Page 47 of Dangerous Illusions (Dangerous #1)
“Not then, although they are always well armed now.” Saying the words, she realized they really had been foolish to ride so far from home without their grooms, but it had been just as Davina had said.
They had meant to go only a short distance, but the mixture of sunshine, idle conversation, and a tremendous urge to let the horses stretch their legs had carried them much farther than they had intended to ride.
She saw the thought form in his mind as clearly as if it had been her own and said quickly, “Aunt Ophelia carries a pistol in that huge reticule of hers, and she managed to injure one and frighten the rest off.”
“The redoubtable Lady Ophelia,” Deverill murmured, but the stern look disappeared from his face just as she had hoped it would. “If you are returning to Tuscombe Park now,” he added, “I will do myself the honor to accompany you.”
Charley and Davina accepted with alacrity, and the latter managed to manipulate matters so that Deverill was soon riding beside her.
Daintry saw that he was perfectly willing to respond to Davina’s flirtatious manner, and when Davina mentioned that she and Charles were to be guests the following weekend at a house party in Truro, and hoped to see him there (as indeed they seemed, from the conversation, to have seen him at numerous other such parties), Deverill said he looked forward to seeing them again, too.
Daintry had also been invited to the Truro house party but once again had sent her regrets, believing it was far more important to continue her visits to Seacourt Head.
Now she tried to convince herself that she was glad she had done so.
Deverill reined in when the road began to descend toward Tuscombe Park. “It would be unwise for me to accompany you farther,” he said, “and since you can now be seen from the stable yard, you will be perfectly safe.”
Charley said bluntly, “Why do you not tell your papa to stop fighting with my grandpapa, sir?”
He smiled. “Do you tell your papa or your grandpapa what to do, Miss Charlotte?”
She shook her head. “No, but I am just a child. No one listens to me except Aunt Daintry and Aunt Ophelia.”
Davina, laughing, said, “Unnatural girl, would you have him think your own mother pays you no heed? And to think I even exerted myself to come riding with you today!”
“But it is the first time in ages you have done so, Mama,” Charley pointed out, “and you mostly talked with Aunt Daintry. I wish you would do it more often, however.” Turning back to Deverill, she said, “I do not think that for you to tell your papa is at all the same thing as for me to tell mine, sir.”
“Perhaps not,” he agreed, “but I must warn you that parents rarely forget they are parents, and continue to treat their sons and daughters like children even after they are grown up.” He shifted his gaze to Daintry, saying ruefully, “I confess, though I did search the records for the years before my grandfather’s marriage, I have done no more to the purpose, for I’ve come to believe there is no one left who knows what began the feud. ”
She nodded, meeting his gaze, surprised to learn that he had not stopped thinking about it altogether.
Quietly, she said, “I too have had no luck, though I did talk with my father. He said there were rumors, albeit no proof, that your grandfather was involved with Jacobites, and he mentioned petty incidents that have occurred, but even he seems not to know what began it all.”
“But that’s plain silly,” Charley said. “Really, sometimes I think children are more intelligent than grown-ups are.”
Davina said sharply, “That will be enough of your impudence, miss. If you really wish me to ride with you more often, you must take better care not to put me to the blush when I do.”
Charley, flushing deeply, fell silent, but Deverill said dryly, “She makes a good point, you know. Since our families are neighbors, it seems ridiculous that we cannot mend the rift. Perhaps we can manage to bring our fathers together once everyone is fixed in London for the Season. When do you mean to go?”
He was looking at Daintry again, but Davina answered, “We go in late February, sir, just before the opening of Parliament. Lady Ophelia has already begun to complain that she will get no sleep, but I just hope we do not find ourselves buried alive here in Cornwall from Christmas until London like we did last year!”
“There will be shooting parties, and hunting, to amuse you.”
“To amuse the gentlemen, you mean,” Davina retorted.
“If you think a house party where the gentlemen retire immediately after dinner in order to be up at cockcrow to scramble through bushes and briars after elusive birds and rabbits—or to fling themselves onto horses to chase a fox—holds much amusement for their ladies, sir, you are mistaken.”
