The Impossible Ward (14 page)

Despite her preoccupation with her duties, Lady Lunswick was aware of her guest’s efforts and she was generous in expressing her appreciation as the ladies drank tea in the blue and gold saloon while awaiting the arrival of Lady Mauraugh and the little earl.

“Is this the first Christmas you have spent away from your grandfather, my dear child?” she inquired.

“Yes, Ma’am. I have never been away from him before.” For a moment she blinked furiously to hold back the sudden silly tears. “But I love being here with you. And I know Grandpere is enjoying his stay at the rectory. I had a most reassuring communication from him only yesterday. Still it seems so ... strange to think I shall not see him at Christmas...” Her voice trailed off at this point and her sympathetic hostess attempted to give her thoughts a happier direction by describing the activities that centered around the Hall during the Christmas season. She said finally:

“I am sorry, dear child, that the trip to Somerset was thought to be too much for your grandfather at this time of year. You know I’d have been delighted to welcome him here. Much as I would have regretted your absence at this holiday I’d have allowed you to return to Yorkshire, had it been my decision to make, but it is Justin, you know, who is responsible for your actions. It is most unfortunate that he has been delayed so long in London. When I first mentioned your desire to be with your grandfather he made me promise not to make any travel arrangements for you until his removal from Town.”

Out of deference to her hostess, Marianne kept her opinion of her trustee’s high-handed assumption of authority over all her actions to herself, inquiring merely:

“Will Lord Lunswick be unable to return home for Christmas, Ma’am?”

“Good heavens, I trust I may count on Justin to arrive in good time.” The marchioness looked alarmed at the mere thought of her son’s absence, but just then Andrew poked his head around the double doorway leading to the hall.

“I hear carriage wheels, Mama. You will not wish to miss my Aunt Aurelie’s arrival, Marianne,” he said with a curious little smile. “She always travels in the first style of elegance. Come outside.”

Lady Lunswick rose with an air of decision. “I shall come, too, as Justin is not here to welcome them.”

“Take this shawl, Ma’am.” Marianne hastily pulled a soft white wool wrap from the back of a chair and placed it over Lady Lunswick’s shoulders.

Coleman had the huge door open and was already deploying his minions as the ladies reached the main entrance. Marianne gazed in fascination at the size and style of the entourage that was coming to a halt in front of the shallow steps. First to arrive was a smart traveling carriage drawn by a team of beautifully matched chestnuts that elicited an admiring gasp from Lord Andrew. The chaise itself was painted almost the same red-brown with shiny black wheels, trim, and center pole. A golden crest was emblazoned on the door panel. The rich gold-colored livery of the coachman was equally splendid. The second carriage now drawing up behind was obviously a job carriage and not to be compared with the first, but the massive amount of baggage strapped on behind and loaded in a precarious pile on the roof insured that it would not go unnoticed through the countryside. No less than three outriders accompanied the cortege.

Marianne was still assimilating the grandeur of the arrival when the door to the crested chaise opened, and the steps were let down. Immediately Coleman was tendering assistance to the widowed countess in descending, and now it was Marianne’s turn to emit an involuntary exclamation, but hers expressed as much surprise as admiration as she beheld the vision now bestowing her hand and a sweet smile on the butler before turning to greet her hostess.

“Is that your
aunt,
Andrew? How can this be? Why she is no older than I.”

Lord Andrew, after his first look at the horses, had concentrated his attention on Marianne and was openly enjoying her stunned reaction.

“Close your mouth, my girl. You are at present giving a splendid imitation of the village idiot. I see my Aunt Aurelie has made her customary first impression. You are not quite correct, by the by. She
is
older than you. She is four and twenty, the same age as your obedient servant. Do you find her moderately attractive?”

“Are you quite mad? She is the most beautiful creature I have ever clapped eyes on,” Marianne said flatly, and she turned to study the new arrival.

It was her coloring that created an immediate impression of rare beauty in those seeing Aurelie St. Claire for the first time. Masses of glorious red-gold hair were beautifully arranged beneath a leaf-green hat that deepened the green of long narrow eyes set at an intriguing slant in a face with a complexion of rose petal perfection. Nowhere had nature erred in assembling the various parts that made up the lovely countess. Delicately chiseled nose, beautifully shaped mouth, small perfect teeth, her face a classic oval—everything contributed to the exquisite whole. Her voice was just as lovely as her appearance as she eagerly greeted her hostess.

“Georgina, my dear sister, it is so lovely to see you again, and looking so well too. I hope you do not think me presumptuous in daring to address you thusly, but dear William always insisted that our close relationship overrode the difference in our ages.”

