Trondelaine Castle (7 page)

“Oh, no!” Wendy said instantly. “You must have
enough to do as it is, and it will give me a change from
reading.”

Gwen smiled. “Well, in that case, Miss, I’d be
grateful. You see, there’s only seven of us now to take
care of the place. That’s enough for Lord Richard, and
when he has guests he hires more help-usually. But
still, it keeps us busy.”

“I understand. And there’s no hurry about the
sewing kit. When you’ve a chance, perhaps you could
fetch it?” Wendy suggested.

Gwen nodded. “Shall I take out the dresses for you
to try?”

“Please,” Wendy replied.

Gwen laid them on the bed. The first was a sleeveless
dark green velvet dress with a deep neckline. The
second was of chiffon in swirling peacock blues and
greens. The sleeves were long ruffles. The third was an
Indian print of plum with little green and white flowers
on cotton, with long sleeves.

Gwen assured Wendy that the old hemline could be
removed on the cotton and chiffon dresses, but she was
doubtful of the velvet.

“Well, I’ll wear it as it is then,” Wendy said
philosophically. “It’s still more elegant than what I’m
accustomed to.”

Fortunately, the velvet was the longest of the three
anyway. Gwen was enthusiastic as she helped Wendy
try on the dresses.

“Just the size! And they look better on you than they
ever did on Lady Janet,” Gwen confided. “She always
tried to dress ever so much younger than she was.”

“I’ll wear the velvet tonight,” Wendy mused. “Then
there’ll be no need to hurry over the hems.”

Gwen nodded approvingly. “And I’ll bring some
matching ribbons for your hair, if you’d like, Miss.”

Wendy smiled her thanks.

True to her word, Gwen brought the ribbons with
the sewing kit. And Wendy happily set herself to the
task of rehemming the dresses. There was fortunately
no need to measure length. She would simply stitch the
narrowest hem possible. Then the dresses would
almost touch the floor and hide her sandals. Those
nice, sensible, but hardly dressy, sandals. Despite her
earlier anger at Lord Richard, Wendy could not regret
having agreed to wear these dresses.

She had formals of her own, but somehow she had
rarely had the chance to wear them in London. Kevin
abhorred dressing up and avoided all formal occasions
when possible. Most men Wendy knew felt that way. It
might be nice if Lord Richard invited Dr. Witler to
dinner some evening…

Stop it! she told herself firmly. You are practically
engaged to Kevin. Anyway, Roger might well be
married or engaged or have a steady girl. With a sigh,
Wendy finished the last of the stitches. By this time,
lunch had come and gone. She way trying to decide
whether to brave the library when there was a knock at
her door.

It was Lord Richard. “Do you play chess?” he asked
curtly. She nodded and he said, “Come along then.”

Mystified and curious, Wendy reached for her
crutches. Lord Richard held the door for her, then
stepped ahead and strode swiftly to the library. There
he paused and, with ill-concealed impatience, waited
for her. She did not hurry. The chess table and
chessmen had been set up between two comfortable
chairs.

“Black or white?” he asked.

Well, that was not how the matter was usually
decided, but Wendy replied automatically, “Black.”

That way she would not have to make the first move.
She took the chair he indicated and waited. Lord
Richard moved a pawn. Wendy was far more
interested in his strange behavior than the game and
moved her pieces without a great deal of forethought.
Lord Richard, on the other hand, spent a good deal of
time deliberating each move. He was no doubt seeking
patterns to Wendy’s moves, patterns that did not exist.

Never having read books on the subject, she tended
to be an unorthodox player. This sometimes proved to
be a very effective tactic. As she watched Lord Richard,
Wendy noted the intense concentration and wondered
what was disturbing him. Even deep in thought, his
face was not an unhandsome one, she admitted to
herself. It was a forceful face; the face of a man sure of
himself and what he wanted.

Suddenly he looked up and said hastily, “Excuse
me.

He hurried to his desk and began scrawling
furiously. It apparently had something to do with his
work, Wendy thought. With increasing amusement,
she watched him. After several minutes, he set down his pen with a satisfied air and looked up. Wendy laughed.

