The Impossible Ward (15 page)

Marianne glanced uncertainly at Lord Lunswick from under curling black lashes to find him studying her at his leisure.

“Tell me, Lady Marianne, do you still think of yourself as a farmer?”

Those fantastic eyes, more blue than violet tonight, widened and her lips quivered into an unwilling smile which he noted with bland satisfaction. Good! Whatever she had expected, he had succeeded in surprising her.

“Of course, my lord,” she answered demurely, then at his quizzical look, conceded honestly, “but I do not think about the farm very often these days.”

“Allow me to tell you that you do not look like anyone’s idea of a farmer.”

She smiled slightly in acknowledgment of the implied compliment, but remained silent.

So much for attempted flirtation. Obviously there had been little progress along these lines during his absence; Andrew must be losing his touch. He tried another tack. “How have you been spending your days since I have been away?”

This proved a more productive vein. At first hesitantly, then with more confidence as she noted his attention, Marianne described her recent activities, unaware how revealing her comments on Lord Andrew, Sophia, and Lady Lunswick were of her affection for these persons. He did not interrupt and asked only a few questions, but they were enough to elicit the story of her meeting with Andrew in the spinney, and she found herself telling him about Sophia’s paintings also. He chuckled over the adventure with Nuisance and even more when she related the gradual introduction of the dog into the household, seemingly over the strenuous objections of the marchioness.

“Mama possesses the feminine trait of allowing her men to make for her any decisions that might prove unpopular with the staff. She’d have made a good diplomat.”

Marianne took mild umbrage at this provocative remark. “That can scarcely be termed a feminine trait, my lord,” she said somewhat drily.

But his lordship refused to be led into a general discussion on the failings of human nature as typified by either sex. He smiled at her, a different, more intimate smile than his customary cynical quirk, and it brought a faint rise of color in her cheeks.

“You have been having an enjoyable time here?”

“Oh, yes, my lord.”

“Then, may I be permitted to hope that you no longer hold me in such deep dislike for coercing your removal from Yorkshire and your presence in my home?” He spoke lightly but was regarding her intently, and a wary look came into her eyes.

“I ... I don’t dislike you, Lord Lunswick,” she managed at last. “It was just that the
manner
in which you—”

He held up a silencing hand. “Unnecessary to say more. I think I know how your independent spirit rails against any authority I may have, but I do not wish to quarrel, at least not on my first night home.” He watched with satisfaction the smile that began in her eyes and gently tugged at the corners of her mobile lips as he added this qualifying phrase. “I am content, at present, to know I no longer have your enmity.”

“Oh, never enemies, my lord,” she cried, rather distressed at the harsh sounding word.

“Then may I hope, friends, Marianne?” he asked, deliberately dropping her title for the first time. His amber eyes were very compelling, holding hers with a deep seriousness.

She smiled at him shyly, but whatever she might have said was forestalled by Lady Mauraugh’s clear tones, raised to reach the marquess, as she called to him to settle a question. For a second longer he continued to hold Marianne’s glance, the line of his mouth suddenly much firmer, but the intimacy between them was shattered. The
girl beside him had been startled into awareness of the general company by the countess’ voice and was no longer attending to him. He turned toward the other group with a smiling answer to the question.

The conversation remained general until the ladies retired for the night. Fortunately for Marianne’s peace of mind she had been unaware of the long speculative stare trained on her by the countess after the latter’s question had succeeded in breaking up a duet she had found too cozy-looking for her liking. The narrowed look had not escaped the notice of the marquess, however, and when the green eyes shifted at last to his face they met an enigmatically smiling regard.

Marianne went to bed in happy ignorance that she was being reassessed by Lady Mauraugh, with the cautious hope that the increased size of the house party might not after all spell disaster.

