The Impossible Ward (21 page)

With the aggressive encounter in the armory their relationship had taken a new turn. He had seized on Andrew’s suggestion of a mock courtship as a lifeline by which he might regain the ground he had lost and even begin to push his pursuit of her in earnest. Naturally he had not let her guess that this was a reason, indeed, the sole reason behind their uneasy alliance since he had no need of subterfuge in dealing with Aurelie. In her innocence Marianne had accepted the necessity for the pretense, and it was now up to him to win her confidence and love. Since this afternoon he had already been of a dozen contradictory minds about his chances for achieving his goal in the light of recent developments. But one thing was certain. Sitting back and regretting what had happened would not serve to advance his cause one inch. He was now committed to action.

As Marianne finished the rollicking country song with which she had met the urging of Sir Martin and Lady Lunswick for more music, she determinedly arose from the pianoforte and crossed the room to join her hostess on a small settee. Although she did not suffer from shyness in the ordinary way, her color was slightly higher than usual for she was a modest girl and found it slightly embarrassing to be the center of attention. This did her no disservice in the eyes of the gentlemen present, all of whom hastened to compliment her warmly on her performance.

“Yes, indeed,” Lady Mauraugh added her compliments to the others, “that was quite a charming performance. If you had had the benefit of good masters when you were young I am persuaded you would have caused quite a sensation with your music amongst the salons of London.”

“I shall be quite satisfied to play occasionally for my own amusement,” Marianne replied, while Lady Lunswick declared sweetly that she had formed the firm intention of requesting Marianne to sing at all her musical evenings in the future. “For you gave us all great pleasure, dear child.”

The conversation turned to other matters and remained of a general nature until the tea tray arrived. Justin was prevented from having more than a word or two with his ward by the determined proximity to Marianne of Sir Martin Archer. It had not escaped his notice that his old friend had been displaying a deepening penchant for her society, or that Marianne seemed quite content in his company. She spent a good deal of time with Andrew too, but despite that affectionate gesture in the armory, he would be greatly astonished to discover that her feelings for his brother were other than sisterly. Marianne possessed no coquettish tricks, she reacted to people the way she felt about them, within the bounds of good manners. She was obviously deeply attached to his mother and extremely fond of all the Huntingdons. His close observation of the last fortnight had yielded the strong theory that she accepted the continuous presence of both her cousins with good-natured tolerance but little warmth. And it was with relief that he could hazard a guess that in Aubrey’s case at least, tolerance and civility were beginning to wear a bit thin. Marianne’s former lifestyle had not taught her any socially acceptable tricks to ward off bores. Nor had it equipped her to repulse the unwanted advances of would-be suitors. He hoped it would be his good fortune to be present (though invisible) when Aubrey finally pushed her good manners too far. The enjoyment produced by this possibility faded quickly enough as he bent a lambent gaze on Sir Martin while he engaged Marianne in what appeared to be a mutually absorbing conversation. Undoubtedly his ward had formed an immediate liking for his amiable friend, and admittedly he had no idea whether her feelings for Sir Martin went deeper or were likely to go deeper than pleasant friendship. As for Martin himself, unless he was greatly deceived, his friend was tottering on the brink of falling in love. He frowned in frustration and prepared to make another attempt to divert Marianne’s attention. Andrew was generously contributing to the situation by light-heartedly monopolizing his aunt’s interest. She had resisted his efforts initially, but Andrew could be devastatingly engaging when he chose, and Aurelie instinctively responded to all masculine attention. Thus bolstered, he made an inane attempt to interrupt the annoying twosome, and the knowledge of his own
gaucherie
was reflected in his wry expression. Despite her seeming absorption in Sir Martin’s conversation, Marianne had been well aware that Justin was trying to launch his mock courtship and was finding his good friend to be an uncharted obstacle in his path. She met her trustee’s frustrated glance with a sparkling look brimful of mischievous appreciation. He grinned ruefully and subsided for the moment, surprised and rather elated by this instant of perfect communication between himself and his reluctant beloved. Had the real object of the exercise been to convince the countess that his romantic interest lay elsewhere he would have been mildly gratified by the sudden tightening of her lips as her observant green glance witnessed the intimate look exchanged between Marianne and himself. However, in his concentration on Marianne he failed even to note Lady Mauraugh’s reaction.

