Trondelaine Castle (11 page)

Tony’s mouth was grim. “Because, my dear, you
blush very easily and you wouldn’t meet my eyes when
Richard spun that silly tale. It’s none of my affair, of course, except that Sylvia is a friend of mine. So is
Richard. And I want to be sure you won’t cause trouble
between them.”

Wendy snorted. “Don’t you think that’s our affair?
Who are you worried about? Richard? Sylvia? I’ve
never seen a woman better able to take care of herself.”

His eyes flashed for a moment. “Syl is rather more
vulnerable than she appears.” He paused. “You won’t
tell me anything? Very well, it’s on your head!”

Tony turned and left the room, leaving Wendy
drained and disturbed. She wondered if his last words
had been intended as the threat they seemed to be.
Unhappily, she turned back to her work, wondering if
Lady Sylvia also doubted her story.

At teatime, Wendy paused, uncertain whether to
remain in the library or seek out the others. As she was
wondering, a footman rapped gently at the library
door. “Tea will be served in the Regency Room, Miss,”
he said in a discreetly lowered voice.

“Thank you,” she replied in the same tone.

As he withdrew, Wendy permitted herself a smile.
How could she have doubted that Lord Richard’s ever
efficient staff would take care of her? A few moments
later, she entered the Regency Room and found Tony,
Lady Sylvia, and Lord Richard already assembled. As
though her arrival were a sign, Gwen appeared with the
tea trolley. She left the cart next to Lady Sylvia and
then Lord Richard’s voice dismissed her. “Thank you,
Gwen. That will be all.”

Sylvia poured tea with a grace Wendy could not
hope to equal. She carefully studied the woman as
Tony and Lord Richard carried on a conversation
calculated to exclude her. Sylvia stood about five foot
five inches, and had a slender, though well-developed,
figure. Her blonde hair was dressed beautifully and complemented the delicate features. She had long
lashes over smoky eyes and a mouth whose only fault
was a slight tendency to pout. The bearing was
aristocratic and her clothes suggested wealth. The blue
swirling color of the dress suited Sylvia perfectly. Yes,
Wendy could easily understand why men would be
drawn to her, particularly a man like Lord Richard.

Next she turned her attention to Tony. He was more
of a puzzle. His presence here showed that he moved in
the first circles. But his appearance was at odds with
that. He wore clothes of impeccable cut, but he seemed
unaware of what he wore.

Tony had surprisingly dark eyes considering the
blondness of his somewhat neglected hair. He was
taller than Wendy had first thought: over six feet, with
a rather slender build. But what made him seem an
outsider to Sylvia and Richard’s world was the lack of
that self-assurance normally stamped on members of
Britain’s best families. He noticed Wendy’s stare and
gave her a mocking smile. “We’ve been neglecting
your-er-guest,” he said to Richard.

The Earl frowned in reply, while Sylvia said, “It
must be difficult for Richard to find anything to discuss
with her. I mean, they can’t have very much in
common, can they?”

“We manage,” he said curtly.

“What would you suggest we discuss-Miss Pratt, is
it?” Tony asked maliciously.

Wendy’s pride forced her to reply calmly. “The
theater in London? The recent tennis matches at
Wimbledon? Politics?”

“How droll!” Sylvia exclaimed. “But then, I should
have guessed she was an intellectual. You work for a
publishing company?”

Wendy was puzzled by the warning look Tony gave Lady Sylvia. But she ignored it. “Yes. I do translating.
Russian and Spanish.”

“But surely you’re American,” Tony interrupted.
“What are you doing in Britain?”

She forced herself to pause before answering airily,
“Oh, my mother was British. One of the Hewitts, you
know. She would never forgive me if I ignored
England.”

“The Hewitts?” Sylvia asked softly, puzzled. “I don’t
remember Margery ever mentioning any American
cousins.”

“Oh, I don’t think she would have,” Wendy offered
coolly. “I imagine her family found it rather disgraceful
that she married an American. And only a university
professor, at that.”