CHAPTER TEN

Despite the lack of cooperation by the weather, which remained determinedly damp and dismal, the family and guests gathered together at the Hall for Christmas continued to have a very enjoyable time indeed. The comfort of their surroundings must be held greatly responsible, Marianne thought, and this was surely the achievement of Lady Lunswick, who was indeed a notable housekeeper. In the most unobtrusive manner imaginable she held all the reins of household management in her capable hands. The domestic machinery of the huge estate seemed to run along on greased wheels. If there did exist those intrahousehold clashes that enlivened other great houses from time to time, no echoes of such reached the ears of the guests, whose comfort was insured with no apparent effort. Beds were always warmed, hot water for shaving and washing appeared almost before a guest realized his desire for same, and visiting servants, even those like Selwyn whose deepest instinct was to find fault in everything, could discover little to repeat to their employers, every facility being afforded them to cater to the idiosyncrasies of their respective masters. Had Marianne been acquainted with the world of Society from birth, she would have known of the reputation of Lunswick Hall for hospitality and an excellent table. As it was, she was learning to admire the marchioness all the more for the manner in which she catered to increased numbers and remained unflurried in the face of her sons’ occasional capricious behavior which, Marianne was convinced, must necessitate changes in her prearranged schedule for meals. That this superb adaptability was possible with no guest the wiser must be due to the devotion in which Lady Lunswick was held by all her staff. Certainly it entailed much planning and work behind the scenes, yet their hostess seemed always to be available to her guests. It was a source of very real satisfaction to the young girl that Lady Lunswick permitted her to be of some assistance in the planning and carrying out of the domestic arrangements as though she were in fact a daughter of the house.

The success of the house party might also be ascribed in part to a nice mixture of congenial people. Certainly Sir Martin Archer was a man to gladden the heart of any hostess. His secure social position and wide acquaintance among the great families had given him a broad repertoire of anecdotes, and his amusing nonconsequential manner assured his welcome in any group. Gregarious and good-tempered by nature, he was never above being pleased, and was always most willing to enter into whatever plans were being put forth for his entertainment. He could be counted on to dance with the wallflowers, to turn the pages for a young lady performing upon the pianoforte or harp, or to make up a fourth for whist; and his nondemanding personality made him adept at soothing away the attack of nerves and shyness that often rendered new debutantes tongue-tied in their initial appearances on the social scene. True, he might never be able to hold his own amongst the ministers and orators who belonged to the Melbourne House set, nor would he have anything original to contribute to the stimulating literary and artistic conversations taking place at Charles Lamb’s “Wednesdays,” for his intellect was not of a high order and his conversation could scarcely be said to be brilliant, but his amiability and shrewd social sense made him an asset to any mixed gathering.

The Countess of Mauraugh was another who would be welcomed to decorate any scene even if she never opened her mouth. But the lovely widow had not earned her designation as an Incomparable before her marriage on her beauty alone. She was accomplished, conversable, and charming, exuding a potent appeal that most men found irresistible. Naturally, a woman so abundantly endowed with every attribute to attract the opposite sex was bound to have detractors amongst her own, but whatever might be said of her in tonnish circles, prompted no doubt by jealousy, here in Somerset she was taking pains to be universally agreeable company. Marianne, firmly repressing the instinctive unease she experienced in the widow’s company, stoically did her social duty by their guest, though it was an unprofessed relief to escape to Andrew’s undemanding society whenever he found an hour to resume the fencing lessons, begun as a joke weeks ago, but now quite seriously pursued by a very apt pupil and a proud instructor.

The assembled company saw very little of the, young earl. Apparently his devoted nurse held a strong conviction that a child’s place was not among the adults. Because Lady Lunswick insisted, her nephew made a token appearance in the saloon each evening after his meal. After greeting everyone with a poise that was quite remarkable in one so young, he would sidle by degrees to a spot close to Lord Andrew, a process that Marianne watched with some amusement. Obviously he had elevated that young man to a status of hero, but still he was quiet and well-behaved, thrilled with any notice Lord Andrew took of him but never demanding attention. In comparing Richard with the only other child of this age with whom she was acquainted, Marianne found him to be much more self-possessed among adults but less spontaneous than Jamie. Only with Nuisance did Richard seem to approach the gaiety and enthusiasm that characterized the Yorkshire child, so Marianne formed the practice of bringing the pup up to the nursery for a short time each day for a playful session with the little boy. The two were boisterously delighted with each other. At first Marianne had been a bit apprehensive lest Nurse disapprove of the shrieks that emanated from Richard during these uninhibited romps, so she was relieved to observe Nurse’s complacency amidst the uproar. Evidently her strict theories on raising children did not preclude a judicious amount of noisy, physical fun-making.

