The Impossible Ward Page 15

  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.

  “The stars are very bright tonight,” he tossed over his shoulder before wandering back to the center of the room. “It is my guess it will stay clear for a while now, so we may get in some riding at last.”

  “Oh, delightful!” cried Lady Mauraugh enthusiastically. “I have not been on horseback since I arrived. Do say we might ride tomorrow, Justin.” The green-eyed beauty smiled at her host, confident of her powers of persuasion.

  “Of course, Aurelie. I think we’d all welcome the opportunity of a good ride. Marianne, I have yet to see you put Ebony through his paces. Would you like to ride tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I’d love to.”

  The gentlemen agreed that an outing was a splendid idea, and the earl and Miss Carstairs were easily persuaded to join the riding party.

  “And you will come too, will you not, Sophie?” coaxed Marianne with a smile for her friend.

  “Oh, no! I mean, I thank you but I beg you will hold me excused.”

  “Oh come, Sophie, be a sport,” said Andrew in wheedling tones. “I’ll see you get a nice placid mount. Gretel will carry you in armchair comfort. You’ll enjoy it.”

  Painful color surged to the young girl’s cheeks but she kept her eyes on Marianne. “Another time perhaps. There were things I planned to do tomorrow.”

  “Why not join the party, my dear,” inse
rted her father genially. “You’ve been cooped up inside for the better part of a sennight.”

  Mrs. Huntingdon, after a swift glance at her daughter’s face and a speaking look for her husband, apologized gracefully for having already committed Sophia to some parish plans for the morrow. She began to make her thanks for a delightful evening, and the Huntingdons departed shortly thereafter. Once they had agreed on a time for the riding party, the earl and Miss Carstairs also took their leave.

  Marianne turned to Lord Andrew. “Did Sophia never enjoy riding then, Andrew?”

  “She was used to come with us on occasion. It is not that she rides badly, only that she tires more quickly than most.”

  “Oh, then I apprehend she feared to hold us back tomorrow. We must plan a nice easy ride soon.”

  “Yes, but not tomorrow,” said the countess gaily. “I am longing for a good gallop on Diamond.”

  “Is that the white mare you brought with you?” inquired Lord Andrew with interest.

  “Yes. Is she not beautiful? Justin selected her for me last year.”

  Involuntarily Marianne’s eyes flew from Lady Mauraugh’s smiling countenance to her trustee’s face, but she could read nothing there. She realized suddenly how very tired she was and was deeply thankful that the marchioness suggested an early night for the riding party.

  The sunshine streaming through her window next morning confirmed Lord Andrew’s weather prophecy. A combination of welcome sunshine and pleasurable anticipation lent spring to her movements. With the maid’s help she coiled her heavy black hair low on her neck to make room for the dashing black-plumed beaver hat. She paused for an instant to admire the snowy frills at her wrists and throat, and accepted her gloves and crop from the maid with a smile.

  The party assembled at the main entrance scarcely ten minutes past the appointed hour, except for the countess who arrived just late enough for everyone to be mounted. She trilled a breathless apology and all eyes turned to survey the picture she made in her light blue riding dress, daringly styled a la Hussar with navy braided trim. The large hat in a matching navy blue with three curling white ostrich plumes set off her red-gold curls to perfection. Sir Martin dismounted to take the groom’s place in assisting her to mount and was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

  Lord Andrew, mounted beside his brother’s large bay, noted the marquess’ attention on the three ladies of the party who were clustered together, waiting while the groom adjusted Lady Mauraugh’s stirrup. He drawled lazily:

  “What would you wager on the chance of assembling three more beautiful females in one spot at the same time?”

  “Not a groat,” was the prompt reply.

  “All so different too,” mused Andrew, pursuing his theme. “Miss Carstairs sparkles with vitality, looking like a woodland creature herself in that leaf-green color. My Aunt Aurelie is of course the very embodiment of classical perfection, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Oh, indubitably.”

  “And then there is Marianne. How can one characterize Marianne in a few well-chosen words?” He paused to consider, but the marquess spoke first.

  “Beauty without artifice,” he suggested quietly, his eyes on his ward’s face as she acknowledged a remark of Sir Martin’s with a quick appreciative smile.

