The Impossible Ward (7 page)

“I feel I owe you an abject apology, Mama.” At her questioning look he explained, “I believe I once declared that no heiress was completely impossible.”

As the meaning of this cryptic remark penetrated, the marchioness protested with a reproving tone in her soft voice.

“Justin, how can you be so unfair? She is a delightful girl and will present a lovely appearance when we have refurbished her a bit.”

It was her son’s turn to look pained. “I found her utterly impossible, cold to the point of rudeness, with no looks to speak of and no conversation at all.”

“Nonsense!” declared the marchioness roundly. “I had no difficulty in drawing her into a conversation, and surely you must admit her voice is beautiful, low pitched, and musical with a fascinating little lilt—due to her Irish ancestry perhaps—and with none of that horrid north country brogue I feared we should have to break her of. She certainly has breeding, and if you had the wit to see beneath the admittedly dowdy exterior, you would know that she is a handsome girl at least, perhaps even a beauty.” To her son’s speechless surprise his gentle mother continued in severe tones. “I have never known you to be so harsh in your judgment before, Justin. I know I am going to love having Marianne here, and you shall regret those unkind words when I have finished with her. Her complexion is very brown to be sure, but it is beautifully clear and when the effects of too much sun and wind have faded will be one of her strongest assets, I am persuaded. Her eyes are magnificent, her features good, and her smile simply lights up her face. I cannot quite tell about her figure yet, swathed as she was in that disguising dress, but the right clothes will make a difference.”

Justin could have told his mother that there was nothing at all wrong with his ward’s figure, but prudently remained silent. Her next words aroused him however.

“That awful cap must go of course, and we shall have to arrange for her to have a fashionable crop. I shall—”

“No!” The single syllable was short, sharp, and quite definitive.

The marchioness blinked. “But, dearest, she is too young for a cap, even a pretty one. It would set her amongst the spinsters, and long hair is unfashionable these days. Look at Caroline Lamb, not that I mean to hold
her
up as a model of feminine beauty, but you cannot deny that the shorter styles are
a la mode
at the moment.”

“Her hair is her best feature. It is long and smooth and black as night. I won’t have it cut. Surely she does not have to conform to fashionable dictates in every last particular?”

If her ladyship wondered how her son could so explicitly describe his ward’s hair when the girl apparently kept it constantly concealed, she did not allow her curiosity any vocal expression.

“Well, perhaps we may devise some attractive style without cutting,” she temporized. “She will need a complete wardrobe of course. It is most unfortunate that she is in mourning; black is so unflattering to a fading suntan, but we shall contrive something.”

“Black? Must she be garbed completely in black?” Justin looked both startled and displeased.

“Well, she is in mourning, you are aware. If she wore colors it would set up people’s backs, and that would never do. She will be the cynosure of all eyes anyway, thanks to Perry’s ill-considered and selfish actions.”

“You are correct of course, Mama. When she appears in public she must wear black for a time, but surely here in the house she may be
permitted more
latitude. In fact,” he continued with some reluctance, “she may prove difficult on this point. She told me she could not mourn a man she never knew existed. One must concede there is some merit in her stand, and less hypocrisy than to appear wrapped in black from head to toe.”

His mother heaved a deep sigh. “I can see there might be some unexpected problems ahead of us, but,” she went on more optimistically, “I do believe Marianne will allow me to be her guide in matters of social custom.”

Her son was staring at her with a rather enigmatic smile. “I wish you success, of course, Mama, but for my part, I have not found Lady Marianne to be at all biddable.”

The marchioness permitted herself the tiniest of smiles before saying gently, “Yes, it has struck me that you two do rather rub each other the wrong way.” She fought back a giggle. “Like two strange cats meeting on neutral ground.”

“It is always an object with me to provide you with entertainment, of course, Mama,” he said smoothly, and grinned engagingly when the giggle refused to be suppressed any longer. His mother was wearing her mischievous imp expression which had been completely absent for four years. For the first time he felt in his heart that there would be some benefit to having Perry’s daughter foisted on them. He could not prevent himself from indulging the strong sense of curiosity he had been feeling since noticing the instant rapport that had sprung up between these two women who were so unlike in all respects.

“Lady Marianne seems to have made quite an impression on you.” The words were idle, but his sharpened gaze was not.

“Yes,” she replied, “it must have been a pure maternal urge; that poor child was so apprehensive about her reception here that my heart went out to her. I cannot conceive what she expected
me
to be like, but the relief on her very expressive face almost overset me.”

Her son’s
not
very expressive face was exhibiting stunned disbelief at this speech.

