The Impossible Ward Page 11
“There, that’s the lot!”
Marianne heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief and stretched her cramped muscles, thankfully accepting the aid of a strong arm in struggling to her feet.
“Do you think he’ll be all right now? He seems so weak, poor little thing.” She stood staring compassionately down at the now still body.
“He’ll do once we’ve seen to cleaning him up and having basilicum salve put on the worst patches. He’s young but I daresay he’s learned a valuable lesson. If you’ll allow me to assist you in mounting, Ma’am, I’ll hand him up to you until I’m mounted myself, then I’ll take him again.”
This exercise was accomplished with a nice precision, thanks to the pup’s weary acceptance of his fate, and now the two riders took stock of each other.
“Thank you very much for your timely assistance, Ma’am. I could not have managed him alone,” he said frankly. “I fear it has grown quite dark while we labored, so you must allow me to escort you to your home.” He executed a graceful half-bow despite his burden and continued, “Allow me to present myself. I am—”
“Lord Andrew Raymond, unless my eyes have deceived me, and I’ll wager we are heading in the same direction, my lord.”
“You know me?”
The young man had been gazing at his companion with frank admiration. Now his blue eyes widened with surprise for a moment, but he said with great firmness, “No, we have not met. Never tell me I could have forgotten such an event.”
Marianne laughed at the unsubtle compliment and assured him cheerfully, “No, of course we have not, but you are very like your brother, you, know.”
And indeed Lord Andrew Raymond was a younger edition of the marquess, with the same lithe athletic build and streaky gold hair. Like his brother he was the happy possessor of a classic nose and slightly cleft chin with sun-bronzed skin, but this Raymond had inherited his mother’s bright blue eyes, made even more spectacular by his coloring.
As she returned his assessing look with one of her own, he grinned engagingly, thereby dispelling the sense of twinship with his brother. Marianne wondered with an inexplicable pang if the marquess had looked just so boyishly open and friendly before that cynical smile had become part of him.
“You have the advantage of me, I apprehend, Ma’am, since I have the misfortune to look like my brother, while you, I feel certain, are an original, resembling no one else on earth.”
Marianne threw herself into the spirit from whence came this theatrical speech, arranging her features in a pathetic cast. “Alas, sir, it is but too sadly true. I am an orphan with neither sister nor brother to succor me. It quite sinks my spirits.” She bowed her head.
“An orphan and going in my direction? I have it!” Suddenly Lord Andrew snapped his fingers, causing the dog lying across his saddle to pick up his ears briefly before lapsing once more into lethargy. “You must be Perry’s daughter, the girl Justin inherited.”
“You make me sound like a pocket watch or some such thing,” she protested smilingly, “but your surmise is correct, Lord Andrew. I am Marianne Carstairs. Was Lady Lunswick expecting you today?”
“Mama? No. I was at Chestnut Hill, my estate, you know, checking on things for the winter when I took a sudden decision to come home early.”
“You have no baggage? You travel light, my lord.”
“I sent my man along earlier today with my gear, enough for a nice long visit,” he replied with an innocent air. “Was that not foresighted of me?”
Marianne shook her head in amusement, declining to follow his flirtatious lead. The marquess’ young brother certainly did not lack audacity, but already she felt quite easy in his company and liked him for his calm efficient action regarding the dog. By the time the stables were in sight, they were chatting together like old friends.
Lord Andrew insisted on escorting Marianne to the main entrance, promising to lead her horse back to the stables since he wished to make arrangements for the dog in any case.
“You go in and prepare Mama for the return of the prodigal son, Lady Marianne. Tell her I expect the fatted calf.”
So Marianne went in, smiling at his nonsense, to seek out her hostess which was not a difficult task. She found Lady Lunswick bouncing with anticipation, prowling about in the Great Hall so as not to miss her son’s arrival. She looked up and smiled brilliantly at her young guest.