As for the other participant in this little drama, Marianne retired to bed that night convinced in her innocence that Justin had not yet had any opportunity to put his plan into operation beyond the momentary annoyance his fastening of her necklace must have caused the countess.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

To an unbiased onlooker the next two days would seem to have passed quite pleasantly and uneventfully with the tempo of life going on much as usual at the Hall. At lunch the following day the house party was augmented by the presence of the earl of Melford and his lively sister as well as the Huntingdons, and the family increased its covers to include several persons for dinner on the next evening.

If one of the aforesaid onlookers had questioned Lady Marianne Carstairs about her impression of life at the Hall during this period, however, he would have been vastly astonished at a quite different report. As Marianne confessed to her hostess on the morning following the dinner party:

“On the surface everything is pleasant and very sociable, but I have the most unrestful sensation along my nerves as if everyone is watching me. It is quite horrid.” She shivered slightly.

Lady Lunswick laughed softly. “Please do not think me unsympathetic, my dear, if I observe that, given the present titillating situation, it could scarcely be otherwise. Aurelie, of course, is watching you like a hawk. But cheer up. It is my belief that she will soon admit that she is beaten and find a graceful way to bring her visit to an end ... unless ...” She stared consideringly at the young girl who looked at her in faint puzzlement.

“Unless what, Ma’am?”

“Well, it will not have escaped Aurelie’s attention that Justin is not the only man courting you. Melford is making a positive fool of himself over you, and Sir Martin, too, is becoming most particular in his attentions.” Without seeming to, she was closely studying Marianne from under her lashes and noted the faint increase in color brought about by her words, but she continued her line of thought without commenting. “It occurs to me that Aurelie may be waiting to see which way you jump, to put it vulgarly, before she cashes in her chips and shakes the dust of this place from her shoes.”

“To remain with the vulgar idiom,” murmured Marianne provocatively, and now Lady Lunswick chuckled irrepressively, though she protested:

“But the
Bible,
Marianne. That must always be acceptable, surely.” If the girl had thought to drag a red herring across the trail, she had failed to take into account the tenacity of purpose of her hostess for, undeterred, she pursued her original thought.

“Does Aurelie have any grounds for hoping you will accept either Melford or Sir Martin?”

“Since neither has made me an offer, none at all, Ma’am.”

The marchioness took note of the slight dryness in her guest’s tones, and she flashed her a smile full of apology and affection. “I know, my child, I am no better than a common busy head, but,” she persisted, “
have
you a
tendre
for either?”

Now it was Marianne’s turn to fix a considering gaze on her hostess. “What would you say, Ma’am, if I admitted I cherished a deep affection for my cousin?”

“Nothing, but I’d dose you with fever remedies until you came to your senses.”

Marianne threw back her head and laughed in delighted appreciation at the look of unrestrained disgust on her companion’s lovely countenance.

“You need not send for the doctor, Ma’am. I promise you I shall not encourage any suitor except Justin until Lady Mauraugh leaves.” She sobered abruptly. “I still do not like this masquerade, but I shall keep my promise.”

With this the marchioness had to be content though she was well aware that her earlier query had been neatly evaded.

“May I ask you a rather impertinent question?” Marianne said tentatively after a comfortable silence while each pursued her own thoughts.

“You could not be impertinent, my dear child. Your company is a great delight to me. You must know I could not care more for a daughter of my own then I do for you.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” said Marianne, flushing with gratification. “I
do
know it and though I do not feel I have done anything to merit such great kindness, I am terribly grateful. The subject I wished to speak to you about is rather related to daughters, that is,
daughters-in-law,
I mean
one
daughter-in-law.” She floundered, then taking a determined breath, plunged: “Ma’am, do you know whether Andrew’s affections are engaged?”

