The Impossible Ward (24 page)

As he had on the journey to Somerset, he avoided traveling inside the chaise unless forced to by the inclemency of the weather. At this point Marianne scarcely knew whether to be relieved or desolated that the dry, cold weather had remained with them until last night, thus reducing their actual contacts to shared meal times where they rivaled each other in tacit dedication to impersonalities and mutual avoidance of any real conversation. In the circumstances she knew she should feel nothing save relief at being spared the constant necessity to keep up the pretense of purely platonic friendship that she had adopted before her departure from Somerset as her principal defense against his importunities that she marry him when Mr. O’Doyle recovered from the persistent bronchitis reported by the rector in his timely letter. Her grandfather’s condition had provided a natural and legitimate excuse to request an unscheduled return to the farm, although subsequently she had been made to feel thoroughly fraudulent by the sincere sympathy expressed by Lady Lunswick and Lord Andrew when she had brought the letter to the lunch table. She had been too unsure of her acting ability to risk looking at Justin, so she missed his initial reaction to her request.

She had not been able to avoid a private audience with him in his study after the uncomfortable luncheon, although she yearned to be able to escape the inevitable confrontation, and acknowledging this, knew herself for a coward. At the table he had promised to make arrangements for her immediate removal to Yorkshire, and he had opened their final conversation by repeating this assurance before coming directly to the point she had dreaded. And the interview had been every bit as painful as she had feared. Heaven knew it had been difficult enough to refuse an offer of marriage from the man she loved for good and sufficient reason. To be prevented by stiff-necked pride from being able to
state
those reasons, and further, to know herself patently disbelieved in the explanation she
did
give, had made the situation infinitely worse. Her well-feigned surprise, that he should have expected her to know intuitively that what had certainly been described to her as a mock courtship had actually been meant as a real one, was met by a searching stare that had reduced her nerves almost to screaming pitch. However, she had clung desperately to this pose of astonished dismay at being taken seriously, and had evaded his demands that she admit at least to a knowledge of his intentions after Lady Mauraugh’s departure with nervous murmurs about his propensity for light flirtations. She must have been convincing at last because Justin had looked so sincerely disappointed that, even knowing what she did about him, she had almost faltered in her resolution. Only the unhappy knowledge that such a marriage as his nature was capable of could never satisfy her had enabled her to continue in her refusal in the face of his declaration that so long as her affections remained unengaged he intended to persist in his attempts to change her friendly feelings to something warmer.

This determination, expressed with such convincing charm and earnestness, had straight away panicked her into betraying a lifetime of integrity. Hands behind her back where their trembling could not indict her as a liar, she had looked him straight in the eye and confessed to undying affection for another man.

In the swaying chaise she closed her eyes against the picture of Justin’s bleak expression when she had uttered that bald lie, but memory had seared it into her brain. If only she might have believed it and him! She shook her head, determined not to allow her thoughts to wander unprofitably in the land of “might have been.” But she could not repress the compulsive reliving of that scene in his study, and she knew with dismal certainty that it would haunt her dreams for years to come.

In the unlikely event that the one lie had not been sufficient to endanger her soul for all time, she had speedily added another one. He had demanded the identity of her lover and, knowing he would not believe her if she named either her cousin or Sir Martin Archer, she had unhesitatingly mentioned the only other man of her acquaintance, her old friend, Jack Richmond. This last had proved effective in terminating the most painful incident of her life. After one burning look he had accepted her statement with a formal bow, and a promise that he should no longer weary her with unwanted importunities. Thereafter he had treated her with a distant courtesy that had the surprising result of arousing a perverse feminine resentment in her breast. Recognizing this last, she sighed again and wondered despondently if she were in danger of losing her reason. She
must
be grateful to be spared any further emotional scenes. She
was,
of course, but the sooner she said her final farewells to Justin, the better for her peace of mind
and
her sanity.

Glancing outside once more, she was astonished to note that the chaise was almost through the village and just beginning the last ascent before turning off onto the lane leading to the farm.

“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” she said to warn Agnes, who began gathering up the yards of tatting that seemed to be an extension of her person, at least Marianne had not seen her without it during the entire journey. For her part, she closed her book with finality and firmly put it away from her, knowing that if asked she would be unable to recall the title, but it had served its purpose in shielding her from unwanted conversation en route. She retied the ribbons of her smart burgundy velvet bonnet and smoothed on her matching kid gloves, aware in an uncaring fashion that in appearance at least she was much improved from the girl who had reluctantly left the farm less than three short months before. What an age it seemed since she had last entered the familiar lane; she felt years older than that awkward but contented girl. It seemed she had improved in appearance, widened her experience, greatly increased her acquaintance—in short, surged ahead in everything save contentment. But she
would
relearn the secret of contentment once she was back in a familiar routine, she thought in sudden panic. She must regain her former attitude if she were to find any value in a life that did not include Justin.

