The Wild Child (18 page)

Glad she was strong enough to be concerned with her appearance, he kissed one thin, perfume-scented hand before taking the chair opposite the chaise. “Why shouldn’t you have a care for your looks, La Paloma? After all, your face has been your fortune.”

She sighed, her animation fading to reveal underlying fatigue. “And a mixed fortune it has been. My curse, and my survival.”

“Your beauty a curse?” The thought saddened him, for he had taken such pleasure in her classical loveliness.

She stroked the chased silver back of the mirror, expression brooding. “I had a sister, only a year older than I. As little girls we were very close, but as we grew, we became… competitive. She was pretty, but not so pretty as me. And I, shameless creature, flaunted my beauty. My family was of the hidalgo class, rather like your gentry, but I had larger plans. I boasted of the grand husband I would have, the wealth and jewels that would be mine, because surely my father would marry me into the nobility. My mother encouraged my dreams, for my success would be her triumph.”

He was surprised but intrigued, since Constancia never referred to her past. The bare outlines that he knew were common knowledge. Hoping to encourage the flow of reminiscence, he observed, “It’s natural for mothers to take pride in their daughters.”

“But it should not be done at the price of another daughter.” She rested her head against the arm of the chaise, her expression distant. “My sister, Maria Magdalena, was better and sweeter than I. She lacked my ambitions and wished for us to be friends, but I made that difficult. Then war came, and my family was destroyed. I heard my sister screaming as the… the soldiers assaulted her.” Constancia’s eyes closed and pain spasmed across her face. “Her screams stopped when they cut her throat.”

He stared, shocked to his marrow at her flat recitation. “You heard her die?”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled bitterly. “I also was ravished that day, but because of my beauty, an officer claimed me for himself. He thought me too lovely to kill. So instead, after he and his brother officers dishonored me, I was left to starve by the ruins of my home and the bodies of my family.”

He took her hand, wishing helplessly that he could change the past. “Querida, I am so sorry. No one should have to endure such wickedness. The wonder is that you didn’t go mad.”

Her eyes opened, dark and piercing as she looked directly at him. “When the hand of God strikes, there is little that a mere mortal can do. But I have never forgiven myself for the fact that my sister and I died estranged, and the fault was mine. I would give every valuable I ever possessed for the chance to tell her how much I loved her.”

He understood then why she was revealing so much of herself. Withdrawing his hand from hers, he said dryly, “You’re giving me advice about my brother, aren’t you?”

“There is no time for subtlety. One day Maria Magdalena and I were sharing a maid and I was taunting her with the fine marriage offer my father had received. The next day she and the world I knew were dead.” Constancia swallowed, her throat painfully thin. “I have sometimes thought she died so quickly as the reward for her good soul. I, being wicked, was not granted that grace.”

Her words created pain deep inside him. “Has your life been so dreadful that you wish you had died then?”

Her eyes softened. “There have been compensations, mi corazon. I have had better fortune than I deserved. But it is not the life I would have chosen.”

He was a fool for taking her words personally; of course she wouldn’t have chosen the tragedy she had endured. But without it, they would never have met. Selfishly, he wanted her to be glad to have known him in spite of all that implied.

She interrupted his thoughts to ask, “If you returned to England and found your brother suddenly dead, would you be satisfied with the state of your relations with him?”

No. The answer was instant. He’d always thought the tension between him and Dom was merely a phase. Eventually his brother would start acting sensibly, and they would be friends again. Yet—life was uncertain. If something happened to Dominic, would he feel the kind of guilt Constancia felt about Maria Magdalena?

Not liking the answer, he said defensively, “You said that your sister wished to be friends. My brother has shown no wish to rebuild our relationship. He persists in the same kind of bullheaded idiocy that he has shown since we were boys.”

“It is rare for only one person to be at fault, mi corazon,” Constancia murmured. “Can you truly say that all the trouble between you is caused by him?”

Angrily he got to his feet and walked to a port. Outside, a squall spattered rain into a pewter gray sea.

“I’ve always done my part, but Dominic persists in wasting his life. He could have joined me at Cambridge and studied for the church, but he wouldn’t.”