Lord Richard frowned, drawing his eyebrows
together. “What is so amusing?”

“I’m sorry,” Wendy apologized, “but you look as
though you’ve just come out of a trance.”

To her surprise, he smiled and ran a hand through
his hair. “To be honest, I feel as if I have.” His glance
fell on the chess table. “Whose move?”

“Yours.”

He walked back to the table and sat down. As his
eyes took in the disarray of pieces, he exclaimed,
“Good lord! How did we ever reach this mess?”

Wendy laughed again. “Does it matter?”

He grinned. “I suppose not.”

The game began to move more quickly and Wendy
was aware her opponent had suddenly, drastically
improved. Nevertheless, due to a superior position
when they resumed the game, she won.

“You’ll have to give me another chance, you know,”
he warned her wryly.

“Yes, but not now,” she agreed. “It’s teatime.”

In fact, Gwen was rolling the tea trolley into the
library. “Very well, later,” Lord Richard conceded.
When Wendy had poured the tea and Gwen had left the
room, he said, “This must all have seemed quite bizarre
to you.”

She shook her head. “Hardly! You’re not the only
one who ever gets stuck on a problem.”

He smiled and it seemed to Wendy he had never
looked more human and approachable. She was
tempted to apologize for her outburst of the morning,
but instinctively she knew it would only remind him of
their respective positions and draw a curtain between
them again.

Instead, she asked, “What do you do when you
haven’t any guests to play chess with?”

The grin widened. “If I’m here, I commandeer
Charles-ever since I discovered he knew the game. In
London, I have a secretary who plays chess and, in
desperation, I sometimes turn to my valet. But he hates
the game.”

Wendy smiled quietly. She could imagine the
servants describing Lord Richard’s eccentricity with a
shudder. But she only said, “What are you working on?
Or shouldn’t I ask?”

“Well, in this case, one of the companies I consult for
has a problem. They’ve been doing the usual time trend
studies. Only now something is drastically wrong. I
have to try to find out what-and quickly. You see,
they estimate level of inventories and order raw
materials months in advance. If their estimates model
is wrong, it could cost them a great deal of money. I
have to determine whether the fluctuation is temporary
or part of a new trend. If it’s temporary, I need to find
the cause and probable length of the fluctuation. If it’s
not temporary, I have to design a new model. Do you
understand?” He grinned.

“Not completely,” she admitted cheerfully. “But it
sounds interesting. So you’re a consultant?”

“Not precisely. I own shares in a number of
companies. It is in my interest to see that they do well.
Each, of course, has its own staff to handle ordinary
problems. But when a problem like this occurs, I
handle it-if I can. I receive a fee for such consulting,
but the big return is from my share in ownership.” He
paused. “It’s true that much of the work in economics
seems dull. But in my position, I handle the most
interesting problems.”

“You don’t sound much like your namesake.”
Wendy laughed.

Lord Richard frowned. “Did I tell you about him?
When you’re off those crutches I’ll take you upstairs
and show you his portrait. Though, actually, his
half-sister was far more interesting. No, I’m not going
to tell you that family scandal. We haven’t a portrait of
her anyway.”

“Was she illegitimate?”

Lord Richard gave her a withering look. “Had that
been the case, my dear Wendy, I should never have
mentioned her at all.”

Realizing she’d best change the subject, she asked,
“More tea?”

He nodded and gave her his cup to fill. She poured
tea, he thought, as though she had been brought up in
an English home. But then, her mother was British. Or
so Wendy claimed.

Wendy was not conscious of his gaze and she turned
back to Lord Richard to give him his teacup.

He was looking at something on his desk. “Thank
you, just set it there,” he said and continued to study
the matter on his desk.

Wendy felt as though she were intruding and said,
“If you will excuse me, I have some things to attend to.”

“Of course.” The reply was absentminded.

With a wry smile, Wendy got to her feet. As quietly
as she could, she left the room. When she was gone,
Lord Richard closed the library doors and returned to
the chair by the chess table. He sipped his tea slowly,
thoughtfully.