During the week between Christmas and the New Year, the company was pleasantly augmented on several occasions by neighbors exchanging visits. By this time, Marianne had met several of the genteel families in the immediate locale, and had found them to be quite friendly and welcoming, though she remained most drawn to the Huntingdons, who had become the kind of friends from whom it would be a wrench to part. They formed part of the company tonight, along with her cousins who had driven over from Maplegrove.

Aubrey and Claire had returned early in December and now called at Lunswick Hall with some regularity. Marianne had enjoyed—or endured—(she was not of one mind on this point) the experience of being shown round the ancestral home of her father’s family, including the room where he and his two brothers and one sister had made their entrance into the world. She had gravely studied a portrait of her father done when he had been at home between naval engagements, just before the period when he had met her mother,
she had
guessed. It showed a laughing young man with merry brown eyes and a devil-may-care insouciance about his bearing that both intrigued and slightly repelled her. She admitted that she would have liked to have known her father, but felt again the pain of his not sharing the same desire with respect to herself. How desperately he must have loved her mother to have been so completely shattered at her death, but why had not this love, in later years, been transformed into at least a curiosity about the daughter they had produced? Since she would never know the answer to this riddle, it did not bear dwelling on, she concluded sadly, and resolutely turning her back on the painting, inquired about the rest of her father’s family. She learned she had two more cousins, the sons of her Aunt Margaret who resided in Kent, but somehow she did not feel quite the eager sense of anticipation at the prospect of meeting the rest of her family as she had experienced on learning of the existence of Claire and Aubrey. Lady Lunswick and Andrew were held much closer in her affections than her Carstairs cousins, though she enjoyed Claire’s vivacious company in small doses and found Aubrey mildly amusing. However, his attentions to her had been growing increasingly more marked lately, and she was somewhat at a loss to know how to deal with this unlooked-for development. While conceding him to be pleasant and eager to please her, as well as undeniably handsome, she could not help thinking that his intellectual growth had ceased completely at an unusually early age, especially since he never had a word to say for himself should the conversation chance to touch on subjects of more serious content than gossipy
on-dits
of the privileged class of society or the newest fashions in clothes, sports, or entertainment. Moreover, she well remembered their first clash over the actions of the factory workers and wondered, despite his charming attentions to herself, whether he was not
au fond
of a basically unfeeling nature. He had been beside her since Mrs. Huntingdon ceased playing some twenty minutes previously, and she was beginning to experience a slight
ennui
in his company. She replied to his most recent query rather mechanically and fell to studying the other occupants of the saloon with the greater portion of her attention, since Aubrey did not require too much in the way of positive response to keep him rambling on in his usual inconsequential fashion.

At the finish of the musical interlude, a card table had been set up in a corner of the large room for the elder members of the company and Lord Andrew, who had good-naturedly offered to complete the foursome. That his mind was not quite so set as usual on the bloodthirsty contest was attested to by an occasional agonized wail from his unfortunate mother who had drawn him as a partner. Marianne noted with amusement that, though he charmingly begged his long-suffering mama’s pardon after each misplay, his attention continued to stray to the group in front of the fire that included the Misses Carstairs and Huntingdon and Lady Mauraugh, who were laughing immoderately at an anecdote Sir Martin had related concerning Poodle Byng, a gentleman who was rarely seen unaccompanied by his pet poodle. The marquess added a sequel to the story that increased the general hilarity, except that Sophia suddenly looked blank. Quietly Lord Lunswick explained to her the relationship obtaining amongst the principals and succeeded in winning a delighted smile of comprehension from Sophia, while the conversation flowing around them took a more sober turn.

Marianne rested a thoughtful gaze on the marquess as he devoted himself to Miss Huntingdon. What an accomplished ladies’ man her trustee had proved to be, and how completely he adapted himself to the company in which he found himself. There were four young, unattached females present, she mused, and the marquess wore a different face with each.

Earlier in the evening he had been engaging her provocative cousin Claire in a light flirtation, egging her on to explain the significance of various signals a lady might convey by the skillful use of her fan, though his ward entertained a shrewd suspicion that
he
might as competently have instructed her cousin in the art of flirting with a fan. With Sophia he talked gentle platitudes and took pains to ease her shyness by an air of kindly benevolence and interest in her conversation. Marianne conceded the necessity to combat Sophia’s innate reluctance to draw attention to herself in any way, but felt that after an acquaintance covering many years, her trustee should have discovered that he had no need to descend to commonplaces with the well-read daughter of two intellectually superior parents.