He had hoped so much that his brother would agree. They would have become close again. Dom’s refusal had been like a slap in the face. “My father bought him a commission in the cavalry. He became bored and sold out after a year. He could travel to the ends of the earth, learning and exploring and writing me letters of what he has seen. Instead, he spends his days on the shallowest of pleasures. If I had his opportunities…” He cut off the bitter words, hating the resentment he heard in his voice.

“Most men would say that the opportunities are all yours,” she said shrewdly. “Do you envy his freedom? Despise him for not using it the same way you would?”

He flinched as if she had struck him. Of course he didn’t envy Dominic! The power, the wealth, came to the elder son. Kyle had been born for that. Why should he be jealous of the fact that his brother was…

free?

He closed his eyes, feeling as if he were choking. Why should he want to weep when he was the lucky one?

Chapter 17

By the time Dominic had finished rubbing down the horses, belatedly aided by the elderly groom, he barely had time to wash and change before dinner. He was rather glad that Meriel skipped the meal; he would have had trouble eating with her sitting across from him, looking alarmingly desirable. Her presence was felt in the centerpieces, however. The splendid globes of rhododendrons might have been picked by anyone, but only Meriel would think to arrange the blooms in masses that spilled from a battered tin watering can in a lavender river.

As he took his seat, chatting easily with Mrs. Marks, he studied the flower arrangement. “The centerpiece is like Meriel’s juniper hedge—unconventional, but quite lovely in its own way. Look at the contrast of the flamboyant, colorful rhododendrons and the well-used, workaday watering can. Really quite dramatic and interesting, don’t you think?”

He flushed a little when he saw Mrs. Marks’s startled expression. She must be wondering if Meriel’s madness was contagious. Mrs. Rector, though, tilted her head to one side reflectively. “I believe I see what you mean, my lord. The combination is quite intriguing. Though I must admit that I would prefer a pretty china vase.”

“The arrangement is certainly original,” Mrs. Marks conceded. “But perhaps better suited to the kitchen than the center of a mahogany table.”

Dominic didn’t argue the point. Before coming to War-field, he would have agreed wholeheartedly. Unthinkingly. Meriel was changing the way he viewed the world. He took a sip of wine. “Did you know that Meriel can ride?”

The subject, along with the other events of the day, kept the conversation lively until the three of them were ready to retire to their beds.

After Renbourne’s rejection, Meriel fled the stables, furious and humiliated. He’d been willing at first. What was wrong with her that he would not mate? Damn the man!

But the fault surely lay with her. She’d watched the birds and field creatures, and seen that female readiness triggered the male response. She must not be fully in season yet. Though if she were any more ready, she’d burst into flame!

Seeing Roxana dozing in the shade of an arbor, Meriel dropped onto the wooden seat and inhaled the scent of the roses that twined around and above her. The dog sleepily rested her head on Meriel’s foot, the shaggy fur tickling her toes.

As she scratched the dog’s ears, she told herself that when she had more experience in mating, she would know what to expect. She would know the right movements, the signals, to bring him to her. Useful though it was to watch falcons and foxes, they could not show her the rituals humans required. She frowned, thinking of one human custom that she might try. And if that didn’t work—well, there were methods she’d observed in the zenana. They required much effort, but surely no man living could resist them.

The mehndi patterns had darkened from light orange to rust red. Dominic studied the design in the mirror, glad he had dismissed Morrison before removing his shirt. He had no wish to see speculation in the valet’s eyes.

Yawning, he prepared to dowse the lamp and climb into bed. He pulled back the coverlet, then stopped. Nestled between the two pillows was a ribbon-tied nosegay.

He picked up the spray of blossoms, knowing it had to be from Meriel. Two small carnations, one white, one red. There was also one of the lavender-tinted wild pansies called heartsease, and a narrow willow leaf. A pretty little arrangement, as unusual as everything else Meriel created. He inhaled the fragrance, which was dominated by the spicy carnation scents. There was something wickedly erotic in the knowledge that she had gathered these blossoms, then silently entered the bedroom to leave them for his eyes alone. Was the nosegay a comment on what had happened earlier?

A thank-you for Moonbeam? Or some other, subtler message?