A shade of dismay flashed across Lady Lunswick’s countenance before she could bring her expression under control, but her voice was quite even.

“Do you mean me to understand it is
Andrew
you love?”

“Oh, no, Ma’am! Andrew is just like a brother to me, as is Jack Richmond, but I have been wondering if
Sophia
might have a
tendre
for him, and if that is why she is so silent when he is around—because she fears to betray herself. If this were true and if Andrew felt the same, would you dislike the match?” The huge violet eyes anxiously searched the older woman’s grave face.

“No, I would not dislike it precisely for I am very fond of Sophia and I do not desire an advantageous match in the worldly sense for either of my sons, but Andrew is such a volatile creature and Sophia is such a quiet little wren. I cannot quite believe they would deal well together. Are you certain that it is a case with them?”

“Sophia has said nothing to me of her feelings, nor has Andrew, but he was most interested in seeing the paintings she gave me, and I have
noticed that he is always gentle with her.”

“But I think he does not seek her out, Marianne, as Justin does you. He treats her more as one would a young sister, rather protectively.”

“Aha!” Marianne ignored the first observation and addressed herself to the second. “He treats
me
like a sister, and there is nothing protective about it. Do you not see how differently he acts with Sophia?”

“He treats you like another
brother
,” corrected her ladyship dryly, “but I do not mean to pull caps with you, Marianne, because I just do not feel competent to judge of Andrew’s feelings, or Sophie’s for that matter. We shall simply have to wait and see. But tell me, did he like the paintings?”

“I believe he greatly admired them, and I was impressed with his knowledge of art. In general, you know, Andrew is such a madcap that one tends not to credit him with serious interests.”

Andrew’s fond mama nodded in acknowledgment of this judgment. “My son is rather a surprising person altogether, but his interest in art is longstanding and quite serious. He has acquired some lovely paintings and pieces of sculpture for Chestnut Hill. I have often thought that it was a severe disappointment to him that his own early efforts were not worthy of encouragement, but he has never admitted this. When he was younger he wanted to be just like the twins, and
they
never sat still long enough to cultivate any artistic or musical accomplishments, though Harry had a pleasant singing voice and Justin was used to whistle accompaniment for him.”

The two women were comfortably ensconced in Lady Lunswick’s morning room, the elder industriously engaged in putting the finishing touches to a handsome altar cloth that she had not been able to complete before Christmas because of her increased social schedule since Marianne’s arrival. The younger was seated at the large table where she was checking over the household accounts for the marchioness. Watching her covertly, the marchioness concluded that for all her disinclination to talk about Justin, there was a new radiance about her young guest lately that intensified her healthy good looks into a state approaching real beauty. And that was true even when she had the misfortune to be standing within comparison distance of Aurelie St. Clair. Of course this glowing look might not be at all attributable to the attentions being paid her by her trustee; she had not actually denied an interest in some other man. But her trustee’s mother had not been narrowly observing the constantly changing relationship between these two lovable but reticent young people for almost the entire length of their stormy acquaintance (and
someday
she meant to hear the true story of their first meeting!) without forming some hopeful theories of her own. Though she had long abided by a vow not to interfere in the lives of her children without a specific invitation to do so, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her tongue between her teeth, so consumed was she with the ravenous urge to know just how great a degree of pretending actually existed in this mock courtship.

“Marianne,” she began, when a peremptory knock sounded at the door. “Enter!”

Marianne looked up from her figures to see Nurse come quickly into the room, but at the sight of her she laid down her pen and came forward. The calm, unhurried air that was so much a part of Nurse’s appearance was gone. She looked worried and upset, and her hands were clasped tightly together. She sketched a small curtsy to Lady Lunswick and plunged:

“Ma’am, your ladyship, have you seen Richard this morning?”

“Why, no. Have you, Marianne?”

“No, it is my custom to visit the nursery after lunch. What is wrong?”

At this news Nurse had started to wring her hands. “Oh dear, I had hoped he might have come here to get that dratted dog, begging your pardon, my lady. I haven’t seen him for over an hour.”

