The Wild Child (4 page)

She drew up her knees and locked her arms around them, rocking back and forth in disquiet. Most of the males who worked at Warfield were middle-aged or older, but this one was young and virile, in the prime of life. A man used to getting his way by natural right. One who rode like a conqueror. He must have come to dine with the ladies again. She’d not go to the meal. At this season, there was scarcely any reason to enter the house at all. She could sleep in the tree house and forage for food. Yes, she’d stay away until the man left, for her home would not be the same while he was here. The long drive from London had been a bore, but Kyle’s horse, Pegasus, was a treat. With Warfield near, Dominic saddled the beast and rode ahead, reaching his destination well before the dour Morrison and the lumbering coach. The gatekeeper remembered him—or rather, Kyle—and greeted him with frank interest. The story of Lady Meriel’s betrothal must be known to the servants. He trotted leisurely to the house along an avenue shaded by great spreading lime trees. The park, the semicultivated area surrounding the house, was a magnificent expanse of rolling landscape. Trees and shrubs were scattered across the velvety green turf, while grazing cows and small, shy deer kept the grass trim and the trees free of branches up to the height of a cow’s head. Except for a section bounded by the river, this particular park was entirely walled in, according to Kyle. Convenient for keeping mad girls from wandering off.

Dominic reined in Pegasus when the house came into sight. Built of the same gray stone as the park wall, it was a sprawling, symmetrical structure with gables and a steep-pitched slate roof. A hundred and fifty years or so old, he guessed.

The formal seat of the Earls Grahame was in Lincolnshire, on the other side of England. Meriel’s uncle lived there, but her parents had preferred Warfield, which had been in the family of Meriel’s mother for centuries. Presumably Kyle would let his wife stay here in her familiar home after they married, while he himself spent most of his time at Dornleigh or in London. He could visit when he felt the need for a child or two.

Mouth tight, Dominic guided Pegasus around the house to the stables. No one was in sight. He dismounted and led the horse inside. Though the building was large, only a handful of stalls were occupied, mostly by aging carriage horses.

He glanced around, wondering if he’d have to rub down his own horse. He wouldn’t mind; in fact, he preferred caring for his beasts himself, but Kyle would expect better service. Then a groom as elderly as the gatekeeper creaked into view. “G’day, Lord Maxwell.” He bobbed his head respectfully. “Shall I take your horse?”

Dominic passed over his reins. He almost added a casual comment about the fine weather, then bit the words back. Kyle was not given to conversation with unknown servants. It also belatedly occurred to him that his brother would not have left his hat in the carriage, as Dominic had. After explaining that his luggage would arrive later, he made his way toward the house, reviewing what he’d been told about the household, for this was the most critical stage of his visit. Lady Meriel was supervised by two elderly widows, distant cousins of some sort, Mrs. Rector and Mrs. Marks. Kyle had been dismissive of the pair, saying they would be easily deceived. Dominic was less sure. In his experience, little old ladies were often observant, especially since Kyle’s visit would have been an exciting event in an otherwise quiet life.

As he reached the bottom of the steps, the door opened and two women emerged, smiling in welcome. The smaller one was soft and round and sweetly fey, with very white hair. The other was taller, with an angular face and hair blended of brown and silvery gray. He realized with alarm that he hadn’t the vaguest idea which was which.

The angular woman said, “Lord Maxwell, so good to see you again. I trust your journey was pleasant.”

Uneasily he recognized that the shrewd hazel eyes behind her spectacles wouldn’t miss much. Damnation, which cousin was she?

Reminding himself to be as cool as Kyle, he bowed deeply. “As you can see, I couldn’t resist riding ahead. My man will be along soon with my carriage.”

The other woman said solicitously, “You must be tired. Would you like a nice cup of tea?”

“It would be my pleasure.” He took both ladies’ arms, making them smile, and escorted them up the steps. “Will Lady Meriel be joining us?”

“Oh, no,” the taller one said, sounding as if the answer was so obvious that the question shouldn’t be asked. Despite his preparation, Dominic was alarmingly aware of how much he didn’t know. This place, these women, were strangers.

And he should have worn the damned hat.

