The Irresistible Buck Page 2

  It was almost irritating to remember that the real object of his coming to the country now was to visit Sir Roderick Vernon. His nearest neighbour and an old friend of his father, Sir Roderick had been very much a part of his childhood.

  Hardly a day passed when Sir Roderick with his son Nicholas did not ride or drive over to Melburne or Buck had not accompanied his father to The Priory. The two old gentlemen had argued over their estates, quarrelled over the boundaries and yet remained firm friends until Lord Melburne’s father had died at the age of sixty-four.

  Sir Roderick had lived on and Lord Melburne, calculating the years as he drove, realised that he must now be nearly seventy-two. He remembered hearing that he had not been well of late and wondered if he was dying.

  It was then his conscience smote him for not having gone to The Priory earlier, as he had been asked to do. The letter was clearly urgent and yet it had seemed unimportant beside the attractions of Liane and the many social engagements that he had committed himself to.

  He tried to remember the letter now. It had been written by a woman, someone of whom he had never heard. Clarinda Vernon.

  Who was she?

  Sir Roderick had no daughter and, when he had last visited The Priory there had been no one there except for the old man himself, bewailing the fact that his son Nicholas seldom left London to visit the estates that he would one day inherit.

  Nicholas had been a considerable disappointment to his father. He had got into the wrong set in London and indeed Lord Melburne seldom saw him and, if he did, did his best to avoid him.

  There were unpleasant stories about Nicholas’s behaviour, but Lord Melburne could not remember them now. He only knew that he no longer cared for his childhood friend, in fact, they had hardly spoken to each other since they had left Oxford University.

  What had the woman said in her letter?

  “My uncle, Sir Roderick Vernon, is ill and greatly desires to see your Lordship. May I beg you to visit him at your earliest convenience.

  I remain, my Lord,

  Yours Respectfully,

  Clarinda Vernon.”

  This had not told him much except that the old main was ill.

  ‘I should have gone last week,’ Lord Melburne said to himself and pushed his horses a little faster, almost as if it was not too late to make up for lost time.

  He did not stop at Melburne on the way, as he longed to do, but drove straight to The Priory. It was less than a two hour journey from London and he turned in at the ancient iron gates, noting with satisfaction that despite the speed they had travelled at his horses had stood the journey well and were neither overheated nor in the least fatigued.

  The drive was an avenue of ancient oak trees, their branches meeting overhead to make a tunnel of green. As he journeyed on down the drive, Lord Melburne was suddenly aware of someone coming towards him.

  It was a woman on a horse and he noted almost automatically that she rode well yet was keeping to the centre of the drive and making no effort to draw aside to let him pass.

  Then to his surprise she drew her horse to a stop and waited for his approach, knowing that he must also check his horseflesh and bring them to a standstill.

  She sat waiting for him with an imperiousness that definitely irritated him. She did not raise her hand, she just waited and he had an absurd impulse to challenge her by driving over the grass and passing her.

  Then, as if in obedience to her unspoken command, he drew in his reins.

  Without haste, moving her horse forward, she came to him and stopped by the driving seat. Even so they were not level and she still had to look up at him.

  At the first glance he was astonished at her loveliness. He noticed, because he was well versed in women’s fashions, that she wore an old habit that was outdated and yet the worn green of its velvet threw into prominence the whiteness of her skin.

  Lord Melburne thought he had never seen a woman with such a white skin and then as he looked at her hair he understood. It was red, and yet it was not, it was gold – he was not sure.

  It was a colour that he had never seen before or even imagined, the gold of ripened corn flecked with the vivid red of flames leaping from a wood fire. It just seemed to shine in the sunlight and was caught unfashionably into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore no hat.

  She was very small Lord Melburne thought and he realised that while her face was tiny, heart-shaped and with a little pointed chin, her eyes were enormous. Strange eyes for a red-head for they were the very deep blue of a stormy sea rather than hazel flecked with green that might be expected with such colouring.

  ‘She is lovely, unbelievably lovely,’ Lord Melburne told himself and then, as he raised his hat, the girl on the horse in a cold voice without smiling, almost demanded,

  “You are Lord Melburne?”

  “I am.”

  “I am Clarinda Vernon, I wrote to you.”

  “I received your letter.”

  “I expected you last week.”

  It was an accusation and Lord Melburne felt himself stiffen.

  “I regret it was not convenient for me to leave London so speedily,” he answered.

  “You are still in time.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “I must speak with you alone.” she asserted.

  He glanced at her in surprise feeling they were already alone. Then he remembered the groom behind him on the phaeton.

  “Jason,” he ordered, “go to the horses’ heads.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  The groom jumped to the ground and went forward to hold the leader of the tandem.

  “Shall we speak here,” Lord Melburne asked, “or would you rather I come down?”

  “This will do,” she said, “if your man cannot hear.”

  “He cannot hear,” Lord Melburne replied, “and if he did he is trustworthy.”

  “What I have to say is not for servants’ ears,” Clarinda Vernon remarked.

  “Perhaps I had best get down,” Lord Melburne suggested.

  Without waiting for an answer, he sprang lithely to the ground. It was a relief after sitting so long, he thought, to stretch his legs.

