was waiting for Deverill to speak. The others, too, were silent, waiting.

Looking from one to another, Deverill straightened, and for the first time Daintry thought he looked like a marquess’s son. His very size was intimidating, for he was taller than any of the other men, and broader, and much better looking.

“I am Deverill,” he said with quiet dignity.

There was a different quality to the silence now, as if the room held its breath, and suddenly she became aware of Catherine Chauncey, not only as a stranger in their midst but because the woman looked utterly fascinated by the scene she was witnessing.

The thought passed through her mind in the split second before St. Merryn, nearly choking on the word, repeated, “Deverill?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jervaulx’s son?”

“Yes, sir, his younger son. I’ve been abroad since leaving Oxford, with Wellington. I was a brigade major under Uxbridge at Waterloo. Penthorpe was my best friend, sir.”

“Don’t mention him to me again,” St. Merryn growled. “What the devil are you doing in my house?”

“I explained that. Penthorpe asked me—”

“Damme, I won’t have a Deverill in my house! Get out!”

Daintry, seeing that Deverill was about to obey the unjust command, said quickly, “Papa, he does not even know about the feud. That is to say, he knows, but he does not know what caused it, and nor do I, or—”

“Upon my soul, girl, it is not necessary for you to understand anything. Such matters are the business of men, and such business they will remain. If you have nothing of more interest to contribute to this conversation, keep silent.”

“But I have a great deal to say,” she insisted. “You cannot throw him out merely because of some outdated squabble between our grandfathers. That makes no sense at all.”