Marianne goggled, but the marchioness was equal to the occasion. She returned smile for smile.

“And William was quite correct as usual, my dear Aurelie. The similarity in our circumstances also wipes out artificial barriers.”

“Our circumstances?”

“Both widowed with our lives centered in our children,” replied Lady Lunswick sweetly, glancing from her sister-in-law to the open chaise. “Where is little Richard? Not too shy to come out and meet his aunt and cousin, I trust?”

Lady Mauraugh gave a tinkling laugh. “Oh, Richard is in the other chaise with his nurse who is absolutely devoted to him. Selwyn, my dresser, rode with me. I am such a poor traveler you are aware, dearest Georgina, and Selwyn knows how best to make me as comfortable as may be under the circumstances. Such terrible roads and scarcely decent accommodations en route, I declare my wretched head never ceased aching for an instant. So bad for the boy to see his mama out of frame, do you not agree? He was much happier traveling with Nurse.”

Lady Lunswick intervened hastily, hoping to forestall a recitation of the sufferings undergone by her delicate sister-in-law on the journey.

“You remember my son Andrew, Aurelie?”

“But of course. How very like Justin you have become, Andrew. Where is Justin, by the by? I have been longing to thank him for being such a support to me when dear William died.” She turned back to her hostess with a sadly sweet air. “He was all kindness and devotion. Indeed I scarcely know how I should have survived the initial ordeal without his sensitivity and understanding.”

Andrew smiled and said easily, “I am afraid you will have to postpone your thanks for the time being, Aunt. Justin is in London at present.”

“In London? At Christmas?” For an instant the countess looked absolutely taken aback and her well-modulated tones lost a trifle of their sweetness, but she dazzled a smile at Lord Andrew as he ceremoniously raised her gloved hand to his lips.

Marianne had been a silent spectator to the scene being unfolded, but now a faint, uncomfortable sensation she could not readily define ran down her spine, and she slanted a quick look at the lovely widow.

“We expect Justin any day now,” Lady Lunswick inserted smoothly, then determinedly drew attention to the silent girl at her side. “Allow me to present our houseguest, Lady Marianne Carstairs, Aurelie. The countess of Mauraugh, Marianne.”

The countess turned limpid green eyes in the younger girl’s direction that nevertheless summed her up in one swift glance. Marianne received the full benefit of that high-powered smile.

“How do you do, Lady Marianne. My sister wrote that Lord Melford had a daughter. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

And she probably was delighted, thought Marianne, as she murmured a conventional response. Knowing herself to be a nonpareil, those green eyes had taken everything in about Lord Melford’s daughter and dismissed her as competition. Immediately she was ashamed of the thought and rather appalled too at the direction her mind was taking with regard to the young widow. It was a relief to turn her attention to the other members of the party now assembling on the steps while Coleman deployed his troops in removing the awesome amount of baggage into the house.

A smallish stout woman with a pleasant face and an unbecoming puce bonnet holding tightly to the hand of a small boy as though to protect him was undoubtedly Nurse. A tall, spare, sour-faced creature clutching a large tooled leather jewel case must be Selwyn, who knew how to make her mistress comfortable, though one might be forgiven the suspicion that unless her nature belied her expression there could be little comfort in her presence. The little boy, now being presented to his aunt by his proud mama, held her sympathetic interest longest. He was the same age as Margery’s young son Jamie, but not nearly so sturdy-looking. Like his mother, he possessed a head full of red-gold curls and perfect skin, but the whiteness that so enhanced the countess’ fragile beauty was less appealing in a boy. In fact, Marianne’s thoughts were running along the lines of more outdoor activity and good nourishing food when it came her turn to meet Richard. The child offered his hand with unusual self-possession in one so young, and looked straight at her from candid blue eyes fringed with long lashes that put Marianne in mind of the marchioness. Those eyes must have come from his father, she concluded, as she returned Richard’s interested stare with a friendly smile. The smile widened as she observed his somewhat awed appraisal of his splendid cousin. Obviously he was more at ease among women but she suspected it was Lord Andrew he found most appealing.

There was to be no immediate opportunity to pursue the acquaintance, however, for the small party that presently assembled to take tea in the blue and gold saloon did not include the young earl. In response to Lady Lunswick’s invitation to her nephew to join his relatives, Richard’s parent had explained that Nurse felt strongly that the boy should be kept quiet for a time to recover from the journey.

“Richard is not so robust as I could wish,” she confided with a sweet wistful smile. “Although in general he enjoys good health, he quite often succumbs to infectious colds, particularly if he becomes fatigued or overexcited.”