It was almost time to go to the sitting room. Wendy
stood before the mirror, feeling quite satisfied. Her hair
was tied back and up into cascading curls with a green velvet ribbon. As always, Wendy was thankful for hair
that curled by itself. The green velvet gown fitted her
figure closely until the waist where it began to flare as it
fell softly to her ankles. She bit her lip over the sandals,
but there was nothing to do about them. With a smile,
she turned and left her room.

Lord Richard was seated when she entered the
James Room, but rose immediately. He did not
succeed in hiding his surprise. The dress gave Wendy a
new sense of poise.

“Good evening, Lord Richard,” she said easily.

“Good evening. A glass of sherry?”

“Yes, please.” As he handed her the glass, Wendy
could not resist adding impishly, “I trust your digestion
will not suffer from my appearance this evening.”

He sat on the couch beside her. “Of course not,” he
replied coolly. “The dress has always been one of my
favorites. Though my mother would have worn
emeralds with it.”

“Hardly necessary, I should think,” she answered
sweetly.

He shrugged with a smile. They both turned as
Charles came to announce dinner. The servant’s eyes,
as they rested on Wendy, registered distinct approval.
Wendy was amused.

As she started forward, she indicated her crutches.
“Not very formal, I’m afriad.”

Lord Richard resisted the impulse to tug one of her
curls. Instead, he followed quietly. Charles was
thoughtful. It was not so easy to classify the young
person, but he began to feel she might, after all, be a
young lady. One could not understand, however, Lord
Richard’s animosity toward her. But then, one was
only a servant and milord was not likely to share his
confidences with one. Quietly, Charles began to supervise the dinner. It was one of cook’s better efforts.
Cook was rather excited. It was rare for Lord Richard
to be home on a weekday.

Later, as Wendy prepared for bed, she considered
the evening. It had been an unusually comfortable one.
To her surprise, Lord Richard had been very sparing of
his sarcasm. She wondered, not for the first time, what
he was really like. There had been only one awkward
moment. Lord Richard had been questioning her
about her British family.

“I consider myself not to have any!” she had said.
And, reluctantly, when he raised his eyebrows, she had
explained, “My mother’s family was quite upset when
she married my father. Because he was an American
and a nobody, just out of college. Known in his field,
but without any sort of background. So they disowned
her.”

Lord Richard had been silent for several moments.
Then he had said slowly, “Didn’t your mother ever try
again, later, to write to her family?”

“In the first few years, yes. The letters were always
returned unopened.”

“Her brothers? Sisters? Were they unyielding also?”

“There was only one brother. He went to see my
father when the engagement was first announced.
Tried to buy off my father. When my father refused, he
said a lot of very nasty things. Oh, my mother’s family
was quite united!”

When next he had spoken, Lord Richard had asked
her about something entirely different. But she had felt
he was still thinking about her mother.

She shrugged now. After all, it didn’t matter. He was
British. One couldn’t expect him to sympathize with
her mother. He’d have felt much more on the family’s side. At least he had not said so aloud. And he had, for
the most part that evening, been quite pleasant. With a
sigh, she dismissed the matter and picked out a book to
read.

Tuesday passed slowly for Wendy. She forced
herself to write a letter to her father. She hoped it did
not convey any of her own misgivings. She did not
want him to worry. That evening, she wore the chiffon
dress and Lord Richard was pleasant again. Perhaps,
she told herself hopefully, he is beginning to realize his
suspicions are absurd.

Wednesday, however, was quite different. Gwen,
when she came to remove the breakfast tray, said,
“Lord Richard wants to see you in the library right
away, Miss Pratt.”

Puzzled, Wendy thanked Gwen for the message and
took up her crutches. What on earth could he want?
The library door stood open, but she knocked anyway.

“Come in!” the familiar, deep voice called.

Lord Richard stood by his desk. Wordlessly, he
indicated a seat and she took it. He hesitated a
moment, then tapped a package on his desk. “This
came for you. From your publishers.”

“Oh, good!” she exclaimed. “I assume it’s some
translating to be done. I was in the middle of a Spanish
manuscript.”

Lord Richard handed it to her. Wendy’s guess was
correct. The manuscript and her notes were there.