  “What about your horse?” he asked. “Would you like Jason to hold him too?”

  “Kingfisher will not wander away,” she answered and then before he could assist her she dismounted with a lightness that seemed as if she almost floated from the saddle.

  She slipped the reins over the pommel and turning walked up the drive into the shadows of one of the great oak trees. And Lord Melburne followed her.

  She was indeed tiny, even smaller than she had seemed when mounted on her horse. Her waist, even in her worn habit, could easily, he felt, be spanned by a man’s two hands and her hair as she moved away from him was like a light will-o’-the-wisp beckoning a man across a treacherous marsh.

  He found himself smiling at his own imagination.

  ‘Damn it all, I am getting romantic,’ he thought.

  He had certainly not expected to find anyone quite so exquisite, so unusual or indeed so beautiful at The Priory.

  Clarinda Vernon came to a stop under one of the oaks.

  “I had to speak to you before you see my uncle,” she said and now Lord Melburne was aware that she was nervous.

  “He is ill?” Lord Melburne enquired.

  “He is dying,” she answered. “I think he has only held on to life so that he should see you.”

  “I am sorry. If you had been more explicit in your letter, I would have come sooner.”

  “Indeed I should not have asked your Lordship to forgo your amusements unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  There was a note of sarcasm in her voice that made him glance at her in surprise.

  There was a little pause and then she went on,

  “What I have to say will perhaps be difficult for you to – understand. For my uncle’s sake it is imperative that you accede to his wishes.”

  “What does
he want?” Lord Melburne asked.

  “My uncle.” Clarinda replied, “is disinheriting his son Nicholas. He is leaving The Priory and the estate to – me. And because it means so much to him and because he is dying, he has one idea and one idea only in his mind that ‒ no one can change.”

  “Which is?” Lord Melburne asked as she paused.

  “That you should – marry – me!”

  Now there was no mistaking the nervous tremor in her voice and the colour rose in her pale cheeks. For a moment Lord Melburne was too surprised to say anything.

  Then before even an exclamation could come to his lips Clarinda added quickly,

  “All I am asking of you is that you will agree. Uncle Roderick is dying – he may be dead in the morning. Don’t argue with him – don’t cause him unnecessary distress – just agree to what he asks. It will make him happy and it will mean nothing – nothing to you.”

  “I really don’t think this is something that I can decide on the spur of the moment,” Lord Melburne began, for once in his life almost bereft of words.

  Then Clarinda Vernon looked up at him with what he could only describe to himself as a violent hatred in her eyes.

  “Indeed, my Lord, you need not be afraid that I should hold you to your promise once my uncle is dead for I assure you that I would not marry you – not if you were the last man in the whole world.”

  There was so much passion in her low voice that it just seemed to vibrate between them.

  Then before Lord Melburne could collect his senses and before he could find anything to say and before he even realised what was happening, Clarinda gave a little whistle.

  Her horse came obediently to her call and she vaulted unaided into the saddle and was galloping away down the drive towards The Priory as if all the devils of Hell were at her heels.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sir Roderick’s tired old voice faltered into silence and he fell asleep. His physician bent forward, felt his pulse and said in a low voice to Lord Melburne,

  “He will sleep now for some hours.”

  “I will return later,” Lord Melburne replied.

  He walked quietly across the bedroom and opened the door. Outside to his astonishment he found a footman bending down, his ear to the keyhole.

  When he saw Lord Melburne, he straightened himself up, stared at him for a moment in what seemed an insolent manner and then turned and ran down the corridor as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Lord Melburne raised his eyebrows and walked down the staircase. When he reached the hall, he hesitated for a moment and the butler came forward to inform him,

  “Miss Clarinda is in the salon, my Lord.”

  “Thank you,” Lord Melburne nodded.

  He walked towards the salon, noting as he did so that the house was shabby and badly in need of refurbishing. Some of the high curtains were threadbare and, while the pictures and furniture were extremely valuable, the carpets were worn and many of the chairs in need of upholstery.

  Clarinda was sitting at a writing desk in the window.

  The sun coming through the open casement shone on her hair and made it appear as if she wore a halo of fire.

  At Lord Melburne’s entrance she started to her feet and her large dark blue eyes seemed to him to hold not only a hostile but a very wary look. At the same time there was an obvious question in the expression on her face.

  “Your uncle has fallen asleep,” Lord Melburne told her.

  “You have promised what he – asked?”

  It seemed as though she could not prevent the question bursting from between her lips.

  “We have discussed the matter” Lord Melburne answered.

  He felt that she relaxed as if she had been half-afraid that he would refuse outright to do what was requested of him.

  Then walking towards the fireplace, he said,

  “I understand you are not, in point of fact, Sir Roderick’s niece.”

  “No, my mother was married first to Captain Patrick Wardell of the Grenadier Guards. He was killed fighting before I was born.”

  She paused for a moment and then, as Lord Melburne said nothing, she continued,

  “When my mother married Sir Roderick’s brother, he adopted me as his own and had my name changed to Vernon. I thought of him as my father and, as he had no other children, I think he often forgot that I was not in reality his own daughter.”

