Page 38 of Dangerous Illusions (Dangerous #1)

St. Merryn shrugged. “Daresay there ain’t much you can do, lad, if they refuse to speak. Take my advice and just wait a day or two for the chit to go home. She will, you know. They always do, and you can teach her then to mind you better.”

“She has taken my daughter from my house,” Seacourt said, his voice tight. “I will not simply sit and wait for her to decide what to do next.”

St. Merryn shook his head. “Now that was wrong of her, very wrong. Man’s child belongs at home. So does his wife, for that matter. Susan’s done wrong, Ophelia. Even you must see that.”

Lady Ophelia, looking straight at Seacourt, said, “Susan has done what she thinks best and will live with the consequences, whatever they may be; but understand me, young man, when I say that I believe every word she told us. Bad enough that you treated her roughly, but to force her to accept your mistress into your household, and to be carrying on such a relationship under the innocent eyes of your own child—”

St. Merryn interrupted angrily, “What nonsense are you prattling now, Ophelia? Mistress? What the devil’s his mistress got to do with any of this?”

Daintry said, “She is living in his house with him, Papa—Lady Catherine Chauncey. I told you—”

“And I told you then, as I tell you now, that such things have nothing to do with you. A pretty pass we have come to when females begin cutting up stiff over a man’s private affairs.” He looked at Seacourt with new respect. “Actually got one living in your house with you, you say?”

“My cousin is making an extended visit,” Seacourt said stiffly. “Whatever Susan might think of her, that is all it is.”

“Upon my word,” St. Merryn said, almost reverently, “I don’t know how you manage it, lad. I truly don’t.”

Seacourt turned to Daintry. “You may think you have won, but you are dead wrong. I have every right to take legal action, and I shall. In fact, if I am not much mistaken, taking such action might prove interesting.” Looking at her now as if he expected to catch her off her guard, he said softly, “The nearest magistrate, according to your father, is presently to be found at Deverill Court, and now that I come to think of it, that may even be the likeliest place for Susan to have sought refuge.”

“You are mad, Geoffrey.”

Shocked, St. Merryn said, “Deverill Court! Now, look here, Seacourt, don’t you be saying I told you to lay your dirty laundry at Jervaulx’s feet. I won’t have it! We’ve kept our business well away from him all these years. I won’t have you—”

“You cannot stop me,” he snapped. “I can see that Daintry is none too pleased by this turn of events, so I daresay I may have guessed aright. But in the event that I have not, you will see me here again within the day, all of you, and I shall have the law on my side by then.” And with that, he was gone.

Daintry, her eyes wide, turned to Lady Ophelia. “Is it true that Deverill’s father is the nearest magistrate?”

Lady Ophelia nodded, watching St. Merryn. “Yes, he is. Has been for years, though many people expected him to hand over the duties to someone else once he became a marquess. But does Seacourt expect to find Susan at Deverill Court? He must know his so-called suspicions were utter nonsense.”

“What suspicions?” St. Merryn demanded.

Daintry said calmly, “There were letters accusing Deverill of trifling with Susan, but they were not true, Papa. Susan is not the sort of woman to allow such behavior, nor Deverill the sort of man to attempt it.”

“Well, if you think he wouldn’t attempt it, you haven’t paid heed to what those lads of Hill’s got up to on the Continent, but it don’t matter one way or another. Susan is Seacourt’s problem, and he will soon have her sorted out.”

“Not if I can stop him,” Daintry said. “And what’s more,” she said to Lady Ophelia when St. Merryn had gone, “I would very much like to be present when Geoffrey storms Deverill Court and demands the return of his wife.”

Deverill was sitting at his ease, his feet propped up on the fender before a crackling fire in the book room, reading a book.

He had finished his midday meal less than half an hour before, and was enjoying a postprandial glass of wine and a few moments’ leisurely reading before turning his attention to the pile of papers his father had left on the desk.

He meant to sort them, and to put away what he could before he returned to his labors in the muniments room, but first he would read for a while.

When a footman opened the book-room door and said, “Sir Geoffrey Seacourt, sir,” he thought for a moment that he must have misheard the man. But, looking up, he observed Seacourt himself, looking as red as bull beef, and primed for a fight.

Deverill put down his book. “Come in, Seacourt. Pour Sir Geoffrey a glass of wine, Thornton.” He smiled at his visitor. “My father’s selection is extremely large. What will you have?”