Shooting a provocative look at Daintry, he said, “But ladies frequently hunt too, ma’am, and in any case, surely we are but carrying out our ancient masculine duty to put food on the table for those living under our protection.”
Charley said, “Oh, but sir, Aunt Ophelia says—”
“Lord Deverill,” Daintry said at the same time, grateful for an opportunity to vent at least some of her feelings, “surely you do not believe that any society, ancient or otherwise, has had to depend upon its hunters for food. Nowadays, most Englishmen take their guns out only when game is plentiful, and even in the old days it was more likely that such kills provided seasonal treats, just like they do now, while the family’s daily dependence was on the bounty of orchards and gardens planted, tended, and harvested by its womenfolk. Moreover, sir—”
“No more,” Deverill said, laughing. “You had been so quiet that I found myself unable to resist casting a fly to see if I could get a rise. I look forward to Truro, ladies. Good day.”
Gideon rode away with a smile on his face.
She had been glad to see him, and she had not liked it one bit when he had flirted with her sister-in-law.
Realizing now that she had been singularly silent on the subject of Truro, he wondered if she would be at the house party.
He hoped so, but then he had assumed that she would be present at many of the other parties he had attended, which, if the truth were told, had been the primary reason he had attended as many as he had.
It had been fine to renew old friendships again, to be sure, and to see men with whom he had served on the Continent, but everywhere he had gone, he had found himself searching for one face, and with the exception of the Mount Edgcumbe party, he had searched in vain.
Charles and Davina Tarrant had been at many of those same parties, and though he had not wanted to make an issue of asking after Daintry, he had once approached Davina in hopes of leading casually to his point, only to encounter a savage look from her husband that made him change his mind.
It made him wonder, too, if perhaps St. Merryn had forbidden his daughter to attend any more house parties simply because she might encounter him again.
He no longer questioned his feelings but conceded that he had been drawn to her from the first. The young woman intrigued him, surprised him, outraged him, and delighted him.
She made him feel protective one moment, exasperated the next.
She flatly refused to see any point but her own, her temper was frequently as ungoverned as Charley’s, and she was a darling.
He had set out to tame her. Now he just wanted her.
Winning her would be difficult, certainly, but he had never yet run from a challenge.
As they watched Deverill ride away, Davina said with an arch look at Daintry, “I believe I am going to enjoy London this year. What a delightful man he is, to be sure! I quite look forward to each house party, though I had begun to find such events rather insipid. It is a pity you have missed so many this year.”
Daintry returned a polite response, but try as she would, she could not easily dismiss Davina’s flirting with Deverill.
It was not jealousy, she told herself many times in the next few days, but justifiable fear that, with Deverill’s reputation and the fragile relationship between the families, any response he made to Davina could stir the coals of the feud to unquenchable flames.
Nevertheless, she was grateful that she was not called upon to explain the strange urge she had, each time Truro was mentioned, to scratch out her lovely sister-in-law’s eyes.
She could not seem to stop thinking about the house party, and when Charley looked disappointed to see Davina and Charles depart for Truro three days later, she immediately invited the child to accompany her to Seacourt Head the following day.
“It has been nearly a sennight since we both visited Melissa, and she will be expecting us, I think.”
“Oh, yes, and you promised to take us riding on the shingle again, from Seacourt this time.”
“So I did. Very well, pray for good weather then, and we will leave first thing in the morning by the cliff path.”
The following morning, however, she awoke to find clouds gathering overhead, and had she not been so determined to give Charley a treat to make up for her parents’ absence, she might well have changed her mind about going.
As it was, she took the bright blue sky in the west as a sign that the weather would clear without subjecting them to more than a shower or two, and they set out for Seacourt Head soon after breakfast.
The breezes were brisk and chilly, and the water of the Channel was gray, with foam edging its scudding waves and an occasional wall of spray flying before a gust of wind.
The shoreline of France was hidden in mist, and Daintry, glancing around warily as they rode, noted unhappily that the western sky, which had been clear earlier, was rapidly growing dark.