  Her voice softened and Lord Melburne noticed that it had a soft musical quality about it.

  She had changed from the shabby green habit in which he had first seen her and was now wearing a simple muslin dress, threadbare with washing and unfashionable in shape. And yet he thought, as he had thought before, that she was almost breathtakingly lovely.

  There was no need for her strangely alluring hair to be fashionably dressed. It framed the piquancy of her tiny face and he noted that unexpectedly her eyelashes were dark. He thought that perhaps there was some Irish blood in her.

  Then sharply, as if she was annoyed at Lord Melburne persuading her into speaking so warmly of her adoptive uncle, Clarinda said in the hard cold voice that she had used to him previously,

  “I have something here for your Lordship’s approval.”

  As she spoke, she picked up from the desk a large sheet of paper and held it towards him.

  “What is it?” Lord Melburne asked before he had even accepted it from her hand.

  “A safeguard against your obvious fear of being trapped into matrimony.”

  “So you suspicion that I am afraid of that most enviable estate?” he asked her a sudden twinkle in his eye.

  “I am not interested in your Lordship’s feelings,” Clarinda answered coldly. “I can only assure you once again that all that concerns me is that my uncle, who has shown me every possible kindness since I have lived with him, should die happy.”

  “So Sir Roderick is greatly worried about his estate,” Lord Melburne remarked.

  “It is all he has thought about, all he cares about and all he loves,” Clarinda said almost passionately, “His son has failed him. Can you not understand it will be agony for him to die feeling that his life work will be destroyed or neglected? And he has, I understand, been fond of your Lordship since you were a boy.”

  She said the words as if it was impossible to credit such affection.

  There was a slight twist to Lord Melburne’s lips as he glanced down at the paper she had handed him.

  On it she had written,

  “I, Clarinda Vernon, swear that under no circumstances whatsoever will I hold my Lord Melburne to any promises he might make of Betrothal or Marriage to me once my uncle, Sir Roderick Vernon, is dead. To this I set my hand duly witnessed on Thursday, May 2nd, 1802.”

  Below was Clarinda’s signature and below that again, in illiterate writing, the names of two servants. She saw Lord Melburne glance at them and she said quickly,

  “They did not see anything but my signature.”

  “This is very business-like,” Lord Melburne approved, “And now, if in further talks with your uncle I agree to your wishes, I think I should ask the reason why you have such a dislike of me.”

  Clarinda drew herself up and the colour rose in her cheeks.

  “That is something I am not prepared to discuss, my Lord.”

  “Then I will say,” Lord Melburne retorted, “that, as you have made your feelings so very clear, I consider that I am entitled to an explanation.”

  “I think that is unnecessary – ” Clarinda began, but as she spoke, the door opened and a gentleman entered the room.

  He was obviously very young but dressed in the height of fashion, the points of his collar high above his chin, his cravat elegantly tied and his hair so beautifully arranged that it must have taken him many laborious hours.

  He crossed the room, a jewelled fob dangling from his brocade waistcoat and then raised Clarinda’s hand to his lips.

  “I have brought you some flowers,” he said, offering her the bouquet
he held in his hand.

  “Orchids!” Clarinda exclaimed. “How very opulent!”

  The young man smiled.

  “I had to steal them when my father was not looking,” he then admitted. “You know how jealously he guards his orchid house.”

  “Oh, Julien, you should not have taken them,” Clarinda cried.

  Then, as if she remembered her manners, she turned towards Lord Melburne.

  “May I present to you, Mr. Julien Wilsdon, my Lord. Julien, this is Lord Melburne, our next door neighbour, as you well know.”

  The young man had obviously not seen Lord Melburne as he entered the room, having eyes only for Clarinda. He stared almost incredulously at his Lordship before he exclaimed,

  “What is that man doing here? You have always said you would not have him in the house. Has he upset you?”

  “No, indeed,” Clarinda said rapidly. “I have not had time, Julien, to explain to you Uncle Roderick’s wishes where they concern Lord Melburne. He is here for a special purpose and I beg of you to forget what I have said in the past.”

  “Surely it is impossible for me to do that?” Julien Wilsdon replied.

  “Perhaps you would be kind enough to enlighten me as to what this exchange of civilities is about?” Lord Melburne said and there was then a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “Apparently it concerns myself and yet I am very much in the dark as to how I am involved?”

  “I only know, my Lord,” Julien Wilsdon said abruptly, “that Miss Vernon has very good reasons for not wishing to make the acquaintance of your Lordship.”

  “Please, Julien, please,” Clarinda interrupted. “I can assure you that Lord Melburne is here by invitation. Sir Roderick needed to see him urgently. I will explain everything later. Do, pray, come back this afternoon.”

  “Perhaps I should inform you, Mr. Wilsdon,” Lord Melburne then drawled, “that there is a question as to whether Miss Vernon and I should become betrothed.”

  He meant what he said to be provocative and he certainly succeeded.

  “Betrothed!” Julien Wilsdon almost shouted the word. “It is not true, it really cannot be! How dare you say anything that involves the good name of Miss Vernon? I swear, my Lord, if you are making a mockery of her, I will call you out.”