“Mama, can it be that we are talking about the same person? I have been acquainted with Lady Marianne for five days now and quite frankly my observations would give credence to the theory that
nothing
intimidates her. She runs her grandfather’s farm, bosses the help, performs whatever physical labor is necessary, and according to her friend Jack Richmond, has assisted at the birth of lambs, calves, and one human infant—who incidentally is named for her—and has yet to encounter the horse she cannot handle. I myself have seen her rescue a child from drowning without turning a hair, and I am persuaded she is here today, not through any fear of whatever financial pressure I might bring to bear, but solely to please her grandfather, who is determined she should not turn her back on the life she is entitled to lead without first sampling it. As for what you inexplicably term “her very expressive face,” in five days of enforced proximity, I had not seen one real smile or show of interest until her arrival here, nothing, in fact, save cold disinterest,” he finished, unaware that the mounting irritation in his voice as he catalogued his ward’s traits was inducing a mood of great thoughtfulness in his mother.

However, although she looked searchingly at him for a long moment, her voice was casual as she answered: “Everything you have said is probably quite true, dearest, but do you not see, none of it prepares a girl to go into Society. Although her manners reflect good training, I should be quite astonished to find Marianne possessed of any of the usual accomplishments deemed necessary to a girl making her debut—indeed how could she be, with no woman to influence her? No doubt her understanding is quick enough to appreciate this fact, and it is making her apprehensive of her future here with us.”

The arrested look that had come over her son’s features during this speech suddenly dissolved into laughter.

“I fear there is yet another handicap to overcome, Mama. She is not merely quick of understanding, but intelligent too, even
blue,
if the book of Latin poetry she was reading in the carriage is any indication.”

His mother laughed at the mock horror in his voice.

“In short, our Marianne is not just in the common style. We shall simply have to present her as an original.” She sobered abruptly. “How very
stupid
Perry was, to be sure. This girl might have changed his life.”

To this uncharacteristically severe judgment on the part of his normally charitable parent, the marquess returned no answer.

CHAPTER FIVE

A stray beam of sunlight on her face woke Marianne from her first restful sleep in almost a week. Blinking drowsily, she sat up and stared blankly around at unfamiliar surroundings before the realization dawned that she had actually arrived at her destination. This, then, was where she would be spending at least the next few weeks—she refused to consider any prospects beyond a reasonable visit.

She looked around her with considerable interest, liking what she saw of her sunny bedchamber. She had actually seen very little of the Hall on her arrival the previous day. Not only had she been much more concerned with the people she was meeting but so extremely travel weary as to have difficulty registering any save the barest impressions of her physical surroundings. She clearly remembered being escorted by her hostess first into a small sitting room and then into this pleasant chamber, but after being introduced to a smiling, capable woman with gray-streaked red hair, she had none but the haziest recollections of being assisted to undress (her meager baggage had already been unpacked, she had noted with surprise) and being helped into a nightdress and urged to bed. There she had made a pretense of drinking some soup so as not to seem disobliging in the face of such kind attentions, but sleep had overcome her almost instantly.

Now the morning sunshine glinted off highly polished furniture and emphasized the deep blue color of the sheer silk hangings at the bedposts. She stretched lazy arms over her head, enjoying the sensation of the sun’s warmth on her neck like a pampered cat. Her eyes fell upon the unadorned sleeve of her severely utilitarian nightdress and she grimaced ruefully. It was decidedly out of place in this beautiful room. Her glance roamed from the high chest to a delicately shaped dressing table, appreciating the graceful curving lines of the pieces and the dark gleam of the wood, showing reddish in the sunlight Above the chair rail the walls were white, and below they were covered with a thicker fabric in the same deep blue as the bed and window curtains. On the polished floor were two large rugs patterned in shades of blue on a white background. White velvet draperies tied back with deep blue cords enriched the effect at the two windows.

She jumped out of bed to take a closer admiring look at the gorgeous silver frame of the mirror over the dressing table, and stopped short at sight of herself in the glass. Her thick black hair, tousled from the bed, tumbled over one shoulder of the white flannel gown. As she stared at her image she recollected the shining ringlets of her lovely cousin, stylishly arranged beneath a hat that had succeeded in arousing a covetous urge in her breast for the first time, and she wondered somewhat bleakly if she were as out of place in this marvelous room as her nightdress obviously was.

Just then a light tap sounded at the door to the hall, and upon her bidding the caller to enter, the door opened to admit her smiling hostess, charmingly gowned in olive green silk.

“Good morning, my dear.” The marchioness stopped on spotting Marianne, and put her head on one side like an inquisitive bird. “You look about twelve-years-old in that costume with your hair loose,” she declared mischievously. “Now I see what Justin meant, though, about your hair.”

