The Virgin and the Unicorn Page 5

  “Friendship? You do not know the meaning of the word. And if you think I am entertained by being pawed in public—" It was his secrecy about the black trunk that annoyed her, but she did not want to quiz him about it directly.

  “You are quite right,” he said. Then added, “We shall wait until we have privacy before we continue with the pawing."

  He was saved from further aggravation by the butler’s announcement of dinner. A formal dinner at Ashmead was a matter of some concern to Miranda. She was intimidated by the vast array of silver and the three wineglasses by her plate. There would be much too much food, all of it more elaborately prepared than her mama served at Wildwood.

  With Pavel by her side, however, she knew help was at hand if she ran amok with the cutlery. She was relieved, yet in some way also disappointed, when Rotham was seated at the other side of the table.

  Her dinner partners were Pavel and Mr. Berthier. She did not need Pavel’s commanding wink to urge her to quiz Berthier, but Berthier, like Rotham, proved a perfect oyster. Over the soup they spoke of what was on everyone’s mind, Bonaparte’s escape and its possible consequences. It was over the turbot in white sauce that Berthier admitted, after a few prods, that he had come to England at the time of the French Revolution.

  “To escape the guillotine?” she asked artfully. Louise had said categorically he was not an aristo, so if he lied . . . Well, it might be some sort of clue.

  “Nothing so melodramatic. My family was not noble. While on holiday in England a year before, I had met an Anglaise whom I hoped to marry. Unfortunately, the lady had the good sense to refuse me. With matters so unsettled in my homeland, I bought a farm in England and found it suited me very well. My mama was English,” he said. “Her bachelor brother died and left me a small competence.”

  After the gentlemen had taken their port, they rejoined the ladies in the Blue Saloon. Other guests arrived, and a group went to the ballroom for some dancing. Madame Lafleur and Berthier tagged along, to stake their claim to the last remnants of youth.

  When Rotham led Louise to the floor for the minuet, Laurent walked stiffly to Miranda and asked her to stand up with him. He led her to Rotham’s set and never took his eyes off Louise. Conversation was impossible; Miranda felt it was all he could do to follow the steps of the dance.

  When the first set was over, Rotham came to her. “Our duty is done,” he said, smiling, “and now we can have our dance.”

  “Thank goodness,” she replied, with such passion that Rotham blinked in surprise.

  “Why, I am flattered, Sissie. I did not realize you were looking forward to it as eagerly as I.”

  “I was looking forward to being rid of Laurent,” she said. “If he is so mad for Louise, why does he not offer for her? I felt I was dancing alone,”

  “He don’t offer for her because he cannot afford to keep her. Louise is expensive. His only chance in that quarter is if he reclaims the Valdor estate. He is the heir now. He will be the Comte de Valdor, not just Comte Laurent. A different matter altogether.”

  Like the difference between Lord Pavel and Lord Rotham, she thought. Rotham was quite alive to his eligibility. “Do you think he will ever recover his estate?”

  “What you are asking is whether I think Boney will make good his attempt to regain control. I am tempted to say, ‘I hope so,’ but as a loyal Englishman, I must insist he has not a chance in the world. And now, as a renowned flirt, I shall be-thump you with no more politics. We can find more interesting things to discuss—like your gown. Very fetching, Sissie. Is it also a gift from Trudie? Its being blue, and a fair match for his beloved’s eyes, suggests that Parnham would be loath to part with it.”

  “She did not like the cut. Rotham, what did you mean, you are tempted to hope so?” she demanded.

  "What, no pinpricks regarding my vile treatment of Trudie? It is unlike you to ignore such an opportunity.”

  “Oh, do talk sense,” she said impatiently.

  “Well, I shall try, but I can promise little. Common sense is not my long suit. I spoke without thinking. You have no idea how much trouble that habit has got me into. Naturally I did not mean I hope Bonaparte wins the war, only that I was tempted. I do not always fall victim to my temptations, whatever you might have heard from a lady who shall remain nameless.”

  “But why were you tempted to even hope Boney wins?”

