The Impossible Ward (3 page)

“Never!”

The ejaculation, uttered in throbbing accents of pure rage, quivered in the still air. They had paused under the spreading branches of a large beech tree and the girl’s face was partially shadowed, but he was shocked by a suggestion of glittering eye and flaring nostrils.

“My dear Lady Marianne...” he began in reasonable accents.

“Don’t call me that!” She turned on him, her body rigid, fists clenched at her sides. Only her face was alive with fury. “My father saw fit to ignore my very existence for twenty-two years. Well, now I choose to ignore the fact of his death. How can I mourn a man of whose existence I was totally unaware? I am completely satisfied with my life as it is. I thank you and your mother for your kind invitation but I must decline to leave my grandfather. Good-bye, Lord Lunswick.”

She would have left him on the words, the milk entirely forgotten, had not Justin grabbed her arm. He was angry at her rude behavior but, having glimpsed the pain underlying her fury, he controlled his own reaction with difficulty and answered quietly:

“He did not ignore your existence, you know. This charming property was purchased for you by your father. He has always provided for your comfort.”

At these words the girl ceased her struggles to remove her arm from his steely grip and stood motionless, her color fading.

“Do you mean to say my grandfather does not own the farm?”

“You own the farm.”

Her face had regained its earlier cold impassivity but he thought he detected a shade of relief. He guessed shrewdly that she now felt herself in a stronger position to refuse his request, and knew an instant’s malicious impulse to puncture her complacence by telling her just how much control his position of trustee gave him over her actions; but something of her unhappiness touched him and he decided to postpone any further discussion until she had come to grips with the fact of her father’s willful desertion.

“I must see your grandfather while I am here. I intended speaking to him before seeking you, but the old woman who opened the door said he was not to be disturbed when he fell asleep in his study.”

She did not miss the dryness of his tones. At mention of the servant some slight flicker of something—amusement perhaps—softened her expression fleetingly, but he was well aware of the reluctance with which she invited him to dine with them, despite her civil words. For the first time since their unpropitious meeting he found he was enjoying himself. He brushed aside her apologies for a meager meal, asserting suavely that he well understood the country custom of dining at midday and had consequently partaken very liberally at a good posting house earlier in the day. She lowered her gaze hastily and began walking toward the house, but not before he had glimpsed the disappointment therein.

“She’d enjoy seeing me go hungry,” he realized with grim humor, “or seeing me discomfitted in any fashion whatever.”

* * *

Later, alone in a charming small drawing room, dimly but cozily lit by a crackling fire and two branches of candles, Justin had ample time to reflect on the rather harrowing events of the past hour as he waited for his hosts to join him for supper. In a way, his meeting with the old gentleman had been almost as difficult as the earlier collision with the granddaughter, but at least with the grandfather there had been none of the latent animosity thinly veiled with chill politeness shown him by the girl. Indeed Mr. O’Doyle’s gentle countenance had expressed pleasure as he welcomed their guest with real though absentminded cordiality when his granddaughter had tenderly roused him from his peaceful doze in his study. Justin had followed her into the room, blandly ignoring her ill-concealed annoyance. For some reason as yet dimly perceived, he had preferred not to allow them any private conversation before the introduction was performed. Their entrance had not roused Mr. O’Doyle, who had evidently fallen asleep as he sat reading in a wing chair by the fireplace. In the brief time that elapsed while Lady Marianne removed the book from the slackened grasp and gently shook her grandfather’s shoulder, Justin realized that Mr. O’Doyle was quite a small man; indeed, his slight form was rendered insignificant by the noble proportions of the crimson-brocaded chair. The initial picture of great age and fragility was shattered beyond recall, however, when he opened a pair of deep blue eyes, instantly alert, and made even more vital as a contrast to an abundance of silky white curls and bushy gray brows. His smile for his granddaughter was a blend of mischief and apology as he arched his neck and stiff shoulders.

