The Impossible Ward (4 page)

CHAPTER THREE

But the cold clear light of dawn brought second thoughts concerning the appropriateness of any triumphal war dances, no matter how privately observed. He must have been suffering a temporary mental aberration if the petty triumph of overriding that unlikable girl’s objections could have seemed like a victory. What kind of victory saddled him with an unwilling, uncivil, unappealing house-guest for an indefinite period of time? As he let Mountain amble his sure-footed way down the shaded lane he had noticed the previous day, he was preoccupied with his troublesome thoughts to the exclusion of any real appreciation of the clean cool air and dew-bedecked plants. What had he taken upon his shoulders when he had blithely set forth to carry out Perry’s last wish? Completely unlike him in appearance, she possessed her father’s cool insolence in full measure. He gave a short bark of laughter at which Mountain perked up his ears. Absently he patted the big stallion. “Yes, old boy, an arresting quality to be sure, but not one to win admirers even in a more eye-catching female.” He frowned, thinking that it was his mother who would bear the greatest burden of this ill-natured girl’s company. In the few days prior to his departure for Yorkshire, she had talked herself into a state of pleased anticipation and was eagerly looking forward to outfitting her “borrowed daughter,” as she had gaily referred to the unknown Marianne. A sour smile routed the frown temporarily. Well, in that department at least she would have unlimited scope for her talents. He had never seen anyone in greater need of a thorough overhaul than his reluctant ward. So far he had seen his charge in nothing save unrelieved black, even before she had been made aware of her father’s death. That dress last night had the appearance of having been fashioned for a much larger woman, the ugly cap was yellow with age, and she had worn no ornament of any kind—not so much as a knot of ribbon. Surely even in the country, fashions filtered down from Town after a time, and there could be no serious lack of funds, judging by the condition of the farm and the contents of the house. His frown deepened as a remembered picture of a girl’s mocking face danced before his eyes. In that instant an unassailable conviction smote him that she had deliberately made herself as unattractive as possible—but why? He was examining this unsavory theory when Mountain came over a small rise, and instinctively he reined in the bay to survey the delightful scene sloping away from him.

The lane ended at a small lake, its sparkling waters reflecting the pure blue of an almost cloudless sky. Sunlight gleamed on the waters and gilded the long grass waving gently right down to meet the water, except in one spot to the right where a shelf of rock-strewn sand formed a narrow beach. On the opposite side the land rose gently again. Hedges outlined fields already harvested. He could see to a line of low hills stretching across to the north and east, and an occasional cottage tucked in among the hills.

A movement some distance to his left brought his attention back to the near shore. The subject of his solitary musings of a moment ago was racing toward the water from a field behind the house. Even hampered by heavy skirts that she alternately kicked and lifted, he had to admire her speed. She was nearly to the water’s edge now and had cast off the shawl she had been wearing. Good Lord, what was she about, ripping at the fastenings of her gown with impatient hands? Surely she did not have the intention of swimming at this time of year! Without conscious planning he swung Mountain off the lane and urged him down the sloping ground to a fallow field, then up a rise before descending near the spot where the girl had been ripping at her clothes. By the time he had topped the final rise and once again could see the water, she was already emerging from the lake, staggering a little under the weight of an inert bundle in her arms, greatly impeded by her chemise which clung to her legs, making it difficult to climb up the sloping bank. Within seconds he was off Mountain and had raced to her side, removing the bundle which he could now see was a young child. Her arms freed, she climbed unaided out of the water before he could put the child down to come to her assistance. So far neither had uttered a syllable, the only sound in the world was the coughing and choking of the now partially revived child.

“Thank God! For a moment I feared he was dead.”

The girl hastily retrieved her woolen shawl and, kneeling, wrapped it around the little boy Justin had laid in the grass. As she gathered the now retching and sobbing child into her arms and rocked him, murmuring soothing phrases in what Justin dimly recognized as a broad Yorkshire dialect, he removed his riding coat and placed it around her shoulders.

“Here, let me take him now. Put this right on, you’ll catch your death. Where does he live?”

She allowed him to take the child, but shrugged off the coat and rose to her feet.

“I must not deprive you of your coat, thank you, my lord. I’ll get back into my gown.” She picked up her discarded garment, eyeing the long rip with dismay, but attempting nonetheless to put it on.

Justin, impassively surveying the now shaking girl, did not fail to register the interesting fact that she was not, after all, the scrawny crow she had resembled last night. The dripping chemise clung to a very nicely curved figure, the sight of which seemed to increase his irritation unreasonably.