He passed the carriage as it entered the lane, and was already dismounted as the coachman came to a halt in front of the house. How small it now looked, but how dear! Her eyes misted over with tears she was determined not to shed as she waited impatiently for the steps to be put down. Clara and her grandfather had appeared in the door, the latter looking frailer than ever, swathed as he was in a mammoth knitted shawl. Absently she accepted Justin’s assistance in descending, then ran to enfold her grandfather in strong young arms. From the moment she had glimpsed his beloved face, her own misery had been forgotten. He should not be standing outside in the cold. Quickly, she bullied him into the warm house, calling a smiling greeting to the dour Clara over her shoulder and in between loving admonitions to her grandfather.

“You know you ought not to leave your bed, let alone venture outside when you have that dreadful bronchitis,” she scolded distractedly, leading him to his study where she gently pushed him into his voluminous chair.

“He won’t listen to me,” Clara declared, handing her another shawl to place tenderly over the old man’s legs.

“I know, Clara, but he’ll mind me or I’ll know the reason why.” Marianne soothed the servant and threatened her grandparent in the same speech, all the while pointedly ignoring the satisfied twinkle in the bright blue eyes.

It was a scene of confusion for a further few minutes before Justin and Agnes had been led into the warm room and assisted to remove their wraps. Agnes followed Clara to the kitchen to help her prepare tea. At the appearance of the tea tray Marianne noted her grandfather’s wink at Justin as he indicated a bottle on the side table. Soon the gentlemen were savoring Mr. O’Doyle’s finest Madeira while Marianne poured the hot liquid into a delicate cup. Now that the flurry of greeting was over, an awkward silence descended on the small party which Justin ended presently.

“I am sorry to find you in such queer stirrups, Mr. O’Doyle, but trust that Lady Marianne’s nursing will soon have you feeling more the thing.”

Like Marianne he had seen the look of exhaustion spread over the old man’s features following a nasty bout of coughing, and he glanced uneasily at the anxious girl. When he had succeeded in regaining his breath, however, Mr. O’Doyle cheerfully dismissed his condition in a raspy voice.

“It sounds a lot worse than it is, my boy, happens every winter, but it hasn’t done for me yet. You will give us the pleasure of your company at dinner, of course.” He eyed the marquess in a friendly fashion while sipping his wine with enjoyment. “I would like an opportunity to thank you for what you and your mother have done for Marianne. Her letters were a joy to read and she is lovelier than ever.”

Marianne’s color rose as the eyes of the two men surveyed her, one lovingly and the other with an inscrutable countenance. Her own gaze dropped, and she interpolated hastily, “Justin, may I pour you some more Madeira?”

“No, I thank you, Marianne.” He smiled at the old gentleman. “I quite agree with you, sir, that Lady Marianne is exceedingly lovely. It was our very great pleasure to have her company at Lunswick Hall. My mother desires me to add her entreaties to my own that she honor us with her presence again in the very near future, and she is looking forward to making your acquaintance whenever you should feel well enough to travel.” He rose from his chair. “And now, sir, I must beg your forgiveness for declining your kind invitation to dinner. There are some rather urgent business affairs awaiting me in Somerset and I wish to take advantage of the daylight remaining to make a start at least today. I have arranged for the maid to travel back in my chaise tomorrow, so I thank you for your hospitality tonight on her account and must regretfully decline on my own.”

Marianne had become very still during this formal speech. The tea cup she had been raising to her lips tilted dangerously and she lowered it to the table with extreme care, her eyes on her shaking fingers. There was a buzzing sound in her ears and she missed most of what her grandfather replied. When at last she raised her glance Justin was struggling into his greatcoat. It was an effort to get to her feet, but from somewhere in the far distance her grandfather’s voice was urging her to escort Justin to the door. Mechanically her legs obeyed, but her brain could contain only the one thought and its concomitant agony—this was the end. After this moment she would never see Justin again.

At the door he raised her icy hand to his lips. “Good-bye, Marianne, I wish you every happiness in the future. I ... you know, it is customary to
look
at the person to whom you are saying farewell.”