Privately Marianne wondered how the taking of tea with his newfound relatives could be classed as an activity likely to overstimulate even the most delicate child, but of course his nurse and his mother must be allowed to know Richard’s constitution best.

Both Lady Lunswick and the countess possessed such superb social sense that the conversation then and later at dinner was never allowed to flag. The countess related all the news pertaining to any old friends of her sister-in-law who still resided in the locale of Castle Mauraugh. She touched lightly on the renovations currently in progress on the London establishment belonging to her late husband. Since the marchioness had married from this house she was most interested to hear the plans in greater detail. The evening passed most pleasantly. Though the two widows dominated the conversation they courteously included Lord Andrew and Marianne in everything, and Marianne, in any case, was quite content to listen quietly while she readjusted her ideas of widowed sisters-in-law and aunts to include quite young and staggeringly beautiful redheads. Andrew too was rather less loquacious than usual, seemingly more interested in listening than in initiating any conversation himself. Marianne was surprised to discover when they retired relatively early that she was more weary tonight than after the quite strenuous days that had preceded the arrival of their visitors. Only as she climbed tiredly into the inviting bed did it strike her that in the midst of a plethora of social chatter, no one had touched on any subject that might be construed as even slightly personal. Frowning a little, she tried to cast her mind back over the evening but found she could recall little that had transpired beyond a description of the new fabrics and wall coverings destined for the London residence of the lovely countess. It was slightly puzzling but she was too tired to conjecture, and in minutes was fast asleep.

CHAPTER NINE

The next day was spent fairly quietly by all. Marianne, despite her tiredness, had not passed a restful night. Vaguely menacing dreams had troubled her slumbers and she arrived in the breakfast parlor slightly heavy-eyed to find only her hostess at the table. She was frowning thoughtfully at the coffee cup in her hand when Marianne entered but looked up with a smile and an affectionate greeting. Judging from a glimpse of Coleman’s wooden countenance as she slipped into a chair, Marianne concluded that Lady Lunswick must have refused all offers of sustenance. She sighed slightly. Much as she hated to add to his burdens, she felt totally unable to cope with the butler’s idea of a light breakfast.

“Just coffee and toast please, Coleman,” she begged, and was greatly relieved when he accepted this without demur. She carefully avoided his censorious eye as he withdrew.

The marchioness chuckled. “Poor Coleman. We are a sad trial to him.” She inclined her head to one side and considered her guest. “You look slightly down pin this morning, my dear. Do you not feel quite the thing?”

Marianne hastily denied any symptoms and asked about the rest of the household.

“It seems Aurelie has not yet recovered from the effects of the journey. She sent word that she’ll be remaining in her room this morning and hopes to join us for lunch. Andrew breakfasted early and went off somewhere, so Coleman informs me.”

“And the boy?”

“In the nursery, I presume. Shall you object if we have him with us for luncheon since we are not expecting guests?”

“Of course not. He will soon grow bored with just the companionship of his nurse. He is probably a lonely child and will think it a treat to be in company.”

As it materialized, Lady Mauraugh joined her hostess and Marianne for lunch, but her son did not. She explained that Nurse felt it was not a good idea to push a child forward too much.

“Neither is it good for a child to be too much alone. He needs companionship,” said Lady Lunswick.

“You are quite right of course,” agreed her sister-in-law with her wistful smile. “I hope to find playmates for Richard among my acquaintances in London.”

“Meanwhile, after his evening meal his nurse may bring Richard to us for a visit before we dine.”

There was the slightest pause, then the countess smiled. “How very kind of you, Georgina. Richard will be delighted.”

And Richard had indeed been delighted to go amongst company, Marianne was recalling later as she slowly descended the great staircase after having excused herself to find some extra pins to secure her hair, which had come loose from its heavy coil. The weather that had remained cold but clear for over a sennight had rapidly worsened as the day wore on, limiting Richard’s walk with his nurse to a few tame turns about the shrubbery before lunch. Rain had begun shortly thereafter and had turned to snow before dusk had set in. For the past hour Lady Lunswick had been going from window to window bemoaning the fall and wondering aloud if Justin would be forced to lay up somewhere on his way from London. Richard had created a welcome diversion, coming sedately, into the room with Nurse. He had greeted everyone politely at Nurse’s bidding, lingering near his ,, mother to inquire anxiously if her head felt better. His mother had not been able to come and see him in the nursery, he informed the assembled company, because her head ached. Upon his mother’s reassurance that her head now felt fine, he smiled for the first time, revealing twin dimples like his aunt’s, and was easily persuaded to go to his cousin Andrew, whose large watch he proceeded to examine at some length. At Marianne’s suggestion he was allowed to go with her to visit Nuisance in the morning room, a visit subsequently enjoyed by all parties. Richard had been inclined to hang back timidly at first, but Nuisance’s friendly overtures were impossible to resist, and soon the child was laughing delightedly while the pup frisked about him. It was during this play time that repairs to her hairstyle had become imperative if Marianne was to dine at the same table as the exquisite countess.