  “Being a perfect pattern card of selfishness, I was thinking of myself. It would be fine to be a hero.”

  “How could you be a hero if Bonaparte wins? You are not French.”

  He did not answer for a moment. He just gave an enigmatic smile, then said, “Strange things happen, Sissie. A man can be a small-scale hero without winning a war. Nothing in the line of a Wellington or a Bonaparte, but only a footnote in some tedious history book. It is really quite deflating to consider one’s insignificance in the grand scheme of things.”

  “You can console yourself that you are cock of the walk here in the parish.”

  Miranda made a few attempts to make him explain that historical footnote, but had no success. At the end of the set, Rotham excused himself. The dance had not gone as he had anticipated. He was not one inch closer to teaching Sissie a lesson. In fact, he had the lowering impression that she was teaching him one. Flattery, gifts, insincerity, and flirtation did not work with her. What would it take to catch her interest?

  Pavel beckoned to Miranda, and she went to him.

  “Now is as good a time as any,” he said. “Are you ready to let out a holler? When you see the Blue Lady, I mean?”

  “Where is Rotham? We do not want him to land in on us.”

  “There is to be a short intermission. I believe he took Louise to the refreshment parlor. Laurent was looking daggers at him and latched on to Lafleur to pretend he was not jealous as a green cow. I have the ladder all ready. Let us go. I shall leave by the library door.”

  As soon as Pavel left, Miranda nipped out of the ballroom and up the curved staircase. The upper hallway was dimly lit with a lamp at either end. At the far end there hung a tapestry so old and dim the scene was nearly illegible. It was called The Armada and presumably showed the sinking of the Spanish Armada.

  She hastened along the corridor, past closed doors to the west end, just outside Rotham’s bedroom. Both his door and Slack’s were closed. She took a breath to steady the quaking inside and shrieked as loud as she could. A piercing scream rent the air.

  "The Blue Lady! Help! She will kill me!” Then she sank to the floor in a graceful heap, with Trudie’s blue peau de soie artfully arranged around her legs. She had no sooner closed her eyes than Rotham’s door burst open. She kept her eyes tightly closed, but she felt a man’s strong arms encircle her waist, lifting her head and shoulders from the floor. It did not feel like Slack; she had an impression of a bigger man.

  “Good God! She has fainted.” It was Rotham’s voice! And he sounded genuinely concerned. “Get some brandy, Louise.”

  Louise was with him! They had been in his bedchamber together. Her eyes flew wide open, but fortunately Rotham did not see them. He was cradling her in his arms, gently crooning, with her head on his shoulder. She had not thought Rotham capable of such tenderness.

  “There, there, my dear,” he said comfortingly. “It is all right. I am here. You are safe. There is no ghost.”

  Louise ran back into Rotham’s room and came running with a bottle of brandy.

  “I had best put her on my bed,” Rotham said.

  So saying, he lifted Miranda bodily from the floor and carried her into his room. A new sensation washed through her as he carried her in his arms. She felt vulnerable, with her feet off the ground, yet safe, even cherished. She wanted to put her arms around his neck, but caught herself in time. She let her arms dangle loosely in a very good simulation of unconsciousness. She felt herself being laid tenderly on his counterpane. She peered through her lashes as his hand brushed her cheek and saw Rotham gazing softly down at her.

/>   Rotham was also aware of new emotions. Her skin was as soft and dewy as a rose petal. Long lashes fanned her youthful cheeks. She looked as innocent as a child. He would stop teasing her and leave her in her innocence.

  Miranda felt a slight breeze and saw the open window just at the end of the bed, so she did not have to turn her head to see when Pavel arrived. She hoped he would not rush in before she got Rotham to take her to her room. Louise’s presence made everything more difficult.

  As she gazed the outline of a head appeared briefly at the window. Between the darkness and the filtered view seen through her eyelashes, she could not actually recognize Pavel, but of course it was he. She lay tense, willing him not to come barging in. He took one look at the scene in the room, and his head disappeared.

  A moment’s confusion ensued. Louise gasped and pulled at Rotham’s arm. “There was someone at the window, Rotham!” she exclaimed.

