The Impossible Ward (6 page)

She reflected with wry humor that if she already chafed at the artificial restrictions imposed by Society on the nature of any and all contact between unmarried persons of the opposite sex, she would likely prove a severe trial to the poor marchioness who had undertaken to be responsible for the social behavior of her son’s ward. A very disconcerting question in her mind was just how willingly the marchioness had complied with her strong-minded son’s determination to carry out his friend’s dying wish. Marianne had been loved and wanted all her life by her doting grandparents. The discovery that her father had never even wished to make her acquaintance at any time during the twenty-two years of her life had been a severe blow. She had been much more deeply wounded than her pride would allow her to admit, even to her grandfather whose loving concern could always be relied upon. As for the marquess, her trustee, one glance at that handsome, confident, uncaring face had served to imbue her with a steely determination never to reveal
any
emotion or vulnerability in his presence. She had departed from this resolve only on that first occasion when his careless listing of her father’s plans for his previously unacknowledged daughter had so augmented the pain of being told her true situation that it had culminated in one short burst of fury and defiance. Since then she had not permitted herself to relax her imposed control in his presence. It had not been easy to maintain this rigid composure so foreign to her warm, impulsive nature, but she had instinctively divined his displeasure at her cool treatment of him, and all her perverse latent femininity rose to bulwark her defense against his insidious charm. She did not attempt to reach any understanding of why she was so bent on preserving herself from him; in fact, she refused to dwell on this aspect of her behavior, not even admitting to herself the existence of a malicious satisfaction at witnessing his well-concealed annoyance at her emotional inaccessibility to his charming overtures. Rather she diverted her apprehensive thoughts toward the situation awaiting her at the marquess’ estate, but this produced no abatement of her despondency. Would the marchioness resemble her shining son in looks or personality? Her gloom deepened as she envisioned a beautiful confident woman overwhelming her country visitor with patronizing charm. She was bound to prove a stunning disappointment to her hostess, she despaired, gloomily passing her meager wardrobe before her mind’s eye.

Clothes and fashion had played no part in her life to date, since her only social outings consisted of an occasional Sunday dinner at the manse. Jack and the rector were their only regular visitors and neither would notice what she wore. Frowning in concentration, she tried to remember when she had last purchased a new gown. Of course, the green velvet length Jack had brought her from London. She had had the village seamstress fashion a dress, but somehow the results had been rather disappointing. Still it was a lovely color and ordinarily she would have worn it the night the marquess dined with them, had she not been so bent on confirming his obvious first judgment that she lacked all feminine attributes that she had startled Clara with a demand to retrieve an old black dress that had been her grandmother’s from a trunk in the attic. The yellow lace cap had been unearthed during a wild rummage in an old chest of drawers, and she had stubbornly persisted in wearing it over her usually unadorned locks ever since. Her lips quirked for an instant as she recalled Jack’s puzzled glance that had strayed to her unbecoming headgear on several occasions during that last meeting. That he had not twitted her about it was an indication that the news of her leaving had shocked him out of his customary bantering manner toward her. She sighed, knowing that Jack’s undemanding, good-natured companionship was another thing she would miss in the immediate future. He approved of her no matter what she wore.

The occasional sight of a well-dressed feminine traveler during the last three days had convinced her that her appearance would prove a blow to any expectations the marchioness might have held of establishing her
protégée
socially. Marianne had never seriously considered her appearance but she did so now, reviewing her features individually and collectively. There was nothing particularly displeasing about any single aspect of her physiognomy she thought judiciously, but she feared the familiar collection failed to add up to an interesting whole. Also the marquess had told her her hands were not soft and white as a lady’s should be and she knew sunburned skin was frowned upon. In fact, she thought with an unhappy sigh, her dark coloring was very far removed from the standards of feminine beauty long admired in England. She grew increasingly restive as apprehension overcame the determined calm habitually wrapped around her vulnerability. Her contributions to the conversation became less and less, decreasing as the miles to their destination decreased, until she was answering in monosyllables.

They were deep in rural Somerset now and the rain of the past two days had ceased. There were small patches of blue in the western sky and the lowering sun was gilding the pink edges of some fast-moving tattered clouds, as they turned off the road onto a lane that suddenly ran between stone posts past a charming wood and brick gatehouse.

Her first sight of Lunswick Hall drew an admiring gasp from Marianne. Built of mellowed brick, it was a graceful Tudor structure with large windows ornamented with terra cotta enrichments in the Italian manner. Two wings extended at right angles from the main facade and, although she could not see the back from this vantage, she hazarded a guess (later confirmed) that the house had been designed in the shape of a letter
H.
There were many twisted and ornamented chimneys so typical of buildings of this period, and it was obvious from the appearance of the lawns and drives that no care and attention were spared to maintain the sparkling condition of the property. She was so busy admiring her surroundings that it came as a surprise when the chaise swept to a halt in front of the central entrance. Immediately the doors were opened and what seemed to the bemused girl to be an army of retainers hastened down the steps to assist in their descent from the chaise.

“Welcome to Lunswick Hall, Lady Marianne,” said the marquess smoothly as he handed her down.

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied with equal formality.

But all formality ceased as a diminutive, blue-clad figure appeared in the entrance way and moved with swift grace down among the footmen bringing in baggage under the direction of the butler to cast herself upon the marquess as he moved forward to arrest her flight.

“Hello, dearest, you made excellent time, despite the wretched weather.”

Marianne stood still with a startled expression, surely the first real emotion she had displayed during the journey, the marquess decided as he led his mother up to her guest with an arm lightly around her waist.

“May I present Lady Marianne Carstairs, Mama?”

The marchioness extended both hands smilingly as Marianne rose from an awkward curtsy. “I am delighted to welcome you, my dear child. I was very fond of your father and I shall call you Marianne if you do not object?”

