Devil's Cub Read online

  But it was not a notorious Marquis with whom she had fallen in love; it was with the wild, sulky, unmanageable boy that she saw behind the rake.

  ‘I could manage him,’ she sighed. ‘Oh, but I could!’

  She did not permit herself to indulge in this dream for long. Marriage, on all counts, was out of the question. He did not give the snap of his fingers for her; he must marry, when the time came, some demure damsel of his own degree; and – the greatest bar of all – she could not steal a bridegroom from under Sophia’s nose.

  Having disposed thus of his lordship, Miss Challoner set herself resolutely to think of her own future. Vidal had shown her the impossibility of a return to Bloomsbury; it would be equally impossible to seek shelter with her grandfather. After pondering somewhat drearily upon this sudden isolation, she dried her eyes, and tried to think of an asylum. At the end of two hours, being a female of considerable strength of mind, she decided that her wisest course would be to remain in France, to assume a new name, and to try to obtain a post as governess in a respectable French household.

  She began, eventually, to compose a letter to her mother, and in the middle of a phrase which had become strangely involved, she fell asleep.

  She partook of chocolate and a roll in bed next morning, and when she at length came downstairs to the private parlour, she was met by the discreet Fletcher, who informed her, not without a note of severity in his voice, that his lordship’s arm had broken out bleeding again in the night, and looked this morning uncommon nasty. His lordship was still abed, but meant to travel.

  ‘Has a surgeon been sent for?’ inquired Miss Challoner, feeling like a murderess.

  ‘His lordship will not have a surgeon, madam,’ said Fletcher. ‘It is the opinion of Mr Timms, his lordship’s valet, and myself, that he should see one.’

  ‘Then pray go and fetch one,’ said Miss Challoner briskly.

  Fletcher shook his head. ‘I daren’t take it upon myself, ma’am.’

  ‘I don’t ask you to,’ Miss Challoner replied. ‘Have the goodness to do as I bid you.’

  ‘I beg pardon, madam, but in the event of his lordship desiring to know who sent for the surgeon – ?’

  ‘You will tell the truth, of course,’ said Miss Challoner. ‘Where is his lordship’s bedchamber?’

  Fletcher eyed her with dawning respect. ‘If you will allow me to show you, madam,’ he said, and led the way upstairs.

  He went ahead of her into the room. Miss Challoner heard Vidal say: ‘Oh, let her come in!’ and awaited no further invitation. She went in, and when the door had shut behind Fletcher, walked up to the big four-poster bed and said contritely: ‘I did hurt you. Indeed, I am sorry, my lord.’

  Vidal was sitting up in bed, propped by pillows; his eyes looked a little feverish, and his cheeks were flushed.

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ he said. ‘You did very well for a beginner. I regret receiving you like this. I hoped you’d sleep later. Will you be ready to set forward at noon?’

  ‘No, I fear I shall not,’ she answered. ‘We will stay where we are for to-day.’ She picked up a pillow from the floor, and arranged it carefully under Vidal’s injured arm. ‘Is that more comfortable, sir?’

  ‘Perfectly, I thank you. But whether you are ready, or not, we start for Paris today.’

  She smiled lovingly at him. ‘It’s my turn to play the tyrant, sir. You will stay in bed.’

  ‘You are mistaken; I shall do no such thing.’

  He sounded cross; she wanted to take his face between her hands and kiss away his ill-humour. ‘No, sir, I am not mistaken.’

  ‘May I ask, ma’am, how you propose to keep me a-bed?’

  ‘Why yes, I have only to remove your clothes,’ Miss Challoner pointed out.

  ‘Very wifely,’ he commented.

  She winced a little at that, but said without a tremor: ‘I have sent your man for a surgeon. Pray do not blame him.’

  ‘The devil you have!’ said his lordship. ‘I’m not dying, you know.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ replied Miss Challoner. ‘But you drank a great deal too much wine yesterday, and I have little doubt it is that that has made you feverish, and maybe inflamed the wound. I think you should be blooded.’

  My lord regarded her speechlessly. She drew a chair up and sat down. ‘Do you feel well enough to talk with me for a few minutes, sir?’

  ‘Of course I am well enough to talk with you. What do you want to talk about?’

  ‘My future, if you please.’

  He looked frowningly at her. ‘That’s my affair, ma’am.’

  She shook her head. ‘It is kind in you, my lord, but I do not aspire to be your wife. I have thought very deeply, and I believe I know what will be best for me to do. May I tell you what I have decided?’

  He said with a flash of humour: ‘There seems to be a vast deal of decision about you this morning, my dear. Tell me, by all means.’

  She folded her hands in her lap; it occurred to him that she was a very restful woman. ‘What you said last night, my lord, was true; I cannot return to my home. You must not think that this will grieve me overmuch. I have never been very happy there. So I have formed a plan for my future which I believe to be tolerably sensible. If you will take me to Paris I shall be grateful for your escort. Once I am there it is my intention to seek a post in a genteel family as governess. I thought, perhaps, you would be able to put me in the way of it, since I suppose you have a large acquaintance in Paris.’

  His lordship broke in at this point. ‘My good child, are you proposing that I should recommend you to some respectable matron?’

  ‘Couldn’t you?’ asked Miss Challoner anxiously.

  ‘I could, of course, but – Lord, I’d give a monkey to see the matron’s face!’

  ‘Oh!’ said Miss Challoner. ‘I see. It was stupid of me not to think of that.’ She relapsed into profound thought. ‘Well, if I cannot find anyone to recommend me as a governess, I think I shall become a milliner,’ she announced.

  He stretched out his right hand, and clasped both of hers in it. He was no longer laughing. ‘I don’t often suffer from remorse, Mary, but you are fast teaching me. Come, can’t you stomach me as a husband?’

  ‘Even if I could, my lord, do you think I would steal you from my sister? It was not for that I took her place.’

  ‘Steal me be damned!’ said his lordship rudely. ‘I’d never the smallest notion of marrying Sophia.’

  ‘Nevertheless, sir, I could not do it. The very thought of marriage is absurd. You do not care for me nor I for you, and my estate is too far removed from yours.’

  ‘What is your estate?’ he asked. ‘Who was your father?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ she said.

  ‘Not a whit, but you puzzle me. You did not get your breeding on the distaff side.’

  ‘I was fortunate enough to be educated at a very select seminary, sir.’

  ‘You were, were you? Who placed you there?’

  ‘My grandfather,’ answered Miss Challoner unexpansively.

  ‘Your father’s father? Is he alive? Who is he?’

  ‘He is a general, sir.’

  Vidal’s brows drew together. ‘What county?’

  ‘He lives in Buckinghamshire, my lord.’

  ‘Good God, never tell me you are Sir Giles Challoner’s grandchild?’

  ‘I am,’ said Miss Challoner calmly.

  ‘Then I am undone, and we must be married at once,’ said Vidal. ‘That stiff-necked old martinet is a friend of my father’s.’

  Miss Challoner smiled. ‘You need not be alarmed, sir. My grandfather has been very kind to me in the past, but he disowned my father upon his marriage, and has washed his hands of me since I choose to live with my mother and sister. He will not concern himself w