“I want my wife,” Seacourt said, his eyes gleaming with spite. “If she’s here, Deverill, suppose you trot her out.”

Raising his eyebrows, Deverill said gently, “I believe that means Sir Geoffrey declines refreshment, Thornton. You may go. Fortunately,” he added when the footman had gone, “my father trains his servants well. You need not fear that Thornton will repeat what he heard you say.”

“I don’t give a damn if he does repeat it,” Seacourt snapped. “Where is she?”

“You know,” Deverill said, stretching one leg out to ease a kink in his calf muscle, “I received your absurd letter and was not much impressed by it, but now I see that you are completely unhinged, which may explain a good deal. When, my good fellow, do you suppose I’ve had the time to attach Lady Susan’s interest, let alone to do anything of which I seem to stand accused? ”

“How do I know what you have done?”

“Oh, come, come, it is not what I have done that need concern you, but what your wife has done. From what I am given to understand, she rarely leaves Seacourt Head and then only in your company.”

“I was in Brighton for more than two months without her.”

“So you were. I, on the other hand, was in Belgium through those same months—or near enough—and when I returned, I went straight to my father’s house in Gloucestershire before going north for a fortnight.

I met your wife for the first time when I stopped at Tuscombe Park on my way back.

You came home the next day. Sit down, man, have a glass of wine, and tell me what the devil this is really all about. ”

“No, thank you,” Seacourt said stiffly. “I cannot prove that you are lying, but I have no way to know you speak the truth, either. Oh, I know you were at Waterloo; who does not know that? But as to the rest—Waterloo was in June, after all; I came home in late September. In point of fact, however, I came here today looking for Jervaulx. I heard he was here.”

“He returned a few days ago, but he is away again now.”

“I will wait.”

Deverill sighed. “You begin to annoy me, Seacourt. I have purposely remained seated, because if I get up to you, I am likely to lose my temper. You will not wait here. If you did, you would be obliged to wait for some time, because the winter Assizes are in session. His lordship is in Launceston.”

“Thank you,” Seacourt said, adding curtly, “I will seek him there. You need not ring for your man. I can find my way out.”

“No doubt, but I think I shall ring for him all the same,” Deverill said gently, reaching to pull the cord near the mantel.

Flushing, Seacourt strode from the room, nearly colliding with Thornton, who was already responding to the bell.

With the door shut again, Deverill got up from his chair and moved to the desk, pushing aside his father’s papers to write a letter. Then, ringing again for Thornton, he folded the note and sealed it, imprinting the warm red wax with his signet.

When the footman returned, Deverill smiled and said, “Seen him well away?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Now, find Ned Shalton and send him to me. Oh, and Thornton,” Deverill added as the man turned away.

Thornton turned back. “Yes, my lord?”

“I’d be most obliged if you could contrive to forget everything that occurred here within the past half hour.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

When Shalton arrived, Deverill said, “Take this note to the stables at Tuscombe Park, Ned, and give it into the tender keeping of a groom named Clemons to be delivered to his mistress at his earliest opportunity. And, Ned, don’t get yourself run off the premises if you can help it.”

“Aye, Major,” the batman said, grinning. “A billet doux, is it? I’ll see it to the wench safe enough.”

“Not a wench this time, Ned. A lady, so mind your tongue.”

“Oh, aye, Major. Mumchance it is then, sure enough.”

“How are things with Kibworth?”

“Got a truce, Major. He don’t sniff at me; I don’t knock him into the middle of next week. Seems to work just fine.”

“Out, Ned. Have a care with that note.”

When the man had gone, Gideon turned his attention to the pile of papers on the desk and soon discovered that there were as many pertaining to business in Gloucestershire as to Jervaulx’s affairs in Cornwall. He began to sort them into orderly piles.

Late that afternoon, when Daintry went down to the stables with Charley to feed carrots to Victor and Cloud, Clemons approached them, looking carefully around as he did so.

“What is it, Clemons?” Daintry demanded. “You look as if you had got smuggled goods hidden under your coat.”

He put a finger to his lips, glanced around again, turned so Charley could not see what he did, then slid a hand inside his jacket and pulled out the note.

“Mum’s the word, Miss Daintry. I were told to slip this to you on the sly.

Didn’t know the man what brung it. You got yourself a beau now? That it?”