“Put it on, I said,” he growled, again thrusting the coat at her, this time with no ceremony at all.

Now Marianne complied thankfully, having succeeded only in further tearing her gown by her agitated, barely controlled movements.

“Ooooh, that is heavenly warm, thank you.” She approached the child again with outstretched arms, but Justin stepped back.

“I’ll return the boy to his home. You must get into dry clothes immediately. Just tell me where to take him.”

“He lives in the cottage just beyond that rise. You can see part of the roof and chimney from here,” she said, gesturing with an outflung arm, “but I shall come with you or Margery will be terribly alarmed.”

“Margery?”

“His mother. Jamie’s parents are tenant farmers. They are a great help to me.”

“Well, she had best take care of her son and forget the farm. She nearly lost him this morning.” They were now striding quickly in the direction of the thatched roof that was becoming visible.

“Margery is a wonderful mother!” cried Marianne, stung by his criticism, “but Jamie’s baby sister has been ailing recently and Margery has had to be with her constantly. Jamie is an extremely adventurous four-year-old, but he knows the lake is a forbidden playground, don’t you, Jamie?”

The bedraggled little boy seemed completely cowed by his recent experience, and was unhappily aware of his helplessness in the strong arms of the grim-faced giant carrying him. At Marianne’s stern tone he hung his head and refused to look at either noncomforting adult.

Marianne was finding it extremely fatiguing trying to keep up with the marquess’ long strides, her wet chemise hampering each step, but fortunately they had not covered half the distance before an agitated young woman appeared on the path, breaking into a run as she spotted the ill-assorted trio approaching the cottage. The anxiety in her voice was apparent.

“What’s amiss, Miss Marianne? T’lad’s not bad hurt, is he? Oh, th’art wet, not t’lake again?”

“He’s quite unharmed, Margery,” Marianne replied soothingly, “but where he fell in this time was deeper and I fear it was a close run thing. It was fortunate that I was walking over the rise and saw him go in.”

The marquess observed that the comely young woman’s color faded at this intelligence, but she thanked Lady Marianne with parental fervor and turned with outstretched arms to relieve him of the now whimpering child.

“I’ll take him wi’ me now, sir. Miss Marianne mun get out o’ those wet things. I’m reet grateful to you both.” She sighed and glanced at the child in her arms with fond despair. “Happen this time he’ll learn a lesson, think on?” The patent doubt behind the hopeful words caused the marquess’ finely cut mouth to twitch slightly.

Marianne patted the child’s damp tow-colored head. “I am persuaded he has. Be a good boy, Jamie.” She had half turned away, then remembering, added, “Margery, will you ask Jonathan to come and see me before he goes home tonight?”

“Of course, Miss Marianne. ’Tis true, then, th’art going away?” Her fine gray eyes flashed accusingly in the direction of the marquess for an instant, and he reflected that gossip traveled no slower in the country than in a crowded town.

“Yes, Margery, I am sorry. I shall miss you and Jonathan and Jamie and little Marianne, of course,” she added with a slightly wavering attempt at a smile.

“But, th’art coming back?” the country woman persisted.

“Oh yes, it will be just a short visit with friends of my father’s, but I fear I shall miss little Marianne’s first steps.” She had flicked a challenging glance at the marquess with this declaration of intent, but by the blandness of his polite expression, he might not have heard or seen the challenge. “This is Lord Lunswick, Margery,” she added hastily. “He will escort me to his mother’s home.” The Yorkshire woman gracefully managed an unsmiling curtsy despite the burden in her arms.

“We shall take very good care of Lady Marianne,” he promised with his charming smile focused full strength on Margery.

The slight belligerence faded from her pleasant face and she nodded, smiling shyly.

Justin noted the slightly sardonic expression on his ward’s face, surmising with inward amusement that she’d give no quarter in any contest, but he only said abruptly: “You are shivering, we must get back to the house.”

He took a civil but hasty leave of the farmer’s wife, barely allowing Marianne time to promise a farewell visit to her namesake on the morrow before hurrying her away with a hand under her elbow. The shivering had increased, for the air was crisp despite the sunshine. Frowning slightly, he put two fingers to his mouth and emitted a shrill whistle. Mountain, who had been leisurely cropping grass at the top of the rise, raised his handsome head and whinnied, then trotted down to the waiting pair.

Marianne was too astonished at this performance to object when the marquess mounted quickly and held down a hand to her. She was a tall girl, but slimly made, and was effortlessly lifted up before him on the saddle.