Marianne put up an impatient hand and flicked the long tresses behind her shoulders. “I was just thinking about Claire’s hairstyle,” she confessed. “There is nothing one can do with a yard of poker-straight hair. I fear I must be a sore disappointment to your ladyship,” she added anxiously. “I know nothing at all of current fashion.”

“Pooh, nonsense!” declared her hostess roundly. “You are most attractive even without fashionable aids, and I shall hugely enjoy helping you to attain a more modern look, but it would indeed be a mistake to cut that marvelous hair of yours. We shall simply have to contrive a style that is somewhat less severe than a tight knot. In this respect, at least, it would be a grievous error blindly to follow fashionable dictates. You have the height and bearing to carry anything off, I daresay.” The marchioness sat on the edge of the dressing table bench and looked with flattering approval at the slightly embarrassed Marianne.

“I am going to love having you here, my dear,” she said gently. “It has been a very long time, too long, since I have done anything that greatly interested me. But you interest me, and I hope we shall become good friends.”

“Oh yes, my lady,” Marianne replied hastily, “you are so very kind to take a stranger into your home. I cannot be grateful enough for your interest.” Her brow furrowed and she went on more slowly. “I do not wish to pry, but I did not perfectly understand ... have you been ill recently? Will having me here be too much of a strain on you?”

“Oh no, my dear child. Has not Justin told you much about our family then?” She looked curiously at the puzzled girl.

“No, nothing at all, Ma’am. We ... we did not have much opportunity for conversation of a personal nature.”

Looking at the slightly flustered girl from beneath gold-tipped lashes, the marchioness wondered what they had found to talk about on a three-day trip without touching upon personal matters eventually, but she merely addressed herself to the question at hand.

“I was widowed four years ago, quite suddenly. My husband and I were very close, so very close,” she murmured, almost to herself before becoming brisk again. “At the time, both Justin and Harry were in the Peninsula with the army and Andrew was up at Oxford.” At Marianne’s uncomprehending look she explained, “We had three sons...” Marianne’s eyes widened at the use of the past tense, but the marchioness was continuing with careful control, “Justin and Harry were twins, but Harry was the elder by fifteen minutes. They had decided Justin would be the one to come home first to see to the estate, because Harry had a very important mission to undertake for the duke. He planned to sell out afterwards but was killed at Salamanca before he could do so.” She squeezed Marianne’s hand in appreciation for the distressed sympathy so evident on her guest’s mobile features.

“I am afraid I am a coward, my dear. Oh, yes,” she insisted, placing a finger on the young girl’s mouth to prevent her uttering the instinctive protest rising to her lips. “The double blow prostrated me for far too long. I have not had the heart to resume my life, and I fear I have rather neglected the other two in my grief. Andrew was much younger, of course, but Justin and Harry were very attached, in the manner of twins, you understand. Each seemed to know what the other was thinking, and one would often finish a sentence the other had begun.” She sighed deeply. “Justin greatly misses Harry still. I do not think the void in his life will be filled until he takes a wife and has a son of his own. And I had almost begun to despair of that happening, but now...” She broke off abruptly, and when she resumed speaking it was to reiterate that she was sincerely delighted to have Perry’s daughter to stay with them.

Marianne murmured a suitable response,
but could
not help wondering what the marchioness had been going to say about her elder son’s matrimonial intentions and why she had, in her own words, “despaired” of his marrying until recently. Was this last a hint that he was now contemplating marriage? She wondered who the girl might be, and a vision of her lovely cousin smiling at the marquess suddenly filled her mind. They would undoubtedly make a very handsome couple, suitably matched in birth and lifestyle, she thought dispassionately. For some obscure reason she suddenly felt restless and had to force herself to remain seated while her hostess got down to practical matters concerning her wardrobe. A few moments ago she had been eager to discuss fashions. Surely it did not matter to her in the least whom the arrogant marquess took as his bride, but she pitied her cousin if he intended to treat his wife with the same slightly belittling charm he had displayed the previous day, almost as though she were an amusing child to be played with affectionately and even spoiled, but not considered seriously when matters of importance were involved. However, perhaps Claire was content to be admired and amused, then dismissed when the men wished to talk seriously. She knew that she herself could never accept such a subservient role in her husband’s life. How nonsensical she was becoming, she thought impatiently, giving herself a vigorous mental shake. She had no thought of marriage in any case. She had her grandfather to look after in his declining years.

Resolutely she put aside any concerns but the immediate one of what she was to wear that night at dinner. The marchioness, after a cursory examination of the few items hanging in the huge wardrobe, stated frankly that it was imperative to drive that very morning into Bath, to obtain a gown for dinner and make a start toward selecting fabrics and designs for a complete new wardrobe.