Following this line of thought further, after an encouraging smile that kept the earl of Melford prating contentedly at her side, she considered Lord Lunswick’s attitude toward the beautiful countess. This was more difficult to characterize. He did not play the laughing cavalier with Lady Mauraugh, though he never failed to compliment her on her appearance and always requested the favor of some musical selections. He appeared rather more gravely attentive than light-heartedly flirtatious, and invariably displayed exquisite courtesy when addressing his uncle’s widow, but even while formulating this opinion Marianne wondered why it should strike her thusly. Lord Lunswick displayed perfect manners in all his dealings with the fair sex, but there was some additional quality in his attitude toward Lady Mauraugh—formality perhaps? No, she must be mistaken. It was obvious that they were very well acquainted, but she could detect neither the ease of comfortable friendship nor the warmth of courtship, not at least in Lord Lunswick’s demeanor. Now that she dwelt on the subject it struck her forcibly that Lady Mauraugh
did,
for all her ubiquitous charm, display a well-bred but decided preference for Justin’s company. What was more to the point, if this preference was apparent to one who amongst those present was least equipped by the experiences of her life to assess the nuances of male-female relationships, it must be only too obvious to Lord Lunswick. Suddenly convinced beyond any doubt that the Countess of Mauraugh had come here to Somerset for the express purpose of permanently attaching the marquess, Marianne was forced to admit to complete ignorance of her trustee’s feelings in the matter. So far he gave nothing away to any interested party, least of all his ward.

Which unsatisfactory conclusion brought her to the last eligible female of the party: herself. Again her thoughtful gaze searched the unrevealing face of her trustee. How did he regard his troublesome ward? Was there a distinctive manner that he reserved for her company? Her intense concentration on the marquess must have reached him where he sat a few feet away, because he glanced up and caught her staring. In the second or so before she managed to avert her gaze and turn with apparent interest to Lord Melford, she was aware of being thoroughly studied. This awareness became acute as she felt rather than saw him rise and saunter over to the plush sofa on which she sat. When he spoke it was to give her a report on a recent speech made in the House of Commons by a member from the midlands addressing himself to some proposed new taxes, and she supposed she had an answer of sorts to one at least of her questions. Perhaps he regarded her as a disembodied intellect, she thought with detachment, as he calmly continued his report in the face of the earl’s poorly concealed annoyance at the interruption. However she was inclined to dismiss this notion as incompatible with the evidence of admiration in his expression at times when he looked at her. She was beginning to recognize that warm look in a gentleman’s eyes now, and to experience a little thrill of gratification at being able to arouse the sentiment, shallow and transitory though it might be. How very pleasant it must be to be beautiful like Lady Mauraugh and know oneself a constant target for such admiration! Another less pleasant notion presented itself for consideration. Perhaps the admiration was solely for her excellent understanding and not her appearance after all. And if this
were
so, why should that sit so ill with her? Had she not been most annoyed in the early days of their acquaintance at the tendency of the marquess to dismiss the mentality of most women as inferior? That he no longer did so, as far as she was concerned, should be a source of great satisfaction, and of course it
was.
But the rueful thought persisted that she was hoist with her own petard.

“Did I not express myself clearly, Marianne? You appear a bit—perturbed perhaps?”

The mild inquiry jerked her back to the present and there she remained, because, as usual, Justin could capture her interest and hold it. In fact, she was forced to admit, though quite privately for she had no slightest intention of pandering to her trustee’s vanity, that he was proving a fascinating companion, and one moreover whose company she welcomed wholeheartedly, though she persisted in her refusal to seek him out at any time. The wry thought intruded that this made her unique amongst the present company, the feminine part that is, because even Sophia shyly invited his presence with her eyes, but Marianne had her own theory as to why Sophia preferred Justin’s company.

When the hotly contested card game eventually broke up, Lord Andrew rose and stretched his arms behind his back to relieve the cramped muscles, then strolled over to the long windows which gave onto the rose garden. He twitched the drape aside and stood studying the sky for a moment.