Devil's Cub (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 2)

‘You will like her,’ he persisted. ‘Egad, she’s after your own heart, maman! She shot me in the arm.’

‘Voyons, do you think that is what I like?’ Léonie said indignantly.

‘You’d have done it yourself, my dear.’ He paused, staring out of the window. She watched him anxiously, and after a moment he turned his head and looked down at her. ‘Madame, I love her,’ he said curtly. ‘If I can induce her to take me –’

‘What’s this? Induce her! I find you absurd, mon enfant.’

He smiled faintly. ‘She ran off with Comyn sooner than wed me, nevertheless.’

‘Where is she?’ Léonie asked abruptly.

‘In her bed-chamber. There was an accident. When Comyn and I had our little affair, she threw herself between us, and my sword scratched her.’

‘Oh, mon Dieu !’ Léonie exclaimed, throwing up her hands. ‘It is not enough to abduct her! No, you must wound her also! You are incorrigible!’

‘Will you see her, maman?’

‘I will see her, yes, but I promise nothing. Dominique, have you thought of Monseigneur? He will never, never permit it! You know he will not.’

‘He cannot stop it, madame. If it leads to an estrangement between us I am sorry for it, but my mind is made up.’ He pressed her hand. ‘Come to her now, ma chère.’ He led her back into the room. ‘Comyn, since you know Miss Challoner’s room and I do not, will you have the goodness to escort my mother to her?’

Mr Comyn, who was talking earnestly to Mr Hammond, turned at once, and bowed. ‘I shall be happy to do so, sir.’

Rupert called out: ‘Hey, where are you off to, Léonie? Tell me, do we spend the night in this place?’

‘I don’t know,’ Léonie answered. ‘I am going to make the acquaintance of this Mademoiselle Challoner.’

She went out, followed by Mr Comyn, and his lordship shook his head gloomily. ‘It won’t do, Vidal. You can talk your mother over, but if you think your father will stand this you don’t know him. Lord, I wish I were well out of it!’ He became aware of his nephew’s coatless and bootless state. ‘For God’s sake, boy, put your clothes on!’ he begged.

Vidal laughed, and sat down to pull on his boots. His uncle observed them through his glass with considerable interest. ‘Did Haspener make those for you, Vidal?’

‘Lord, no!’ said the Marquis scornfully. ‘What, does he make yours still? These are a pair of Martin’s.’

‘Martin, eh? I’ve a mind to let him make me a pair. I don’t like your coats, I don’t like your stock-buckle, your hats are too rakish a cock for a man of my years, your waistcoats are damned unimaginative, but one thing I’ll allow: your boots are the best made in the town, ay, and the highest polished. What does your fellow use on ’em? I’ve tried a blacking made with champagne, but it ain’t as good as you’d expect.’

Mr Hammond broke in on this with unconcealed impatience. ‘Sir, is this a moment in which to discuss the rival merits of your bootmakers? Lord Vidal! Finding me adamant, Mr Comyn has favoured me with an explanation of this extraordinary situation.’

‘He has, has he?’ said the Marquis, looking round for his coat.

‘Devilish fluent, he was,’ nodded Lord Rupert. ‘Y’know, Vidal, it’s a bad business, but you can’t marry the girl. There’s the name to be thought on, and what’s more, Justin.’

Mr Hammond cast him a fulminating glance, but addressed himself to the Marquis. ‘My lord, his explanation leaves me horrified, I may say aghast, at the impropriety of your lordship’s behaviour. My instinct, sir, is to wash my hands of the whole affair. If I relent, it is out of no desire to oblige one whose mode of life is abhorrent to me, but out of compassion for the unfortunate young female whose fair name you have sullied, and in the interests of morality.’

Lord Rupert stopped swinging his eyeglass, and said indignantly: ‘Damme, I’d not be married by this fellow if I were you, Vidal. Not that I’m saying you should be married at all, for the thing’s preposterous.’

Vidal shrugged. ‘What do you suppose I care for his opinion of me so long as he does what I want?’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ said his lordship. ‘Things are come to a pretty pass, so they are, when any plaguey parson takes it on himself to preach a damned sermon to your face. Why, in my father’s time – you never knew him: devilish bad-tempered man he was – in his time, I say, if the chaplain said aught he didn’t like – and from the pulpit, mind you! – he’d throw his snuff-box at him, or anything else he had to hand… Now what’s to do?’

The Duchess had come back into the room in a hurry. ‘She is not there, mon fils,’ she announced, not entirely without relief.

‘What?’ Vidal said quickly. ‘Not there?’

‘She is not in the inn. I do not know where she is. No one knows.’

The Marquis almost brushed past her, and went out. Léonie sighed, and looked at Rupert. ‘I cannot help being a little glad that she has gone,’ she confessed. ‘But why does she run away so much? I find it not at all easy to understand.’

Juliana, who had been sitting for a long time by the fire, staring into it, now raised her voice. ‘You don’t want Vidal to marry her, Aunt Léonie, but indeed she is the very one for him. She loves him, too.’