  “Very good, Justin,” approved his brother. “You have hit her off exactly. Marianne practices none of the usual female tricks on a fellow. A very comfortable girl to have around, do you not agree?” Whether the little smile on his brother’s lips signified agreement or not was left unspecified as the party began moving off. At first they kept more or less together, going at a slow pace and chatting amongst themselves, but this tame activity quickly palled on Lord Andrew.

  “Marianne!” he called imperatively. “Let’s go!”

  The girl needed no urging. She let Ebony have his head and the two rapidly left the laggards behind.

  Lady Mauraugh was cantering beside the marquess, whose eyes were trained on the flying figures far ahead.

  “Your ward rides very well, though her style is perhaps not best suited to Hyde Park,” she remarked sweetly.

  “You ride well yourself and your style is suited to the Park.”

  “Do you remember the wonderful rides we used to have, Justin?”

  “I remember everything,” was the cryptic rejoinder. “Shall we give the horses some real exercise now?”

  He turned to include the rest of the party in the invitation and soon they were all galloping over the hilly field. They caught up with Lord Andrew and Lady Marianne where they awaited them beside a gurgling stream. After the horses had drunk, the party moved off again, more slowly this time through a delightful stretch of trees whose bare branches allowed the sun’s warming rays to penetrate. The ranks had shifted again and now the earl and the marquess rode slightly ahead with Lady Marianne.

  “Justin!”

  At Andrew’s imperative call the three riders turned and saw a scene of confusion behind them. Sir Martin appeared to be supporting the collapsed figure of Lady Mauraugh with one arm while he controlled his own horse. Lord Andrew had the reins of the white horse, but his attention was on Miss Carstairs who was attempting to bring her horse under control again. Evidently he had taken exception to something on the path and was rearing.

  The marquess, reacting immediately, galloped back, leaving the others to follow within seconds.

  “What happened?” He brought Mountain right up to Miss Carstairs’ mount, leaving Andrew free to give Diamond’s reins to Sir Martin who was still supporting the countess. Lord Andrew jumped down and received the hatless figure into his arms a moment before his brother felt it safe to leave the excitable gray Miss Carstairs was riding.

  Lady Mauraugh was indicating that she was able to stand, but it was Sir Martin who answered the marquess’ question in a voice full of puzzlement.

  “She must not have seen that low hanging branch because she rode right into it.”

  The countess was standing unaided now except for Andrew’s arm. One gloved hand was rubbing the back of her head lightly. Her color was good but she winced slightly at the touch and laughed shakily, “I don’t know how I can have been so stupid. I fear I was wool-gathering.”

  The marquess removed her hand and gently explored her scalp with his own fingers. “Thank heavens the skin is not broken and there is merely a very slight swelling. Is there much pain?” he inquired, looking concernedly into the green eyes.

  “No, at least just a very little, less than I deserve perhaps.” She glanced round at the others apologetically. “I am so sorry to spoil your ride with this stupid accident. Please do go on. Justin will see me home.”

  “Yes, of course. Are you able to ride?” On receiving an affirmative answer, the marquess lifted her into the saddle amidst a chorus of comments from the others to the effect that they should all return together.

  “Oh, please!” Lady Mauraugh looked distressed.

  “I should feel much worse if I thought I had curtailed everyone’s pleasure. Please do go on.”

  “I have had enough riding for today,” declared Miss Carstairs. “I’ll come along with you, my lord, in the event Lady Mauraugh becomes faint.”

  He smiled his approval at her. Lady Mauraugh’s lips compressed.

  “Really, I shall be quite all right with Justin,” she protested strongly. “I shall feel I have ruined your morning.”

  “No need of that,” Lord Andrew declared bracingly. “The air has grown more chill in the last half hour. It is time for all the ladies to return to the Hall for a welcome cup of coffee.”

  During this exchange Marianne had dismounted and retrieved Lady Mauraugh’s hat from the path. Evidently that had been the object that had frightened Claire’s mount. Back in the saddle, she was brushing the dirt from the white plumes when Claire edged close and said for her ears alone, “The only pain her ladyship is suffering at the moment is disappointment that her scheme failed in its object.”

  The violet eyes
widened and studied her cousin’s face, alight with malicious amusement. “What are you saying?”

  “That she deliberately rode into that branch, o£ course, so she might lure Lord Lunswick away from the party.”