She was halfway down the final flight when Coleman and a footman hastened to open the big door. A whirl of cold, damp air rushed in and with it the elder son of the family, accompanied by another gentleman. He had greeted Coleman and was laughingly allowing himself to be divested of a snow-covered greatcoat when he glanced up and caught sight of the silent girl on the staircase. She had no difficulty in recognizing the mocking smile that appeared presently, but for an instant there had been an unfamiliar gleam in his eye that had halted her progress on the stairs. The smile released her from this temporary paralysis.

“Good evening, Lord Lunswick,” she said quietly, continuing her descent.

He had strolled over to the staircase and now extended his hand to assist her needlessly in descending the last two steps. As his approving eyes summed up the picture she presented, Marianne knew a fleeting satisfaction that she was wearing the blue velvet gown she had coveted on that first trip to Madame Louise, and she met his look serenely.

Lord Lunswick spoke finally, lightly dispelling the enchantment of the unexpected meeting.

“What a very welcoming sight—a lovely lady to greet two weary travelers, eh, Martin?” Suavely he presented his companion to his ward. “Sir Martin Archer, Lady Marianne Carstairs.”

Sir Martin, who had been eyeing Marianne with flattering attention, blushed as she turned her eyes to him and stammered that he was her humble servant.

Marianne’s equally frank appraisal of the newcomer left her well-disposed in his favor. She smiled and extended her hand. Sir Martin, who appeared to be a year or two younger than Lord Lunswick, was of medium height and wiry build. His features were pleasantly unremarkable, but the light brown hair, brushed carefully careless in the popular Brutus style, and his very high, stiffly-starched shirt points surmounting a wide, complicated arrangement of his cravat proclaimed that Sir Martin aspired to moderate dandyism. Like his host he was neatly attired in light pantaloons, shining Hessians, and superbly cut-dark coat, but his waistcoat sported two fobs and a quizzing glass hung by a black ribbon about his neck.

Gently Marianne withdrew her hand from his convulsive clasp, barely restraining an urge to wriggle her fingers to insure that they still functioned. Seeing Coleman at the closed doors to the saloon patiently waiting to announce Lord Lunswick’s arrival, she smiled at both and led the way forward.

Before Coleman had uttered two words, Lady Lunswick had jumped up from her chair and was halfway across the room to greet her son.

“Well, Mama, did you fear I’d have to lay over somewhere on the ... Aurelie!” His voice had trailed off as he caught sight of the smiling countess sitting in a gold brocade chair wearing a shimmering gown no less golden than her setting.

Marianne had been gently tugging to no avail to release the hand he had caught up in his on entering the room. For an instant his grip tightened unbearably, then she was free with no effort required on her part. Unnoticed, she slipped away from the small group standing stock still in the center of the room, seating herself at a little distance. She dragged her eyes from the marquess’ thunderstruck countenance, surprised to find her brain was functioning well enough to record the puzzlement on Sir Martin’s face and the anxious look in Lady Lunswick’s eyes as they rested upon her son. Andrew too was intent upon his brother and his teeth were clamped on his lower lip. Only Lady Mauraugh seemed smilingly at her ease in the gold chair.

“You appear very surprised to see me, Justin. I trust it is not an unpleasant surprise?”

“It is always a pleasure to gaze upon you, Aurelie,” the marquess answered, and now both voice and expression were flatteringly cordial. “You look lovelier than ever. You must forgive my astonishment but I was unaware that my mother had invited you to spend the holiday with her.” Did she detect a faint question in his tones? Marianne wondered.

The countess was all pretty confusion as she laughingly confessed that she had begged dear Georgina to allow her to bring Richard to visit his father’s relatives because he stood greatly in need of masculine company. The marquess’ face expressed exquisite politeness, but one eyebrow escalated slightly and his mother intervened.

“I had no idea Aurelie had formed the intention of removing from Castle Mauraugh.”

“And have you formed such an intention?” inquired the marquess gently.

“Yes, but the house in Portman Square is in such a state with builders and decorators everywhere that it is simply uninhabitable at present. But enough of my silly affairs; we are keeping your companion standing,” said Lady Mauraugh, bestowing a brilliant smile on the man in question.

“Ah yes, forgive me, Martin. Mama, Aurelie, may I present my friend, Sir Martin Archer. Andrew, you and Martin are already acquainted, are you not?”