“Marianne! The most marvelous thing! Andrew is come home, at least his baggage has arrived and I expect him momentarily.”
“I know it, Ma’am. I have just left Lord Andrew this moment. He will be here in a trice.”
“You have met my son? But how is this?”
Lady Lunswick listened attentively to Marianne’s tale of the encounter in the spinney, nodding in absent agreement when the girl described her first glimpse of the youngest Raymond.
“Yes, they are very like, and Harry and Justin were as two peas in a pod, of course. All my sons seemed to be stamped from the same mold.”
Marianne smiled sympathetically at the unconscious maternal pride in the older woman’s voice.
“And a very nice mold it is too, Ma’am,” she twinkled.
“Naughty girl!” laughed her hostess. “Overfond mamas are a type with which I have no patience.” She spoiled the effect of this firm pronouncement by adding compulsively, “But they are rather splendid, are they not? It is not simply my partiality?”
Marianne solemnly reassured her on this point and Lady Lunswick’s dimples deepened. “You are roasting me, my dear child, but never mind. You shall see how our state shall improve. We have grown sadly dull this past week with the uncertain weather, but any house containing Andrew can expect to be alive with interest. Things just seem to happen when he is around.”
Just then a mild commotion was heard at the door and she broke off what she was saying to dart forward, throwing her arms around her son’s neck as he entered. He staggered momentarily, then lifted her clean off her feet and swung her around, grinning wickedly.
“Still on your dignity, I see, Mama.”
“Andrew, you wretch,” she scolded, “put me down this instant.”
He meekly complied with this maternal command, but not before dropping a butterfly kiss on her nose while lowering one eyelid in the suspicion of a wink directed at Marianne who was watching appreciatively. Suddenly she was as firmly convinced as the marchioness that Lord Andrew’s presence in the Hall would indeed insure against any gathering ennui.
The difference in the atmosphere of the well-run household was apparent in the breakfast parlor the next morning. Marianne entered to find Lord Andrew the only occupant, industriously doing full justice to a gargantuan repast while Coleman anxiously hovered over him, possibly laboring : under the delusion that the younger son of the house fasted between visits. He pressed platters of ham and cold roast beef upon the victim of encroaching starvation, his anxious expression lightening only upon a repeated assurance that Lord Andrew would be delighted to partake of these offerings when he had made room on his plate by finishing several of the eggs that reposed temporarily thereon. Marianne, who had frequently undertaken the Herculean task of providing a sustaining meal for her old friend Jack Richmond, was less awed by the spectacle of a healthy young, man consuming enormous quantities of food than intrigued by Coleman’s obvious concern. Ever the perfect butler, in the month of her residence at the Hall, he had not, to her certain knowledge, betrayed his calling by permitting so much as a flicker of emotion to cross his craggy countenance whatever the provocation. She had wondered idly whether, in the unlikely event of someone’s having the temerity to stick him with a pin, he would bleed at all, though firmly convinced that any necessary blood would be shed with unmoved calm. Now, having discovered the younger Raymond son to be his Achilles’ heel, she murmured a response to Lord Andrew’s cheerful greeting but fixed her interested gaze upon Coleman, who at once held out her chair, his features again composed in their habitual wooden cast. This did not change as she w
ished him a bright good morning, but undaunted by his imperturbable reply, she smiled at him rather saucily as he presented silver-covered dishes with the air of one performing a thankless task. Despite his expressionless mien, Lady Lunswick and Marianne were never left in any doubt of his opinion of females who, in the face of the best efforts of the chef, preferred to do no more than drink coffee and nibble at a piece of toast in the morning.
Formality not having survived the hilarious dinner meal the previous evening, Lord Andrew had merely paused between mouthfuls to issue a cheerful, “Hallo, Marianne,” but she had no expectation of receiving his full attention until the inner man had been replenished, so she applied herself to her own breakfast after a smiling greeting. As she pushed aside her plate and allowed Coleman to pour another cup of coffee, however, her companion tore his eyes from his plate long enough to demand incredulously:
“Is that all you are going to eat, one paltry slice of toast?”