“I’ll get you all wet,” she protested feebly, not at all sure she liked the feel of his arm around her waist, but unable to ignore it as she would have preferred.

He deigned no reply to this bit of foolishness except a slight tightening of that constraining arm. The short ride to the house was accomplished in total silence. Marianne, rigidly denying a traitorous urge to relax back against the marquess, sat uncomfortably erect, resentment at his lack of embarrassment in a situation she found totally untenable imbuing her with the necessary persistence to maintain a precarious balance. She left him with a murmured word of thanks and hastened to her room to change.

A very few minutes later she entered the family parlor carrying the borrowed coat. Seeing a crackling fire burning in the grate in the empty room, she hesitated briefly, then assuming the marquess to be with her grandfather, decided to take advantage of the respite to dry her hair which had gotten slightly wet. She removed the cap and pins and knelt before the fire, loosening the heavy hair with her fingers in lieu of a brush.

Thus it was that the marquess discovered her ten minutes later as he quietly entered the room. He stopped at sight of the kneeling figure and his eyes widened on beholding the heavy curtain of hair falling well below her waist. “Like black velvet,” he thought involuntarily, “with red lights from the fire.” It was unlikely she heard his softly indrawn breath, but she paused suddenly in the middle of a graceful gesture with both hands gathering together the loose tresses, and glanced over her shoulder. As their eyes met he thought she stiffened for an instant, but her face wore its customary expressionless mask when looking at him and her voice was as cool and unruffled as ever.

“Come in, my lord. I beg pardon for my
dishabille.
I thought you were with my grandfather and seized the opportunity to dry my hair.” She had risen to her feet in one swift movement during this speech and was deftly twisting and pinning up her hair.

“Not at all, my dear Lady Marianne. Our acquaintance is progressing by leaps and bounds. What matters a little hair drying between ... friends?”

The oblique reference to the enforced proximity of the ride home and the slight pause before the last word grated on Marianne’s nerves, but she made no comment except to indicate his coat lying on a table beside an upholstered settee. As he shrugged into the perfectly fitting coat of brown superfine, she had to admit such a beautifully cut garment was unlikely to have come from the hands of a provincial tailor.

“Come, sit down. I wish to speak to you.”

If the sudden abandonment of his suave civility surprised her, she gave no sign of it as she obediently settled herself in a capacious chair with intricately carved arms and legs, and waited quietly while he prowled briefly around the room before selecting a chair opposite her.

“Who manages the farm for your grandfather? Margery’s husband?”

“No, I do.”

There was no elaboration even though the silence was deafening and his eyes frankly disbelieving. Marianne, preoccupied with her own thoughts, turned startled eyes to his when she found her hands seized and examined minutely. Her attempts to tug them away were unsuccessful, but after a thorough study he calmly released them.

“Small but capable hands, I agree, with nicely shaped fingers and nails, but much too brown and much less soft than those of a lady of quality.”

The hands in question curled defensively in her lap.

“I am not a lady of quality!” she flashed, for once allowing the irritation he provoked to appear in her face. “I am a farmer.”

“You
are
a lady of quality and your farming days are over.”

“Temporarily,” she put in acidly.

He ignored this thrust. “When you see Margery’s husband tonight, tell him to hire whatever help he may need to keep the farm operating at its present high level of efficiency.”

She ignored both the implied compliment and the mocking little bow that accompanied it, and merely raised her chin a trifle, looking at him steadily with unfriendly eyes.

“Is there someone who can wait on you during the trip to Somerset?”

Her eyes widened at the abrupt change of subject but her comprehension was swift.

“No, and in any case I do not require a lady’s maid to assist me into my clothes.” Her chin tilted still more as one lifted eyebrow conveyed his opinion of her clothes. They had certainly taken the gloves off in this discussion, she thought suddenly with wry humor. However his next words curtained any inclination toward amusement.

“That of course is for you to decide, but you certainly must have some respectable woman to accompany you.”

“Why?”

“You will of course correct me if I am wrong, but surely, my dear Lady Marianne,” he drawled hatefully, “even in the West Riding a lady does not travel unaccompanied with a man who is not her husband or a close relative?”

Only the bitter knowledge that she had invited this set-down enabled Marianne to keep her countenance and preserve that expressionless mien she had instinctively realized was displeasing to him, though whether to his masculine vanity or sense of power she did not yet know. She could not prevent a slight betraying rise of color, however, and as the silence lengthened, felt constrained to break it.

“Clara cannot leave Grandpere and I do not know any other women.”

“Perhaps Margery might welcome the extra money. I would pay her well.”