“You were correct as usual, my dear. I was tired and would have done better to lie down upon my bed. Now I am paying for falling asleep in such an uncomfortable position.” The blue eyes fell on the expectant young man and turned back to the girl with a question in their depths.

“This is the marquess of Lunswick, Grandpere. He was a friend of my father’s.”

“Oh, dear!” The amiable countenance wrinkled in thunderstruck consternation, and the old gentleman leaped so awkwardly to his feet that it was necessary for him to accept his granddaughter’s supporting arm for a few seconds until he had steadied himself. The girl’s utter calmness aided him in regaining his own composure, but anxiety lingered as he grasped both her hands and said urgently:

“He wrote to me and I meant to have a talk with you about your father before his arrival, my dearest child, but I put it off and put it off, and now see what has happened. Did he tell you about Perry’s death?”

The marquess had been standing silent but intently observant and now ventured, “Yes, I fear I have given Lady Marianne a rude shock, and I must apologize for my ill-timed arrival, but may I offer by way of extenuation the assurance that had I the least idea how matters stood, I should not have approached her before speaking to you, sir.”

The old man made a slight mechanical gesture accepting and dismissing this specious apology and, as his granddaughter had before him, echoed hesitantly, “Lady Marianne?”

Justin noted the expression of weary sorrow before it was slowly replaced by interest in himself, as the old man extended his hand in a surprisingly firm clasp and raked his unexpected guest with an estimating, and the younger man was convinced, extremely discerning eye. He said with simple courtesy:

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lunswick. May I offer sincere apologies for the nature of your welcome? I hope you will pardon an old man’s lapse of memory. You will of course remain to share our repast.” He glanced at his granddaughter, accepting her slight nod as confirmation, and proceeded to offer his guest some quite tolerable sherry.

If Justin had expected to hold a private conversation with Mr. O’Doyle before dining, he was foiled by Lady Marianne who had remained with them for a few minutes before drawing her grandfather away to change. Now as he stared thoughtfully into the flames in the fireplace his lip curled with amused contempt as he considered her tactics. Obviously she had no intention of allowing him to discuss his plan to remove her to Somerset before she had made her own objections known to her grandfather. Well, much good it would do her in the long run. If the old man should prove obstructive, he held the winning card in his control of her assets. Not that he desired to use coercion on a man with whom he already felt an instinctive rapport. Mr. O’Doyle struck him as being a genuinely likable person. It was otherwise with his granddaughter however. He stirred and kicked a log with unacknowledged irritation. Never had he met a less prepossessing female! It was not that she was particularly ill-favored. Frowning in concentration, he attempted to bring her features before his mind’s eye with minimal success. All he could recall was that she was dark skinned, which must be reckoned a serious flaw, and dark haired, what he had seen of it, for she had worn a concealing cap. In fact all her dark drab clothing had better served the purpose of concealing than enhancing any claims to good looks that she might possess. Of course she had been working when he met her. No doubt her appearance would be considerably improved when she joined them for supper. He devoutly hoped her attitude would have undergone a similar change for the better, for he found her calm impassivity singularly disaffecting.

However when Lady Marianne reappeared, Justin’s optimistic prophecies were both found to have been based on wishful thinking. Certainly she had made an evening toilette, but any overall improvement in her appearance was too slight to be of any significance. She was still depressingly garbed in black, this time in a heavy, stiff silk gown, shiny from wear, which would have proclaimed its venerable age had not the outmoded style made that distinction redundant. Another cap, of yellowed lace and muslin this time, unbecomingly covered all of her hair except right in the front where the dark hair grew from a point in the center of her forehead. His eyes ran over her measuringly and he sighed silently. Scrawny as a plucked crow! As his assessing glance met hers for an instant, he would have taken his oath that her dark eyes were filled with a sort of triumphant mockery and his own narrowed thoughtfully, but he kept his expression blandly civil and offered his arm to lead her into another small but lovely apartment where a plain though beautifully prepared meal awaited them.