Marianne thought she detected a slight pursing of the butler’s lips as he left the room. She serenely informed her companion that her breakfast was sufficient for her requirements.
He eyed her thoughtfully. “Women have some dashed queer notions, starving themselves to stay thin. A few more pounds wouldn’t hurt you any.”
She took this advice in good part, merely reminding him that she had made an excellent meal the night before. “Have no fear that I am headed for a decline, but I find I need less food here than on the farm where I was used to be much more physically active.”
“How about riding with me this morning?”
“If your mother can spare me I should like that, thank you.”
Lady Lunswick had entered the breakfast parlor as they spoke and now replied that she could certainly spare Marianne. “I know it chafes you to ride always with a groom, my dear child. You will enjoy your rides in Andrew’s company much more.”
Guilty color rose in her guest’s cheeks, but as she opened her lips to confess that she had evaded her groom the previous day, Lord Andrew came to her rescue..
“That’s a vastly fetching cap, Mama. Whom are you trying to dazzle?”
She dimpled at his teasing. “I ordered a new supply the last time Marianne and I were in Bath. They arrived yesterday.” She waved away the platter Coleman was presenting to her. “Just bread and butter please, and not a word from you, Andrew,” she stated firmly. “I shall not be bullied into eating more than I like.”
Marianne smiled at Andrew’s rueful grimace. Evidently this scene had been played many times before. Coleman, impassive as ever, had departed, expressing his disapproval only by the rigid set of his shoulders.
“By the way, Marianne, I saw our patient when I visited the stables earlier this morning. You’ll be pleased to hear he is one hundred percent improved, frisking around making an absolute nuisance of himself among the stable hands. They were not thanking me for adding him to the household.”
“Nuisance!” laughed Marianne. “The name suits him; but I am relieved to hear he is better. That was a horrid experience for the poor creature.”
“May I bring him to see you, Mama?” asked her son casually.
The marchioness eyed him warily. “Andrew, I will not have an untrained dog brought into the house. Be assured that if the grooms do not care for his antics the house servants will be even less amenable to his disturbing presence.”
“Oh, I just meant to bring him so you might see what a professional job Marianne and I made of his injuries,” he said hastily.
As Marianne excused herself to change to her riding dress, she heard her hostess reiterating that the dog was not to stay in the house.
“Of course not, Mama, just for a visit,” agreed Lord Andrew.
Less than fifteen minutes elapsed before Marianne returned, running lightly down the back staircase that was the more direct route to the breakfast parlor. She peeked into this apartment but found it deserted. Before she could turn toward the main hall, however, her ears were assailed by a series of sharp excited barks and, repressing a smile at what she strongly suspected to be Lord Andrew’s customary promptness in pursuing an advantage, pushed open the door to Lady Lunswick’s morning room. And now the smile could not be suppressed at the scene that unfolded before her appreciative eyes. Their late victim, apparently unaware of the standard of behavior expected of canine visitors, was planted firmly in front of the marchioness resisting all her entreaties that he release the workbag he held in his teeth. Several skeins of rainbow-colored silk lay about in a wild tangle, the colorful results of earlier attempts to separate him from his prey.
“You abominable dog, you will ruin that bag!” Lady Lunswick protested, scolding distractedly as she tried to retrieve the various items from the floor. Bag in mouth, the pup paused with head to one side and tail furiously wagging to indicate his enthusiasm for the fine sport being offered by the lady addressing herself to him. He dropped the bag to bark his appreciation but seized it again before Lady Lunswick could reach it. She stamped her foot in frustration and directed a quelling look at her son who was too overcome with mirth to be of any use.