At this she did look up and the stricken expression in her eyes stopped his heart for an instant. He had seen that look once before, when her grandfather had insisted that she accompany him to Somerset. His hand tightened on hers, a sense of urgency drove him to plunge into further speech:

“Marianne, if things do not work out the way you expect here with Jack Richmond, if you find that you...”

These hasty words penetrated her cloud of misery. She drew back slightly and gently freed her hand. Now her face was expressionless and he wondered if he had imagined that tortured look.

“I expect everything here to be exactly as it always has been.” Her voice was quiet and final. “Good-bye, Justin. Thank you for everything you have done for me.”

He bowed silently and departed.

Her final good-bye was whispered to the closed door. For a long moment she stood there staring blankly at the wooden panels, then she squared her shoulders and walked briskly back into the study, even achieving a reasonable facsimile of a smile for the benefit of her delighted grandfather.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was one of those late winter days that presaged an early spring. Standing at the long window in her morning room, the marchioness assured herself that there was actually some warmth in the sun’s rays today, and thank goodness for that. She reflected soberly that this winter had seemed longer and more difficult than usual, at least since Marianne had left Somerset. An endless succession of gray cheerless days had dragged past, giving way occasionally to snow or rain but only rarely to weak sunshine struggling to break through the ever-present cloud layer. Today was different, though. She could smell spring in the air. She left the window a trifle ajar for a moment to enjoy the air, but the fireplace began to issue smoke, so she closed it with a sigh and prepared to take up her embroidery. After setting a few jerky stitches she paused, needle in hand, and eyed the delicate work with distaste. Earlier she had much enjoyed the self-imposed task of working some linens for Sophia that had taken several weeks of her time. In fact, it was the knowledge of Andrew’s and Sophia’s quiet happiness that had made the winter bearable. It was good to see the dear girl lose some of that paralyzing shyness. She would never be a chatterbox or really gregarious, but it was amazing how she had blossomed in the confidence that comes from being loved by the man of one’s choice. There were occasional flashes of quiet wit now that were not reserved for the few people she loved. At the very least she had conquered her dread of social gatherings, though her future mother-in-law suspected at heart Sophia would always prefer rambling in the woods and fields to making conversation in an endless round of society visits. But that would present no real problem because Andrew would soon settle comfortably into the life of a country gentleman. She no longer entertained any doubts about Andrew’s future happiness.

Which brought her back to her elder son. She. sighed deeply and pushed the inlaid tambour frame a few inches away. It seemed of late that all trains of thought eventually led to Justin. He was restless and unhappy, of this she was dead certain, though he contrived to conceal it well, and smilingly discouraged any tentative attempts to invade his privacy. Obviously Marianne was the cause, but his mother was no nearer to discovering just what had occurred between them at the time of his ward’s return to Yorkshire. To be perfectly accurate she did not even know for a certainty if anything
had
happened. Justin had been completely reticent, and when in desperation she had asked Andrew if he knew what had occurred between her elder son and his ward, Andrew denied all knowledge of how matters stood between his brother and Marianne, though he had been aware that Justin had certainly had the intention at one time of offering for his ward. And not being privy to all the facts, she did not know what to think. She had been so certain that Marianne loved Justin and that her son reciprocated the feeling. The scene in the conservatory had been a blow to her hopes, but only temporarily. It was in the days following this incident that she had confidently come to expect that a happy announcement was imminent. Which frustrating conclusion brought her right back to her original question. What had happened between her two young people, and what if anything could she do to resolve the problem, especially at such a distance?

Somehow she could not accept that Marianne did not love Justin, but her letters were so unrevealing. She had had one this morning. Taking it from the pocket of her green-and gold-striped morning dress, she read it for the third time. It remained essentially a description of her grandfather’s physical condition which had finally improved after giving her cause for concern for the better part of a month. She mentioned that his old friend had called several times and recounted a few details about changes on the farm. She closed with polite wishes for the continued good health of Lady Lunswick and her family. Nothing at all in or between the lines to provide food for conjecture—in short, a totally unsatisfactory communication. She flung it away from her pettishly and in so doing dragged her finger across the needle stuck carelessly into the work on the frame. While sucking on the injured finger she gave the offending frame a forceful shove with her other hand.

“I am sick to death of embroidery!”

She was unaware that she had uttered the petulant words aloud until they startled her by reverberating in the empty room.

“Then why do you continue to do it?” The subject of her concern had paused in the doorway and was looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, Justin, I did not hear you. Pay no heed to me. I am just indulging in a fit of the dismals.”