Lady Lunswick cleared away her embroidery silks and patted the arm of the settee. “Here, Nurse, sit down and tell us just what has happened. When did you last see the boy?”

“Over an hour ago in the nursery.” Perched gingerly on the exact edge of the chair, Nurse tucked a wispy strand of gray hair behind her ears and continued in flat tones which didn’t quite conceal her anxiety. “He was playing happily with his soldiers so I decided to mend one of his shirts. I went into my room to get my work basket, intending to bring it into the nursery. But the light was very good by my chair and it is more comfortable for my short legs than those in the nursery so I stayed there to finish the job. The door was open, though, and I could hear Richard singing to himself while he played. I did not pay any attention when the singing stopped, nor did I hear the door open or close, but when I went back in there, he was gone.”

Marianne said soothingly, “Perhaps he is playing a trick on you, Nurse, and is hiding somewhere.”

“That’s what I thought at first, your ladyship. ‘Depend upon it,’ I told myself, ‘the little scamp is hiding, hoping to jump out at me, and give me a fright.’ He’s a different lad since we’ve come here, much more playful like, and right mischievous sometimes. Not that I mind,” she added hastily, “I like to see boys active, and he always minds me when I call him, but I’ve searched everywhere and there’s no trace of him upstairs.”

“Have you tried the kitchens?” queried Lady Lunswick. “Strangely enough I’ve discovered that Christophe is not at all adverse to having Richard around.”

“Yes, Ma’am. They haven’t seen hide nor hair of him today. The dog was there earlier but he’s not there anymore either.”

“Does his mother know? Perhaps he’s with her.”

“No, Ma’am, he’s not. I checked her rooms first and I’ve just come from there. He’s not been there this morning.”

“What does her ladyship say? Is she alarmed?”

“I don’t know about
alarmed,
but she’s annoyed all right, because I asked to have Selwyn help me search for Richard, and Selwyn was doing my lady’s hair at the time.”

“Have you checked with Selwyn since then?”

“No, Ma’am, but I’ve told the maids to keep their eyes open. Between us I think we’ve looked in almost every room.”

Marianne, who had been silently standing near Lady Lunswick listening to the details, now spoke up. “I brought him to the armory once and he was fascinated by the collection of swords and firearms. Let me check there now.” She was at the door on the words but paused to ask, “Are any of his outer garments missing, Nurse?”

Nurse jumped up from her chair. “I don’t know, Ma’am, I never thought he’d go outside in this damp air, but I’ll look right now.” She hurried through the door after Lady Marianne.

Both were back within five minutes, slightly breathless, but only Nurse had anything to report. “His blue jacket is missing, my lady, and his gloves.”

Lady Lunswick pulled the cord summoning Coleman. “I have been thinking since you mentioned that Nuisance was in the kitchens earlier that it is very likely he and Richard have met and gone off somewhere. Nuisance has not appeared whining at the door today as is his custom.”

When the impassive Coleman appeared, she issued orders for the footman and maids to search the grounds for the little boy. “I do hope the rain will hold off. It is such a dreary day. But he can’t have wandered far.”

Marianne spoke for the first time. “I am going out to look also. Where are the gentlemen today, Coleman?”

“They are all out riding, my lady.”

The marchioness said bracingly, “I am persuaded we’ll have found the culprits by the time the men return.”

While the maids combed the shrubbery and the footmen headed past the gate house toward the road that led to the nearest village, Marianne stood undecided at the main entrance, trying to imagine where a small boy and his dog were most likely to take advantage of unexpected freedom. She frowned in concentration as she buttoned the soft, black woolen pelisse to her throat. A gig coming up the carriage drive caught her attention and she watched as the horse drew closer until she recognized the gray mare from the vicarage with Miss Sophia Huntington handling the reins in capital fashion.

“Sophia! I am so glad to see you. You are come just in time.”

“Are you on the point of going somewhere?”

“Oh, no, that is, yes, in search of Richard who has wandered off. Will you come with me?”