The arrival of Morrison and the baggage allowed Dominic to put himself into a more Kyle-ish frame of mind for dinner. He dressed with careful formality, as befitted a man about to meet his bride, then studied himself in the mirror. Remarkable how different tailoring and subtle changes in expression altered that image. Only someone who knew Kyle well would realize that the mirror reflected a different man. A dinner bell rang with a clamor to wake the dead, so he descended to the small salon, where his two hostesses awaited. He’d hoped to meet his brother’s betrothed as well, but she wasn’t there. After sherry and a brief exchange of pleasantries, he escorted the ladies in to dinner. Four places were set. Still no Lady Meriel. The angular woman—he’d forgotten to ask Morrison to identify the ladies—frowned at the empty chair, then signaled for the meal to begin.

Apart from an odd centerpiece composed of weeds, the meal and service were excellent, but the fourth chair remained obstinately empty. Dominic knew that Kyle’s one brief meeting with his intended bride had been at this dinner table, so finally he asked, “Is Lady Meriel unwell?”

The two women exchanged glances again. The smaller one said uncomfortably, “You know how she is, Lord Maxwell. Usually she dines with us, but not always.”

He took a sip of wine as he thought. Deciding on frankness even though it was more his style than his brother’s, he said, “But I don’t really know how she is. Though I’ve met the girl and discussed her with Lord Amworth, that’s not the same as personal knowledge. Perhaps this would be a good time for you to tell me more about her. After all, you two know her best.”

“I suppose you’re right, though no one really knows her, except perhaps Kamal.” The smaller woman turned her earnest gaze on him. “Meriel is not like anyone else. She’s such a sweet child.”

“Not a child,” her companion corrected. “A woman grown. That’s one reason Amworth wishes to see her wed—he fears that in her innocence, she might be led astray.”

Dominic absorbed that. “Are you saying that she has no moral sense?”

“How can she?” It was the angular woman again. “She has the mind of a child. No, not even that, for even an infant will respond to human contact. Meriel—” she hesitated, groping for words—“she scarcely sees us at all. She’s like a sweet-tempered ghost who lives in her own world, separate from the rest of mankind.”

“Except when she has a tantrum,” the smaller woman said tartly. “I shall be frank with you, my lord. I have doubts about the wisdom of this match. I don’t think that Meriel can even understand the concept of marriage, nor can I imagine how you would find such a union satisfactory by any standard.”

He studied the soft round face and faded blue eyes, and decided that anyone who thought little old ladies were negligible wasn’t paying attention. “I appreciate your frankness. Remember, the match has not yet taken place. The purpose of this visit is to confirm that marriage is feasible. I assure you that I mean the girl no harm.”

The small woman nodded, satisfied, but Dominic was troubled. Kyle had seemed determined to make this marriage. Though Dominic shouldn’t care what stupidity his brother committed, he did care, blast it. He was going to have to try to ingratiate himself with the girl while leaving the situation open enough to allow Kyle to withdraw honorably if he changed his mind. “What is the range of Lady Meriel’s abilities?”

“She has a gift for working with plants and animals.” The taller woman smiled sadly. “Perhaps that is because she is closer to the beasts of the field than she is to humankind. Heaven knows she completely lacks normal understanding. Look at these flowers.” She indicated the arrangement of dandelions and other weeds that sat in the middle of the polished mahogany table in a crude ceramic jug. “Meriel made this. It is a more eloquent statement of her personality than any description Ada or I can make.”

Progress; he would ask Morrison which of the ladies had Ada for a Christian name. But he understood the woman’s point when he gazed at the centerpiece. Most women of gentle birth prided themselves on being able to create attractive floral arrangements for their homes. Even the coarsest village girl could brighten a cottage with flowers from her garden. This bouquet was pathetic. Not only was it composed of common weeds, but the wildflowers she’d chosen had such a short life that by tomorrow they would be dead, and all her efforts wasted after only a few hours.

He felt a sharp pang of regret for the bright child whose mind had been destroyed by a horror that sealed her tongue forever. If her family had not died in a savage attack, Lady Meriel would probably be married now, perhaps a mother. Instead, even her guardians considered her scarcely more than a wild beast.

The thought of spending time with this warped travesty of humanity was deeply unappealing, but he was here to lie for his brother, so he said gallantly, “I look forward to furthering my acquaintance with Lady Meriel. Perhaps a new influence in her life will bring about improvement.”