“On such a beautiful day?”

“And what has the weather to say to anything, pray?”

“Quite a lot sometimes, but let us abandon generalities and descend to particulars. Why are you battling a fit of the dismals?”

Tired at last of pussyfooting around the issue, Lady Lunswick plunged recklessly, “For the same reason that you have been blue deviled this last month—Marianne!”

“Marianne?”

He had moved into the room now. His voice was quite level but the concern on his face had been replaced by a guarded look. “What has Marianne done to cast you into the dismals?”

“I received a letter from her today.”

“I ... see.” He turned slightly away from her intense regard to rearrange the papers on the small table. “Then I expect she has announced her engagement.” There was just the hint of a questioning inflection.

“Her engagement? Of course not! What can you mean, Justin?”

She thought his jaw seemed a little less rigid as he answered unemotionally, “Well, if it was not a betrothal announcement, what has Marianne written to upset you so?”

“Nothing!” stated her ladyship flatly. “This letter is just like the other two; it contains little more than a description of her grandfather’s health and a wish for ours. It is totally unlike Marianne.” Her son remained silent, watching his mother’s sudden frown as the meaning of his earlier words achieved a delayed impact.

“Justin, why were you anticipating a betrothal announcement, and to whom, for heaven’s sake?”

“His name is Jack Richmond and she has known him half her life.”

“I am aware, but it is utter nonsense to expect an engagement when Marianne considers him in the light of a brother.”

“How do you know this?” he shot at her.

“She told me so. Justin,
why
did you imagine me...”

He cut in ruthlessly, “Just like
that
she told you she thinks of Jack Richmond as a brother?”

“Why no, it came up in some quite legitimate context once and I...”

“Tell me in what context. Try to remember exactly what Marianne said.”

His eyes were no longer guarded but glittering with anger and some emotion harder to identify. His mother experienced a rush of pity for his suffering and in addition, a slight stirring of something else—a tiny seed of hope, perhaps?

“Marianne had asked me if Andrew’s affections were engaged, and I thought for a second she meant she was in love with Andrew. I had just been questioning her about Melford and Sir Martin, you see, and she was evasive, but when I asked her if she loved Andrew she laughed and denied it. She said Andrew and this Jack Richmond were like brothers to her, but she suspected that
Sophia
had a
tendre
for Andrew.” She stopped and stared at her son’s angry and baffled face. “Why did you imagine she might be planning to marry this young man?”

For a pulsating instant she held her breath, fearful that Justin would retreat from any discussion of the situation between Marianne and himself, but at last he looked at her directly and answered simply:

“When I offered for Marianne she refused me with great finality.” He pushed his hands into his pockets then removed one to run it through his hair. “I do not mean to sound like a conceited lout, but we had become so—intimate, if you will, that I could not accept that she did not return my feelings.” He looked at his mother inquiringly, but she had merely drawn a sudden breath. She shook her head negatively and he continued evenly:

“She claimed she had always thought our mock courtship just that. You knew about that?” At her nod he went on, “I did not believe her at first, but she insisted she had no idea even after Aurelie left, that I meant anything other than a flirtation. She insisted further that
her
feelings were strictly platonic. It was when I told her I’d keep trying to win her affection, after Mr. O’Doyle recovered, you understand, that she dragged in Jack Richmond. She told me flatly that she loved him.”

“And you believed her?”

“Well, it came as a shock, but it was the only thing that made sense and ... well, yes, I did believe her
then
.”

“But not now?”

“Now I don’t know what to believe.” He ran his hand nervously over his hair again, disarranging it even more, as he stared intently at his mother. “Just what was in that letter?”

Silently she handed it to him and he read it frowningly, then looked up. “You are quite correct. She says absolutely nothing. Were the others like this?”

“More or less.” His mother had been thinking deeply during his perusal of the letter. “Justin, do you imagine Marianne may have some nonsensical idea that she must remain unmarried while her grandfather lives?”

“She did convey that impression when we first met, but I thought she soon realized it was not an insurmountable obstacle. It could not matter less to Mr. O’Doyle where he lives so long as he has his library, and I am perfectly willing to house his old friend when he retires, if that is a concern.”

“It is the only thing I can think of that might cause her to lie about her feelings, but would it?”

His mother looked troubled. “If perhaps she feared you would try to overrule her?”

“Mama, were you funning or serious just now when you declared you were sick of embroidery?”