He placed the flowers in a glass of water and set it on his bedside table. Yet as he turned off the lamp, he had the nagging feeling that there was something he was missing about the nosegay. Perhaps he’d think of it in the morning.

Instead he fell asleep, and dreamed of his brother.

Shouts of laughter as he and Kyle played with conkers as boys. Sneaking out of the house when they were supposed to be studying so they could attend a forbidden village fair. Waking in the middle of the night knowing that Kyle was hurt, and finding him with an injured ankle after falling down the steps on a midnight pantry raid.

And darker times. Fighting with fists, and with words that hurt more than blows. Kyle’s increased arrogance when he returned from his first term at Eton with the apparent belief that Dominic should be a follower rather than an equal. The steely, glinting fury in Kyle’s eyes whenever Dominic took independent action. Competing for the favors of a barmaid, and the blaze of satisfaction when she preferred him to Viscount Maxwell.

The last, devastating battle when Dominic chose the army over the university…

During the Christmas holidays of Dominic’s last year at Rugby, he was summoned to his father’s study and told it was time to decide his future. Dominic knew that the choices for a younger son were the church and the army. The trouble was that he wanted neither of those. His real desire was to manage an estate, preferably his own, though he’d work for someone else if necessary. If he earned a decent salary and saved most of his allowance, eventually he’d be able to buy a farm. Timidly he’d asked if he could train as a steward, perhaps at a smaller family property rather than Dornleigh. The suggestion had been brusquely refused; a Renbourne would not become a hireling. The earl said that he would pay for a university education if Dominic chose to become a vicar, or buy a commission in a suitable regiment if that was his son’s choice. Dominic had until the end of the holidays to decide.

Even though Kyle was also home and the two of them were rubbing along tolerably well, instinctively Dominic kept the matter of his future to himself, knowing that his brother would try to influence his decision. For days he went back and forth. He’d rather enjoyed his studies at Rugby and done quite well with them. He’d probably enjoy three years at a university, too. But—a vicar? On the other hand, he didn’t feel any great calling to be a soldier, either.

The night before returning to school, he made up his mind as he and his brother were shooting billiards after dinner. Kyle was lining up a shot when Dominic announced, “I’m going into the army. A cavalry regiment, I think.” He smiled, as if the decision had been easy. “Shall I become a hussar? They have the most dashing uniforms.”

His brother’s cue stick jerked and the shot went wild. Kyle straightened, his face pale. “You can’t be serious. You just said that to ruin my shot, didn’t you?”

Dominic took his turn and neatly potted a ball. “I have to do something, and the army seems the best choice. I shouldn’t think I’d like the navy.”

“I thought you’d come to Cambridge with me.” Kyle slid his cue stick restlessly between his hands. “We could share a set of rooms. It… it would be like old times.”

Old times. The thought was tempting. Dominic made another shot as he considered, then reluctantly shook his head. “If you can see me as a vicar, your imagination is better than mine.”

“You’d make a perfectly decent cleric,” Kyle said seriously. “You’re patient and good with people. The living here at Dornleigh should be available in five years or so, when old Simpson retires. That would be perfect. The income is good, and I’m sure that Wrexham would be happy to give you the living when you’re ready.”

Dominic shuddered at the thought. To spend the rest of his life within a mile of the family seat while living as a poor relation? He didn’t know much about heaven, but he was quite sure that being vicar of Dornleigh would be hell. Cutting off his brother’s enthusiasm, he said, “It wouldn’t work, Kyle. I’d be bored to tears. At least in the cavalry, there might be some excitement now and then.”

“For God’s sake, Dom! Only a bloody fool would join the army,” Kyle snapped. Dominic would have laughed if anyone else had said that, but only his brother could anger him thus.

“Your opinion is so flattering.” Eyes narrowed, he bent over the table and grimly scored one ball after another, ending the game. “I may be a damned fool, but I can still beat you at billiards, or anything else.”

“Damnation, Dom!” Kyle glared across the table. “This is your life we’re talking about, not a blasted game. You’ve got a brain. Use it! Come to Cambridge. If you don’t want the church, read law. You’d be good at that, too. But for heaven’s sake, don’t waste yourself as cannon fodder.”