  Rotham gave a start of surprise. He was going to rush to the window and catch Pavel. How could she stop him? She rose like Lazarus from the pillow, opened her eyes, threw herself into his arms, and said, “Oh, please, don’t leave me! I am so frightened.”

  She felt the tension in his arms, the eagerness to push her aside and dart to the window. She clung to him like a barnacle. “Just for a moment, my dear,” he said, trying to ease out of her arms.

  She held on for all she was worth, trying desperately to think of some other ruse to give Pavel time to remove the ladder. She trembled with agitation and pressed her head into the nook between his shoulder and neck. “I had a horrid nightmare, Papa!” she said in a small, quavering voice. She did not know where the “Papa” came from, unless it was an instinctive wish to let Rotham know it was not him she was throwing herself at.

  His arms tightened around her. The first thrill of her words, the soft, warm pressure of her body thrusting against his started an instinctive response. But when he heard that trusting, childlike “Papa,” the seed of desire was transformed to a more gentle, protective feeling.

  He cradled her a moment in his arms. “It is all right, Sissie. There is no cause for fear.” Over her shoulder he said to Louise, “Call Slack to check the window. He is in my sitting room.”

  Louise ran to the sitting room and called to Slack.

  Rotham reluctantly laid Miranda back on the pillow as Slack came running in. He brushed a tousle of curls from her forehead. Miranda assumed Pavel had had time to get down the ladder and whisk it out of sight.

  “What happened? Is it safe?” Slack demanded.

  Rotham’s voice was quelling. “Take a look out the window, Slack. The comtesse thought she saw someone.”

  Slack ran to the window, raised it another foot, stuck his head out, and looked all around, then pulled his head back in. “All is clear,” he said, staring in confusion at Miranda.

  “Miss Vale fainted in the hallway,” Rotham explained.

  Miranda saw Slack’s eyes slide to the corner of the room. “I see. Can I help?” he asked.

  “We can handle it,” Rotham replied.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Slack said, and returned to the sitting room.

  Miranda turned her gaze to the spot where Slack had been looking. In the corner on a chair sat the battered black trunk. It was closed, but it was not locked. How could she get rid of everyone for a moment, to see what was in the trunk?

  “How are you feeling?” Rotham asked her. “Where is that brandy, Louise?” he called over his shoulder.

  Louise poured a little brandy into a glass and handed it to him. He lifted Miranda’s head from the pillow and held the glass to her lips. “Take a sip, my dear. It will do you good.”

  She took a sip and nearly choked. It felt like ice, yet it burned like fire, and tasted horrid. Her body refused to accept such poison. She could feel her throat reject it and put her hands to her mouth to prevent staining Trudie’s blue peau dead soie with brandy.

  Rotham pressed a handkerchief into her fingers. She looked at him, her eyes watering from the strong drink.

  “Shall I call Lady Hersham?” Louise asked.

  “There is no need to disturb Mama,” Rotham replied. “But perhaps you could go belowstairs and explain if anyone asks for Sissie,” he added.

  Miranda was relieved when Louise left. Now if only she could get rid of Rotham for a moment.

  He proffered the brandy again. “Another sip. It will revive you,” he said. She let him hold it to her lips, but she did not drink. Her mind was busy, trying to invent a ruse to get him out of the room.

  “You are not drinking, Sissie,” he said, and raised the glass higher, until the brandy was right in her nostrils.

  She pushed the hand holding the glass away rather forcefully, splashing the drink. The spill landed on his handkerchief.

  “I am all right, Rotham,” she said angrily.

  “Ah good, you know who I am. I feared you had addled your brain when you mistook me for your papa. What happened? Why were you screaming in the hallway?”

  Miranda found she could not look him in the eye. She felt the heat of embarrassment flush her cheeks and began fiddling with the counterpane. “It was the Blue Lady,” she said.

  Rotham began to smell a rat. He cupped her chin in his fingers and tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. She lowered her long lashes. “And now the truth, miss.”

  “It is true! I saw her, just at the top of the kitchen stairs.”

