Page 37 of Dangerous Illusions (Dangerous #1)

D AINTRY AND CHARLEY DID not linger at Warleggan Farm once they were assured that Susan and Melissa were welcome to stay and that Feok Warleggan was not there to object.

“Gone to Truro,” Annie explained, “with a herd of sheep for slaughtering, and won’t be back for two days.

Dewy’s not here either. Gone off on some business of his own, but it’s no manner of use thinking I can tell him or Feok that Lady Susan prefers a small room abovestairs in a farmhouse to the comforts of Seacourt Head,” she added bluntly, “and they are no more likely than any other men to want to help a female defy her lawful husband.”

“Less than some,” Granny Popple added tartly.

“Never you mind,” Charley had said cheerfully. “We shall think of a much better plan before Feok gets back.”

Daintry wished she shared Charley’s optimism.

Riding back across the moor, she found herself scanning the horizon, hoping to see the figure of a centaurlike horseman, but aside from the occasional twitter of a meadow pipit, the flock of migratory lapwings Charley startled into flight, and a column of smoke in the distance where someone was burning heather to stimulate new growth, the moor appeared uninhabited that morning.

Charley chattered all the way, telling Daintry in detail just how she had hidden behind a small tor at the top of the road and whistled to make Prince slow to a halt, not once but three times, until Seacourt had dismounted to examine the horse’s hooves.

“Then I ran and got back on Victor—for I had got down and crept closer so that I could see Uncle Geoffrey to whistle, you know—and then we just galloped off like lightning was after us. I stopped again behind another big pile of rocks to be sure Uncle Geoffrey stayed on the road. He did.”

Daintry was afraid they would see him all too soon, but they reached Tuscombe Park without encountering him, and she sent Charley at once to Miss Parish, warning her that if her mama or papa were to ask where she had been, she must be truthful without revealing their precise destination.

“They won’t ask,” Charley said with a sigh.

“I’ve scarcely laid eyes on them since you all returned from Mount Edgcumbe, and they are getting ready now, if you can call it that, to go to Cothele.

They were shouting at each other the last I saw.

Would they pay me more heed if I were a boy, Aunt Daintry? ”

Daintry touched the child’s flushed cheek and smiled at her. “If you were a boy,” she said gently, “they would have packed you off to Eton or Harrow two years ago to have a grand education flogged into you. In my opinion, miss, you are much better off here with me and Aunt Ophelia.”

Charley grinned at her. “I am glad you are my aunt.”

Daintry watched her run off, and wished her own spirits might be lifted so easily. She wondered once again what was amiss between Davina and Charles, but with Seacourt likely to descend upon them at any moment, she did not spare them more than a brief thought, hurrying instead to find Lady Ophelia.

That worthy dame was sitting placidly in the drawing room, her journal, pen, and inkwell pushed to one side while she gave her attention to Cousin Ethelinda, who, when Daintry entered the room, was explaining in tedious detail, just how it was that Lady St. Merryn had not yet chosen to come downstairs.

“I am really quite concerned about your mama,” she added, seeing Daintry.

“She is that vexed over Susan that she seems to have no spirit at all today. Why, she did not even want me to read her a chapter from her Bible this morning, which she generally likes, for it makes her feel as if she had had enough energy to attend morning prayers with the servants, which, of course, she never has. But today she just wanted to sleep.”

Lady Ophelia made an unladylike noise. “All Letitia needs is some responsibility. She is like a plant with no one to water it. She droops.”

Cousin Ethelinda stiffened. “I am sure I water her … that is to say, if she were a plant, which she is not, I am sure I should take just as good care of her as I do now. There is nothing at all she needs that I do not provide for her.”

“Oh, my dear,” Lady Ophelia said, shaking her head, “if only that were possible. But though you do your best for her, every woman has needs that cannot be met by another woman, or by a man, for that matter. One must have inner resources as well, and I fear Letitia has none. I have given orders,” she added, looking significantly at Daintry, “for any visitors to be directed to us here. There have been none.”

“I see,” Daintry replied, meeting her gaze.

Cousin Ethelinda said brightly, “I hope Susan got away early this morning and that she will quickly make amends with Seacourt. A woman ought not to be at odds with her husband.”

Daintry, having been taken aback by the first part of the statement, realized what was meant and was briefly at a loss for something to say.

Glancing at Lady Ophelia, she said, “Susan left at nine, Cousin. Is that a new bit of tapestry you are working?” she added, sitting down beside her on the sofa.

“Oh, yes, is it not a pretty pattern?”