In the flurry of acknowledging introductions that followed, Marianne strove to gather her scattered wits together. Justin (somehow she had come to think of her trustee by his Christian name in the wake of his mother’s numerous references to him) had been completely taken aback to find his uncle’s widow comfortably established in his home. Certainly she was an unexpected sight, but whether an unwelcome one as well was the question she would pay dearly to have answered. The concern evidenced by his mother and brother would seem to support this theory, but Justin himself had quickly recovered his equilibrium and not only paid his surprise guest a pretty compliment, but was now devoting his entire attention to her conversation while his mother graciously made
her
unexpected guest welcome.

Andrew brought Marianne into a desultory discussion of the weather conditions the recent arrivals had encountered on the road that lasted until Coleman announced dinner, the ladies all having agreed that the hour being so advanced, it would be a crime to make weary travelers change before dining.

Conversation sparkled at dinner. Sir Martin proved to be a most entertaining raconteur who was not loath to tell a story against himself. Lady Lunswick and Andrew were bent on drawing him out, and the marquess, at the head of the table, divided his attention equally between his ward and his uncle’s widow. Unlike Andrew, he did not persist in calling the young woman aunt, but addressed her quite naturally by her given name. He still gave Marianne her title and, though he was a perfectly charming and attentive host, the girl felt that the magic interlude in the hall could not have happened. She told herself sternly that she must have imagined the warm look in his eyes earlier, and was unable to prevent her manner toward him from appearing rather stiffly formal. It was a relief to withdraw with the ladies to the music room, where she gave a good imitation of being totally absorbed in the countess’ renderings of several selections by a fine new composer from Germany named Beethoven. Not that one was obliged to
pretend
approval of Lady Mauraugh’s playing. As well as being beautiful, she was highly accomplished. Marianne had sat silently through a discussion with Lady Lunswick that afternoon that had thoroughly covered all the finer points of creative stitchery, and she had already learned that Lady Mauraugh did “little watercolors” for her dearest friends.

When the gentlemen joined the ladies, the countess graciously obliged with one additional selection, looking graceful and ethereal with the candle glow turning her hair to rich fire. Sir Martin, confessing himself to be tone-deaf, gravitated toward Marianne during this interlude, and when the music ended remained attentively at her side. Marianne, thoughtfully observing Sir Martin’s attempts to keep her own attention though the gorgeous widow was at her most charming, wondered idly if he had learned of her father’s fortune, then promptly hated herself for the uncharitable thought. Truth to tell, she was more than a little dismayed by her own reactions ever since the arrival of Lady Mauraugh. She knew herself to be deficient in the attainments expected of young ladies of quality and was well aware that her looks were not in the accepted style of fashion, but these facts had not caused her any significant anxiety before the advent of the countess. Lady Lunswick and Andrew had always made her feel they truly valued her acquaintance, and she was now shocked and ashamed at the jealous tumult within her breast when she was in the company of a lovely, accomplished woman. It did not occur to her, mentally squirming in an excess of self-contempt, that she had never experienced the least stab of jealousy in the face of Sophia’s very real talent. If this degrading emotion was going to overcome her in London where the assemblies were thronged with lovely, accomplished women, she would do better to retire immediately to Yorkshire, she conceded ruefully. But at least she could now put a name to the disturbing lowness of spirits with which she had been struggling ever since the arrival of Lady Mauraugh. Certainly her reaction was not very admirable and was exceedingly foolish as well, for the presence of the countess was most unlikely to have any effect on her own life. Indeed the chance of their ever meeting again after this visit was so slight as to be negligible. Meanwhile a charming man was doing her the honor of preferring her company, and she had best bestir herself to respond with something slightly warmer than mere civility. Refusing to think about herself any longer, she set out to entertain Sir Martin and succeeded to admiration if his air of absorption and frequent gusts of laughter were anything to judge by.

At least that was the strong impression received by the marquess as he glanced their way, not for the first time, after one such burst of merriment. Noting that his mother was fanning herself lightly, he excused himself to move the fire screen to shield her somewhat from the heat. He returned her appreciative smile affectionately and wandered over to take a seat near the blue sofa upon which Marianne sat with Sir Martin.

“Martin, old chap, Lady Mauraugh was inquiring about Sarah Grensham just now. Did you not mention that you had bumped into Mrs. Grensham last week at Somerset House? I told her ladyship your information would be more current.” He smiled lazily at his friend who looked startled. At the same moment Lady Mauraugh’s green eyes turned toward Sir Martin inquiringly, and he rose with what good grace he could muster, murmuring an excuse as he changed to a chair nearer the countess.