“One imagines Wendy rather disapproves of us
aristocrats, don’t you think?” Lord Richard asked
conversationally.

“Because they never do anything with their wealth
except enjoy themselves?” Tony added.

Lady Sylvia laughed. “Well, then, she must approve
of Richard, at least. Or, for that matter, Tony. He’s an
accountant, my dear. Though one wouldn’t think it to
look at him!”

“That’s right,” Tony affirmed. “Oh, I can lay a good
claim for family respectability going back several
generations. But we were never earls or barons. Nor
have we been as wealthy as some families. Still, I’m
rather the riffraff of our circle.”

Sylvia frowned now. “Tony, you become boring
when you carry on like that.”

Wendy set down her teacup, feeling she had had
enough of this. Still, she forced herself to say
pleasantly, “If you will excuse me, I have work to
return to.”

“On a weekend?” Tony asked.

“Yes, even on a weekend. I’m rather behind after my
accident,” Wendy said calmly.

Then, with three pairs of eyes on her, she hobbled
out of the room. No doubt Lady Sylvia would have
done it more gracefully. Behind her, the conversation
once again became animated with the talk of common
friends.

Wendy dressed early that evening. She spent some
time trying to decide what to wear and finally settled on
the Indian plum dress. She knew that to dress more
ambitiously would be to tacitly place herself in
competition with Lady Sylvia. And she would
inevitably lose.

Lord Richard was in the James Room when she
arrived there. He glanced at her and smiled sympathetically. “Wise choice. Sherry?” He sat on the sofa beside
her. “Thank you for not contradicting me earlier. I felt
the version I gave better-for both of us.”

“I hope I’m not causing you more trouble, Lord
Richard,” Wendy said sincerely.

He gave her an odd look. “Don’t overdo it, Wendy.
I’m not that naive. How is your work progressing?”

She smiled. “Well enough. Though I am behind.”

Lord Richard was about to answer when they heard
a cough. They had been talking quietly, with their
heads near each other. Now they sprang apart.

Tony was leaning against the doorjamb. “Am I
intruding?”

“Of course not!” Richard said impatiently. “The
usual?”

Tony nodded and strolled to sit beside Wendy. As
Richard poured the drink, Tony said softly to her,
“What a charming tete-a-tete. You are fortunate it was
me and not Sylvia.”

She replied sweetly and softly, “What makes you think that would have bothered me?”

Tony gave her a black look but could say nothing
more as Richard joined them. Wendy felt a momentary
pang of guilt for baiting Tony, then shrugged it off. He
deserved a put-down. Sylvia entered then. She halted
as soon as she saw Wendy. Her eyes grew wide, then
quickly narrowed before she turned to Lord Richard,
who immediately looked away, saying, “I’ll get you a
drink.”

But Sylvia was not to be shaken off so easily. She
followed him to the liquor cabinet. Though she tried to
speak softly, her voice carried to Tony and Wendy.
“Was that really necessary? For a common working
girl?”

Tony looked at Wendy, startled. Without thinking,
she told him softly, in a miserable voice, “I’m afraid she
recognizes the dress. It was Lady Pellen’s.”

Now Tony’s eyes widened also with condemnation.
He swore under his breath, ending with, “So you’ve
been bleeding him already.”

Then he was looking fixedly at the door, as though
afraid of what he might add.

Sylvia sat on a chair opposite Wendy. Her voice was
stiff. “Good evening, Miss Pratt. Did you accomplish
any work this afternoon? Or perhaps you found it
rather easier to do your work before Tony and I
arrived?”

Wendy replied quietly, “I assure you, it makes no
difference who is in the castle.”

Sylvia only stared, but Wendy caught Tony’s soft
comment. “Cheeky, aren’t you?”

Fortunately no one else heard him. Richard looked
too embarrassed to speak and Wendy wished she were
back in London. She could well understand how Lady
Sylvia must be feeling if she had indeed recognized the dress, and she hadn’t meant to make matters worse.
Perhaps if she wore the same dress every night until
Lady Sylvia left, she needn’t know about the other two.
Just then, Charles came to announce dinner.