Daintry was able to keep Cousin Ethelinda’s mind occupied with matters other than Susan until they heard the unmistakable sounds of male voices on the gallery.

Stiffening, she looked again at her great-aunt to see that Lady Ophelia had picked up her pen and appeared to be concentrating on her journal.

The door was thrown open, and St. Merryn entered, followed by a furious Seacourt.

“Where the devil is Susan?” St. Merryn demanded.

Daintry got to her feet, striving for calm. “She is not here, Papa. Since you would not help her, she has gone away.”

Seacourt took two steps toward her. “Damn it, you young—”

“Language, Seacourt,” St. Merryn snapped. “Ladies present.”

“Sorry, sir, but this is enough to make anyone forget his manners. Susan came here, prating of abuse because she is a trifle put out with me at the moment, and Daintry, if I am not much mistaken, has assisted her to do something very naughty.”

Daintry glared at Seacourt. “I daresay Papa told you he refused to see Susan. You would not be pretending it was no more than a foolish little squabble if you knew he had seen her face.”

Flushing, he kept his gaze pinned to hers. “You will regret it if you have tried to come between me and my wife, my girl.”

“I am not your girl, thank heaven,” Daintry said, “nor am I much impressed by your threats, Geoffrey. Papa, please,” she added, turning to face him, “you must not listen to him.”

St. Merryn returned her look angrily. “What are you doing in here, anyway? I distinctly remember ordering you to stay in your bedchamber until I gave you leave to come out of it.”

“Well, yes, you did, but I knew Geoffrey would come, and—”

“She was out on the road with Susan, sir,” Seacourt said.

“Upon my word,” St. Merryn growled, “I ought to take you across my knee to teach you obedience, girl.”

“Not,” Lady Ophelia said evenly, “if I have anything to say about it.” She looked him in the eye, and St. Merryn was the first to look away, glancing at Seacourt, then balefully at Daintry before muttering, “Anyone who thinks it’s easy for a man to command a houseful of women has never done it, that’s all. ”

Lady Ophelia said quietly, “Daintry, you did not tell me you had been confined to your room. You ought not to have left it. Apologize to your papa at once, if you please.”

“I do apologize,” she said. “Truly, Papa, I did not really mean to disobey, but Susan needed me, and I just did not think.”

“Never mind that,” Seacourt snapped, clearly disgusted.

“Where the devil have you taken Susan? And do not bother denying that you took her somewhere, for I saw you, all four of you, and if that damned horse I took from the stables here had not suddenly taken it into his head to slow to a walk—not once, mind you, but three times—I’d have caught up with you on the road. ”

“What horse is that?” St. Merryn demanded, diverted.

“The one they call Prince, sir. A big bay hunter.”

“Upon my word, Seacourt, if you’ve hurt that horse—”

“I haven’t He was startled by some wild birds, I think. At all events, he recovered and was fine when I brought him in.”

Not daring to look at Lady Ophelia, who had often heard Charley describe her training, Daintry said, “I have sworn to say nothing, Geoffrey, so do not ask me. I always keep my word.”

Seacourt, still watching St. Merryn, said, “Order her to tell me, sir, or send for young Charlotte, and I’ll soon have the truth out of her if I have to shake it out.”

“Careful, Geoffrey,” Daintry said. “You will reveal rather more of your delightful personality than you mean to reveal.”

He shot a furious look at her but kept his attention focused on St. Merryn. “Well, sir?”

“Tell him where Susan is, Daintry.”

“No, sir.”

“What’s that you say?” St. Merryn’s mouth dropped open.

“I won’t tell him. You may lock me in my room, or beat me, Papa, but I will still refuse to tell you. I promised Susan I would not betray her, and I mean to honor that promise.”

“Then get Charlotte,” Seacourt said. “I’ll talk to her.”

St. Merryn frowned, and Daintry held her breath, fearing he would send for Charley; but before he could speak, Lady Ophelia said in the same even tone she had employed before, “You may ask Charlotte, of course, but if I know her—and I daresay I know her very well—she too will refuse to tell you, and she will enjoy the scene she creates by refusing very much more than you will.”

“Get Charles,” Seacourt snapped. “Surely, he is not so cowed by you that he will refuse to force his daughter to speak.”

Daintry sighed. “You really do not know Charles very well, do you, Geoffrey? Davina might help you if she wanted to do so, but I daresay she might have more sympathy for Susan than for you, and at all events, she would not try to beat an answer out of Charley. Nor, to his credit, would Charles ever do so.”