  “What were you doing there? Your room is at the other end of the hallway. Mama never puts young ladies at this end of the house.”

  She gave him an angry look. “I wonder why? It was not at all the thing for you to have Louise in your bedroom with the door closed.”

  “You cannot think— Good God, what do you take me for?”

  “A rake, milord. I should think you could behave yourself under your papa’s roof, and with your cousin at that.”

  A clever minx. Were ladies born knowing that offense was the best defense? Here he had been taking—mistaking—her for an innocent child. The angry gray eyes staring at him were the eyes of a woman. “It is difficult, when ladies will insist on throwing themselves into my arms.”

  She knew it was not the comtesse they were discussing now. His sharp eyes told her so. “I did not throw myself in your arms. I fainted. And don’t try to tell me Louise fainted, too, for she was wide awake.”

  Rotham gritted his teeth in an effort to hold in the profanity that rose to his throat. How dare the chit call him to account, as if she were his mama. “Not that it is your concern, but it happens Louise and I were discussing business,” he said.

  “I do not have to inquire what sort of business.”

  “And I do not have to listen to this impertinence from a schoolgirl. It is your lascivious mind that colors an innocent meeting in these lurid hues. You are certainly Trudie Vale’s sister! No one can match a prude for salacious imaginings.”

  “I am not a prude!”

  “Then don’t talk like one. You did not answer my question. What were you doing loitering outside my door?”

  “I was not loitering! I was passing by.”

  “It is not necessary to pass my doorway to get to your chamber from the front staircase.”

  An instant’s reflection told her this was true. “I came up the servants’ staircase,” she lied.

  “Oh.” This quite took the wind out of Rotham’s sails. He did not question that she had been in the kitchen. Sissie had been visiting Pavel since she was in short skirts. They were as likely to be in the kitchen as anywhere else. Once this was settled, he was seized by another question. “What did you see outside my door?”

  “I saw the Blue Lady—just a fleeting glance.”

  “You know perfectly well there is no such thing as ghosts. What you saw was a real live person, probably a lady in blue,” he said, frowning. “Think, Sissie. Can you remember anything about her? Might it have been a man wearing a domino or some such thing?”

  This sur
prising suggestion threw her into a quandary. “I only had a glimpse,” she said uncertainly.

  “Was she listening at the keyhole?”

  “No, she was just—floating at the top of the stairs.”

  “Did she wear a hat? What color was her hair?”

  “She was all blue,” Miranda said in confusion. It was beginning to dawn on her that Rotham believed a real live person had been spying outside his doorway. “It was not Laurent, following you and Louise, if that is what you think. He was still in the ballroom when I left.”

  “Was he, by God? That is interesting.”

  Miranda sat a moment, trying to think whether she should just ask him point-blank what was going on. Before she made up her mind, there was a pounding on the servants’ stairs and Pavel came pouncing into the room.

  “Rotham! Sissie—what the deuce is going on? I was looking all over for you, Sissie.”

  Rotham gave him a searching look. “Strange you should come looking for Sissie in my bedchamber.”

  “Yes, and it is strange that I found her here, too,” Pavel riposted.

  “I saw the Blue Lady, and I fainted,” Miranda said to Pavel, with a commanding look. “I believe if you will both just leave me alone a moment to recuperate, I shall be well enough to go back downstairs soon.”

  “I shall take you to your own room,” Rotham said. His eyes just flickered to the corner where the trunk stood unlocked.

  “Oh, I could not walk yet. I must rest a little.”

  “I shall carry you,” he said firmly.

  Miranda thought their plan had failed, but at that moment, Rotham said, “I shall just have a word with Slack before we go,” and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “The trunk is in the corner. Come quickly,” Miranda said, leaping up from the bed.

  She and Pavel darted to the trunk and lifted the lid. They saw a piece of old linen, faded to brown. It looked antique. It was embroidered in various colors with a series of pictures. There was a king and a castle and courtiers. Pavel lifted the end, and they saw more men, a whole fleet of boats with oddly shaped sails, and a tree.