A few minutes previously a tiny young chambermaid had brought chocolate into the sitting room. They had been sipping it leisurely but now, after a glance at the silver mounted mantel clock, the marchioness declared they must waste no more time, but bestir themselves in preparation for a busy day. Exhorting Marianne not to dawdle over her toilette, but to come to the breakfast parlor as soon as possible, she returned to her own rooms to change the green silk for a carriage dress, only pausing at the door to say softly, but imperatively:

“Marianne?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“May I beg a favor of you on such short acquaintance?”

“Of course, Ma’am. Anything.”

“That cap you were wearing yesterday...” She twinkled mischievously as her guest colored up and dropped her eyes in confusion. “I believe it has served its purpose, do not you? A decent interment is indicated.”

A reluctant echo of mischief lit the young girl’s eyes, but she answered with deceptive meekness. “As you wish, my lady.”

Left alone, Marianne gulped the rest of the delicious chocolate, then repaired to the bedchamber where she set a new record for quick dressing, speedily twisting up her hair and securing it with ruthless jabs of the pins. As she entered the corridor outside her room she looked around with interest. Obviously the interior of the house had been altered since its construction, for in Elizabethan days the rooms would all have opened off each other without the amenity of corridors. Her appreciative eyes admired the deep Turkey red carpet on the floor, and she promised herself a better look at the few paintings on the wall when she would not be so pressed for time.

As she soundlessly approached the staircase, a door opened on the right and the marchioness issued forth, wearing a lovely pearl gray outfit. She was busy tucking something into a black reticule so was unaware of Marianne’s presence until the girl called out just as she reached the staircase. Startled, her hostess spun around lightly and smiled approvingly.

“That was quick, my child. Now we may go down together.”

How it happened Marianne was never quite able to say. They were descending the stairs together. One moment her hostess was gaily predicting that Marianne would admire Bath with its hilly streets; in the next she uttered a gasping cry and seemed almost to dive forward down the stairs, crossing in front of the girl. Marianne acted instinctively, grasping the railing with her left hand while her right clutched frantically at the older woman’s gown. For an instant they remained poised in these supremely awkward positions. Marianne, unbalanced, was unable to shift her feet or get a hold on the marchioness’ person. She hung onto a handful of dress stuff with grim persistence but her face reflected her fears that the other woman would be unable to seize something to break her fall before the dress slipped inevitably from her guest’s frantic grasp. The Archangel Gabriel himself would not have been more welcome than the sight of the marquess, alerted no doubt by his mother’s cry, charging white-faced up the stairs. He scooped his mother’s helpless form into strong arms, and knelt down on a stair until he could be sure of his balance. Marianne, relieved of her burden, plopped onto a higher stair for a second to still the trembling of her limbs.

A quick glance assured the marquess she was unhurt, and he bent all his attention to his mother who was protesting weakly that he was crushing the breath out of her. He gave a shaky laugh as he settled her firmly on a stair and anxiously surveyed her pale countenance.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I wrenched my knee. I don’t know how, but I do know I should have pitched down the whole flight of stairs if Marianne had not grasped my dress.”

“Can you put any weight on the leg, my lady?” queried the young girl who had descended to their level and was now kneeling and gazing anxiously up at her hostess.

“I think so. It doesn’t hurt much.” The marchioness was about to put a cautious foot on the stair below when her grim-faced son gathered her back into his arms.

“You are certainly not going to make the attempt here, however. Back to your room, Mama, until we are sure of that knee.”

“My reticule, it’s spilled everything down the stairs,” protested the marchioness, trying unsuccessfully to look around his broad shoulder.

“Marianne will gather it all up. Stop wriggling. You might injure that knee again.”

When Marianne joined them with the refilled reticule a few minutes later, she was immensely cheered to find the hard, anxious expression gone from the marquess’ face. His very evident affection for his charming mother was the nicest thing she knew of him, she thought fleetingly, before turning her attention to the victim.

The marchioness, though slightly disheveled as to hair style, and crumpled from being carried, was sitting with color restored in a small cane chair. One leg was resting upon a needlepoint footstool, but she smiled cheerfully at Marianne and waved away the hovering dresser.

“I shan’t need you for a few minutes, Norris.” After she had expressed fervent gratitude for Marianne’s quick action, she cried regretfully: “I am so sorry, my dear, to be so careless. I’m afraid I’ve spoiled our plans for a day’s shopping. I can walk with just a bit of discomfort and there is no need to cancel our dinner party, but I fear the hills of Bath would be too much for my knee today.”