Somehow they managed small talk for two hours.
That was how long dinner took, for the cook had made
a special effort. Finally, it was time for the ladies to
withdraw. With some trepidation, Wendy followed
Lady Sylvia to the music room.

Once there, Sylvia paced for several minutes. “What
are you really here for?” she demanded at last.

“Not Lord Richard!” Wendy answered gently. “And
believe me, even if I wanted to, I could never compete
with you.”

Sylvia continued pacing. Then, unexpectedly, she
sat down at the piano and began playing furiously. It
was a piece by Beethoven. The piece was a difficult one,
and it soon became obvious that Lady Sylvia was an
expert pianist. Without a pause, she moved from that
piece to one by Bach.

The men joined them before it was finished, but
Sylvia still did not stop. She was calmer, and the
Brahms sonata she played next reflected this. As the
last notes died away, Sylvia turned and smiled
triumphantly at Wendy. “Your turn.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t play. I haven’t any
gift for music, you see.”

Now that Sylvia had relaxed, she seemed determined
to be pleasant. “You’re fortunate,” she told Wendy. “It
means you’ve escaped years of dreary lessons and
practicing.”

“I have no gift for music, either,” Richard said with
amusement, “and I still had to take lessons. It took four
years before my parents realized it was hopeless.”

Tony laughed. “You should have done what I did! I caused my music tutor so much trouble that he refused
to return after the fifth lesson. And he told my parents I
was hopeless. I shall always remember him fondly for
that.”

“But you must enjoy playing,” Wendy protested to
Sylvia, “or you couldn’t be half so good at it.”

She merely smiled and walked over to sit next to
Richard. As he smiled at her, she asked quietly, “When
will Miss Pratt be finished with her work here?”

Richard shrugged uncomfortably. “Oh, another two
weeks, I should think.”

Sylvia frowned and asked more sharply than she had
intended, “And must you really stay here the whole
time?”

“Yes!” Richard’s answer was curt.

“Why? Wouldn’t Tony do as well? You wouldn’t
mind, would you, Tony?” she pleaded.

“No, he would not do!” Richard retorted.

Tony regarded Wendy with raised eyebrows. But
what he said was, “Come, Syl! You must realize
Richard is tired of London and the social whirl. He
needs some time to relax.”

The Earl did not deny this interpretation. Sylvia
seemed unconvinced, however. The silence grew until
Tony said, “I’m tired, even if no one else is. Good night,
all. Wendy, shall I escort you to your room?”

She nodded and reached for her crutches, anxious to
escape the tension, even if it meant facing a sarcastic
Tony. As they moved the short distance to her room, he
asked, “Well, are you pleased with yourself?”

She smiled sweetly at him, wanting to vent her
frustration on someone. “Shouldn’t I be?”

As he stared at her, Wendy closed the door in his
face. Fortunately, the walls were thick and she could
not hear the voices next door.

The breakfast tray arrived half an hour late the next
morning, and Wendy was beginning to wonder if she
was expected to go to the dining room.

“I’m sorry, Miss Pratt,” Gwen said with a harassed
air, “but I thought you wouldn’t mind if I served you
last.”

“Trouble?” Wendy asked sympathetically.

Gwen smiled wryly. “Well, it’s just that with extra
guests there is so much more to do. And Lady Sylvia is
used to a…larger staff.”

Wendy nodded. “Not to worry. I understand and
promise not to be impatient.”

“Thank you, Miss Pratt,” the maid said with evident
relief.

As the door closed behind Gwen, Wendy poured herself a cup of tea. It was tepid. Oh, well, she thought
philosophically, I don’t really count anyway. When she
had finished eating, she rather timidly proceeded to the
library. She noted, with relief, that Lord Richard was
not there. Soon she was absorbed in her work.

Sometime later, Wendy was aware of a footstep
behind her. Glancing at her watch, she saw, with a
frown, that it was too early for lunch. Reluctant to
speak with either Richard or his guests, she pretended
not to notice. After a while, however, she began to be
flustered and was unable to work.