“Drop it, sir!” commanded Marianne in a no-nonsense voice as she advanced on the culprit after laying down her gloves and whip on the mantelpiece. Pleased to welcome another participant into his game, the pup wagged his tail even more furiously and offered one end of the bag to the newcomer for a session of tug-of-war. She ignored this in favor of scooping him up bodily.
“Bad dog! Drop it I say!”
Perhaps it was surprise at this new turn of events or something in his captor’s tone, but the dog complied meekly with this order and ventured to lick Marianne’s hand ingratiatingly as she placed the workbag up on the mantelpiece before setting him down again.
“No, do not think to win me over, sir; your behavior is disgraceful,” the girl said sternly, turning her back on him to begin winding up a strand of yellow silk before giving it to Lady Lunswick, who had paused in this endeavor and was examining the needlepoint bag for damages. “I don’t think he has harmed it, Ma’am,” Marianne offered.
“And look, Mama, he is attempting to make amends,” added her unhelpful son, indicating the dog who, very willing to participate in this new game, was holding out to his harassed hostess a tangled red skein with the air of one always eager to be of assistance.
“You are aptly named, Nuisance,” she declared tartly, accepting the silk and removing his paw from her green skirt.
He woofed softly, ingratiatingly, and tentatively placed another paw on her skirt.
“He’s apologizing, Mama.”
“And well he should,” retorted his mother, unmollified, though Marianne noted that she was absentmindedly scratching behind the dog’s ear while she rated Lord Andrew for introducing a barbarian into her house.
“He will soon learn to mend his ways, Mama. Only see how intelligently he is regarding you.”
At this point the intelligent hound gave a weary sigh and succumbed into a heap, comfortably establishing his head against one of Lady Lunswick’s slippers. This elicited a spontaneous chuckle from her, but she argued, “He is the stupidest creature in the universe and do not think, Andrew, that he shall be allowed to remain in the house. I shudder to contemplate the havoc he would wreak in the kitchens or butler’s pantry. You must remove him to the stables when you go out.”
“Of course, Mama, but he’ll sleep for a good while now. The horses have been waiting out front.” He blazed a smile at his parent and wheedled, “Shall I get him when we return?” Marianne intervened hastily, “What kind of dog is he? I do not recognize the breed.”
Lady Lunswick emitted a sound that was dangerously close to an unladylike snort.
Lord Andrew laughed. “His ancestry won’t bear looking into I fear. He’s a rank commoner but good-natured and definitely intelligent.”
This last was addressed to his mother who had snorted disbelievingly again, but she looked amused also and urged them to run along.
Marianne settled her charming black beaver more firmly on her head, gathered her crop and gloves from the mantel and preceded Lord Andrew to the main entrance where a groom held their horses.
“Should we leave Nuisance inside, do you think? You would not wish to cause your mother any annoyance, and there is no denying he is unfit for a house dog as yet.”
Andrew’s grin was conspiratorial. “Mama adores dogs, indeed all small animals. She has not had a special pet since old Bess died last winter. She will be most happy with Nuisance.”
“Happy?” Marianne’s silky brows mounted dramatically, but Lord Andrew merely laughed.
“Wait and see,” he promised as he tossed the girl up into the saddle, then mounted his big chestnut, nodding dismissal to the patient groom.
As they headed down the carriage drive he ran an experienced eye over the black. “He’s a prime young ’un all right, and built for speed if I’m any judge.”
Marianne proudly patted the silky mane of her favorite, thrilled as a fond mama at praise for her child. “Ebony is an absolute darling and the smoothest ride imaginable, aren’t you, old boy!” The neat black pricked up his ears and tossed his head.
Andrew chuckled. “And likes compliments obviously. Did you bring him with you?”
“Oh no, your ... that is, Lord Lunswick selected him for me before he left for London.”
“There’s no one with a better eye for a horse than Justin. How do you two get on together?”
There was the tiniest pause, then Marianne said casually, “I told you, marvelously. Ebony is a perfect mount.”