From the ladies’ expressions, they didn’t believe that any more than he did.
Chapter 4

After dressing the next morning, Dominic lingered at the window of his spacious bedchamber. He was placed at the back of the house, and from this height he could look over Warfield’s vast gardens. Varied like a patchwork quilt, they extended for many acres. Directly behind the house was a parterre, a formal garden of clipped hedges and flower beds divided by mellow brick paths. The overall design was a Maltese cross centered on a splendid multi tiered fountain.

Morrison appeared silently beside him. The man crept about like a rodent. Dominic turned from the window. “The two ladies—which is which? The smaller one’s first name is Ada, but is she Mrs. Marks or Mrs. Rector?”

“She is Mrs. Rector, my lord. The taller female is Mrs. Edith Marks.” Morrison cleared his throat with the sound that meant he wished to speak. “When I breakfasted in the servant’s hall, I learned that Lady Meriel did not sleep in her room last night.”

Dominic frowned. “Were the servants concerned?”

“Not at all. I received the impression that the young lady often sleeps outdoors, especially during mild weather.” Disapproval sounded in the valet’s voice.

“So she’s not even housebroken.” Dominic looked Morrison directly in the eye. “What do you think of this proposed marriage?”

The valet’s expression became even stiffer than usual. “It is not my place to question my master’s personal affairs.”

“I’m sure you have opinions, especially about a matter which concerns you so closely,” Dominic said, voice edged. “I would appreciate an honest answer.”

“I have grave doubts about the wisdom of this, my lord,” Morrison said slowly. “Marriage is a lifelong commitment. It should not be undertaken lightly.”

The man had more sense than Kyle. “Perhaps your master will reconsider in the next weeks.”

Morrison’s gaze moved so that he was staring blankly out the window. “If the girl takes a dislike to you, there would be no marriage.”

Was the valet suggesting that Dominic deliberately alienate Lady Meriel? Apparently. “I cannot make so important a decision for my brother.”

Morrison’s gaze dropped, possibly with a hint of disappointment.

The breakfast bell rang. Warfield was a great house for bells. As Dominic went downstairs, he wondered if the ringing was done to summon Lady Meriel for meals. He’d noticed that the bell rang outside as well as in the house.

Of course, summoning her didn’t mean that she’d come. The two widows were already seated in the breakfast room, so Dominic greeted them, then helped himself to the dishes on the sideboard. As he piled thinly sliced ham on his plate, he said, “It appears that Lady Meriel has taken me in dislike. Or is she always absent for so long?”

“She does seem to be avoiding you,” Mrs. Rector said apologetically. “She is often shy of strangers.”

That was an understatement. “Might she stay in hiding until I leave?”

Mrs. Marks said with reluctance, “That could happen.”

“Perhaps I should organize a hunt with beaters to drive her into the open like a pheasant,” he said dryly as he seated himself at the table.

Absolutely not. Mrs. Rector’s head shot up, a fierceness in her eyes that was at odds with her gentle features. “Oh. I see that you’re joking.”

Yes, but if he had to wait days for an elusive madwoman to appear, a hunt would start seeming like a good idea. “Do you have any suggestions for how I might find her?”

Mrs. Marks thought about it. “She spends almost all her time in the gardens, though they are so large she could avoid you for days. Warfield has always been famous for its gardens. Every generation has added to them. To find Meriel, you might try watching the tree house. I believe she sleeps there when she isn’t in the house.”

“Ask Kamal,” Mrs. Rector suggested. “He would have the best idea of where to find her. Look for him in the garden sheds after breakfast.”

Kyle had mentioned an Indian servant. “Kamal is a gardener?”

Mrs. Rector nodded. “He supervises everything to do with the gardens, because he is the only one who understands what Meriel wants.”

Dominic’s brows arched. “So she has opinions about her plants?”

“Oh, yes. When she was small, she would have tantrums if the old head gardener did things she didn’t like.” She cut a neat piece of coddled egg. “Eventually we let him go and put Kamal in his place. Besides supervising the garden staff, he is our liaison to Mr. Kerr, the steward who runs the home farm and supervises the tenants. I don’t know what we should do without Kamal.”