The marchioness eyed her son closely, and presently a reflection of his reckless expression glowed in the china-blue eyes.

“Definitely serious,” was the smiling response.

“Do you think a short journey to Yorkshire might affect a cure for this malady?”

“It’s worth a try,” she assured him solemnly, and went upstairs to check her wardrobe, knowing their departure was likely to be even more precipitous, though much less impressive, than that of her sister-in-law.

Four days later, the marchioness sat staring morosely at the unfamiliar Yorkshire countryside, wondering what sort of madness had come over her that had succeeded in temporarily erasing from her memory myriad unpleasant recollections of past journeys. How, for example, had she come to forget that the swaying of even the most comfortably sprung chaise invariably reduced her to a state bordering on permanent nausea? Unless one could accept that she had been carried along on a wave of determination and optimism generated by a much loved son, the answer to this puzzle was destined to remain obscure. Of a certainty, though her brain had conveniently forgotten this uncomfortable phenomenon, it had not taken above two hours of traveling over indifferent roads at a fast pace to recall it forcibly to the notice of her stomach. For Justin’s sake she had tried to muster enough resolution to endure the situation. But one look at her greenish complexion when at last they had stopped for refreshment at a good posting inn, had been sufficient to appraise him of her general condition, and he had promptly ordered a sharp reduction in the speed at which they traveled from then on.

If they traveled slowly and stopped frequently, and if she managed to get a good night’s rest, she was able to endure the slightly queasy sensation that was her constant traveling companion. As long as this misery was not all in vain! In addition to having a surfeit of time in which to ponder the basic situation between Justin and Marianne, her uneasy physical condition contributed to a lowness of spirits that
would
prevail despite her valiant attempts to think positively.

In this praiseworthy endeavor she was hindered further by the gloomy presence of Norris, her abigail of many years’ standing, a dear, willing creature, but overly fond of predicting disaster. There was not a minor calamity of the past twenty-five years that Norris had not foreseen, which was indeed a remarkable achievement unless one remembered the innumerable predictions of trouble that had
not
come to pass. Since these unfulfilled predictions of disaster tended to slip from memory over the years, Norris’s reputation as a seer of ill fortune was in no danger of fading.

She sighed unconsciously and rubbed her temple with two fingers in an attempt to ease the throbbing. Instantly she regretted the gesture; she should have known that nothing she did escaped the sharp eyes of her faithful dresser. How stupid of her to give Norris an opening for another one of her scolds. She closed her eyes, feigning sleep in a belated attempt to forestall the dresser, but Norris was well away on her favorite theme:

“I told you how it would be, my lady, but you never would listen to me. It was ever thus with you charging off with your head in the clouds and never heeding those who have your best interests at heart. This kind of adventure may have been all right when you were a bride, but at your time of life you ought—”

“At my time of life I ought to be confined to a rocking chair by the fire. Is that what you mean, Norris?”

“No, it is not, my lady,” the maid replied stiffly. “I hope I know my place better than to make such suggestions, but to be haring off to outlandish places in the middle of winter when you know—”

“It’s almost spring,” her ladyship rebutted mildly.

“Be that as it may,” retorted Norris, determinedly taking the blackest view, “this carriage is cold and drafty, and if you do not end up with a feverish cold or worse, it is more than I dare to hope for.”

“Well, cheer up, Norris, though I have no symptoms at present, who knows, I may yet succumb to this feverish cold, then you’ll be able to say ‘I told you so’ and I’ll be well served for not heeding your advice.”

This provocative remark, uttered with careless good humor, mortally offended the dresser and she lapsed into a huffy silence. Lady Lunswick was well aware that Norris would now be on her dignity with her until she apologized, but at least it insured that she would be spared any more lectures for the remainder of the drive. Surely her ordeal could not last much longer. At the last stop Justin had estimated that they would arrive at their destination in approximately two hours. Though he rarely traveled within the carriage she knew he welcomed her company at meals, even though her stupid stomach compelled a regrettably slow pace on a journey that meant everything to him. His own thoughts had been poor company for too long. At the very least she would discover the true nature of her feelings from Marianne’s own lips. There had been enough of misunderstanding and confusion.

The chaise was slowing down now to turn onto a narrow lane. Lady Lunswick, peering through the glass, saw Justin ride past the vehicle. They must be almost at their destination, thank heavens. She leaned forward trying to catch a glimpse of the farm house, and was astonished, as was her son on his first visit, to discover a charming small villa of perfect proportions.