They were served by a very young girl who appeared nervously fascinated by the presence of a noble guest. At one point she dropped a plate of vegetables and was only prevented from going off into tears by Lady Marianne’s quelling look and calm words. As she fumblingly cleared away the mess of spilled peas, Justin smiled comfortingly and the girl’s comely face brightened. He missed the faint surprise that fleetingly animated his hostess’ deliberately aloof features.

Though the game pie he was eating would rank among the best he had ever tasted, the evening as a social event was destined to be memorable only for the air of discomfort that his practiced ease of manner could do nothing to dispel. He maintained a determined flow of polite conversation, intermittently aided by Mr. O’Doyle, who was pleasant but inclined to go off into periodic reveries. The girl contributed as little as bare civility would permit. At first he wondered if she might be suffering from a disabling shyness which could not be wondered at, living retired as she likely did, but after a thoroughly exasperating hour of attempting to set her at her ease and draw her into the conversation, he came to the uncharitable conclusion that she suffered from nothing save an unreasonable dislike of himself and an ill-natured determination to resist all of his conversational overtures.

This conclusion received unneeded support when they removed to the drawing room for coffee and port. Justin broached the subject of his visit, addressing his conversation entirely to Mr. O’Doyle. Now the wretched girl decided to enter the discussion. In a voice in which Justin thought he detected a touch of bravado, she said:

“I have already told Grandpere of your mother’s kind invitation and he agrees with me that it will not do. I am needed on the farm and Grandpere is not well enough to be left alone. Perhaps at some other...”

“Marianne!”

At the gentle rebuke in Mr. O’Doyle’s voice the girl’s hands became very still on the coffeepot. A faint hint of color appeared in her cheeks and she kept her eyes down. Justin waited.

“I shall miss you very much, my child, but I feel strongly that you should at least sample the life your father’s position entitles you to lead before making any great renunciation. Clara will take good care of me and there is nothing wrong with my health except that I am no longer a young man.”

Justin had leaned forward unconsciously and he caught his breath at the full impact of misery in the girl’s overbright eyes as she raised them imploringly to her grandfather’s face. She said nothing, merely pleading with those huge dark eyes. The old man swallowed with difficulty. His elderly, rather angelic face mirrored his deep love, but his voice was quietly insistent.

“You must go, my child. Give it a fair chance.”

She rose to her feet then, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. “Very well, Grandpere. I will do as you wish. If you will excuse me, Lord Lunswick, I ... I have a slight headache. With your permission, Grandpere, I’ll retire.”

Despite his basic hostility toward the girl, Justin was moved to compassion by the husky note in her voice and the memory of the naked misery he would not have credited to such an apparently cold-natured girl. Now as she bent to kiss her grandfather good-night, he strolled to the door and opened it for her. She kept her eyes averted as the silk whispered its way across the room, but he prevented her from slipping quickly out by extending his hand and wishing her good night. After an instant’s hesitation she placed her hand rather reluctantly in his and said stonily, “Good night, my lord.”

When her eyes met his, Justin received his second shock in as many minutes, not so much at the excess of antipathy contained therein, but at the astonishing evidence that the eyes he had assumed brown or even black in the shaded glare of the sunset and across a large dimly lit table, were, in actual fact, a deep intense blue with a hint of purple in their depths. What’s more, they were set in a veritable forest of thick black lashes. If it had not been for their antagonistic expression he would have had no hesitation in declaring them supremely beautiful. He stood almost hypnotized, unaware that his grip on her hand had tightened involuntarily until she pulled hers away abruptly and disappeared up the stairs. She did not glance back at the man staring after her with a thoughtful frown causing a line to deepen between his brows.

Only when she was well out of sight did he turn to rejoin his host in the drawing room, and only then did he allow an expression of mild triumph to reign.