“No, no, of course not, Ma’am,” stammered Marianne with wide eyes, “but can you really be his lordship’s mother? You seem far too young.”

The marchioness gave a delightful crow of laughter. “Well, I assure you I am not too young, but I thank you for the compliment, deserved or not.”

A faint color rose in the young girl’s cheeks as she answered, “It was most sincerely meant, I assure you, Ma’am.”

“Bless you, child, I know it was. Your face gave you away,” said the marchioness, squeezing her hands lightly before dropping them and turning expectantly to Miss Twistleton.

It was a lesson in the social graces to watch the marquess’ vivacious mother welcome the governess and thank her for her offices on the journey, then persuade her to join the family for refreshments while the marquess had fresh horses hitched to the carriage for the remaining few miles to Bath. In no time their hostess had organized a tea party in a charming blue and gold saloon, and was easily eliciting a review of the events of the trip just completed. Marianne could only marvel at her ability to draw and keep all present in the discussion. By the time Miss Twistleton had been speeded on her way she had relaxed enough to abandon the expressionless pose she maintained in the marquess’ daunting presence and was animatedly describing her first reaction to the beauty of the house when the butler announced the earl of Melford and Miss Carstairs.

There was a split second of silence before the marchioness rose from a gold brocade chair and crossed the floor, smiling a welcome to the young couple who were just entering the softly lit room.

“What a delightful surprise, my lord, and how nice to see Miss Carstairs again. Do come in and meet our guest.”

Her voice held just the correct amount of warmth appropriate to greeting pleasant acquaintances, and Marianne decided she must have imagined that a fleeting flicker of annoyance had crossed her hostess’ exquisite countenance, but she could not so easily dismiss the quick tightening of the marquess’ mouth before he seconded his mother’s welcome. However, she was too much interested in the charming picture presented by her newfound cousins to dwell on her host’s reactions at the moment.

And indeed nature had been most benevolent when bestowing gifts upon this favored pair. Her cousin Aubrey, though not above medium height, was startlingly handsome with dark wavy hair worn in a fashionable Brutus, and had classically perfect features. She had not thought a man could be better looking than the marquess, but now admitted with newly discovered family pride that her cousin’s long-lashed gray eyes and finely modeled lips above a well-shaped chin gave him a slight edge, though he had not the aggressively masculine aura that was so much a part of the marquess’ attraction.

His sister was his feminine counterpart, a remarkably pretty girl with an enchanting smile, being directed at the moment to the marquess. Her soft ringlets beneath a ravishing creation of pink silk trimmed with darker pink velvet and adorned with a single black ostrich plume, showed the ruddy glow of chestnut rather than the crisp brown of her brother’s hair, but they shared the same dark-lashed gray eyes and perfect features. As far as Marianne could tell, her figure was delicately made and quite as perfect as the rest of her. She tore her fascinated gaze from her lovely cousin as her hostess made her male cousin known to her. His bow was a miracle of grace and he flashed her a winning smile.

“What luck to find you here, Cousin. Claire and I just dropped in for a moment on our way home from a drive to learn if there was news of your impending arrival, and here you are, whisked from the north posthaste by your very efficient trustee.” He executed a sketchy bow in the direction of the marquess who was watching the meeting with half his attention while listening to a laughing remark by Miss Carstairs.

“Do bring that graceless sister of mine over here to make our delightful cousin’s acquaintance, Lunswick,” he added, raising his voice a trifle and catching his sister’s eye.

She blushed prettily and begged pardon in a light sweet voice before turning her dazzling smile in Marianne’s direction. “I am so happy to meet you, Lady Marianne. Oh dear, that sounds so absurdly formal when I hope we shall be the best of friends. If you do not object I shall call you Marianne, and I am Claire.”

“Please do call me Marianne, both of you. I am quite unaccustomed to being called anything else, and quite detest ‘my lady.’ ”

As his reserved ward suddenly smiled widely at her two cousins, revealing stunningly perfect teeth, Justin’s eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth pulled in. It had occurred forcibly to him that in the five days of their acquaintance she had not once smiled spontaneously in his presence. An impartial observer noting his reaction could not have said that he derived any pleasure from the attractive picture his ward presented as she talked with her new relatives, her very lovely eyes made a luminous sapphire blue by excitement at the unexpected meeting. Both cousins were studying her intently and his mother was looking on approvingly, pleased that her
protégée
was receiving such a warm welcome. Justin’s expression was thoughtful when a soft laugh at his side recalled his attention to Miss Carstairs, who was pouting prettily at what she termed his “going off in a trance.” He returned a laughing rejoinder that caused her to look self-conscious and satisfied. To Marianne, who knew as much about the art of flirtation as about the art of glassblowing, their conversation seemed completely pointless and she concentrated her attention upon her other cousin and her hostess. They had moved back into the room, but the newcomers refused all offers to stay for tea or dinner with a flattering show of regret, asserting that they had guests coming for dinner themselves and must return quickly. Before taking their leave however they accepted an invitation to dine
en famille
the following evening. Marianne noted for the first time that her cousin wore black gloves and wondered what would be expected of her. Her traveling dress was black but the only gown she possessed that would possibly be suitable for dinner in a manor house was the green velvet However she was too exhausted to care about anything at that point and gratefully accepted her hostess’ suggestion of a light meal in her room, followed immediately by a long night’s rest. She bade the marquess a polite good night and followed his mother thankfully from the room.

The marchioness, having left her guest to the motherly ministrations of her own dresser, returned to the saloon a few minutes later to find her son awaiting her. He had been kicking idly at a log in the fireplace, but at the soft rustling sound of his mother’s dress, turned to face her with a rueful smile.