by Unknown
I have not quite worked that out, but it will serve, I think. I can travel in relative comfort and safety in that guise."
"Why?" Linton sat up, resting his elbows on the table, looking closely at the pale, set face opposite.
"You would not understand," she said quietly, turning her head away.
"That seems to be a favorite accusation of yours, brat. I suggest you put me to the test."
"All I have left is there." Her voice sank to barely a whisper. "I must bring back Mamman's jewels and
do something for the cure and .. . and . . . find out what has happened to the chateau and the bodies of my family. It is not finished otherwise."
The Earl of March opened his mouth and was instantly silenced by a quick frown from his guest.
"Do you trust me, Danielle?" Linton asked what seemed to Danny a complete non sequitur and she
gazed at him blankly.
"But of course, milord. What an idiotish question!"
"It is not idiotish and it is most certainly not courteous of you to speak in that fashion." This down-to-earth rebuke in the face of Danielle's extraordinary scheme had the effect of returning reality to the dining room. The Earl and Countess of March relaxed once again, more than willing to leave this matter in the clearly capable hands of the Earl of Linton.
"I will make the journey for you," he continued coolly. "You will furnish me with a letter for the cure, maps, and all relevant information. Whilst I am gone, you will remain here arid practice some of the gentler arts of being a lady. Is that a fair exchange?"
"It will be dangerous, milord, and the danger should be mine not yours," she responded with quiet dignity.
"You will, however, allow me to assume that dangerfor you. I can accomplish the task with much more facility than you, and much more speed. Is it agreed?"
Danielle struggled with herself for long moments. Her pride rebelled against allowing someone else to take on such an unpleasant and difficult task for her. She had expected total opposition and the assumption that even to wish for such a thing was quite out of the question. Instead, Linton had not questioned her wishes or her reasons, merely presented an alternative mode of execution that would most certainly be more efficient. She did not doubt but that he would accomplish his objective and that perhaps she would not.
"I shall be forever in your debt, my lord," she said softly.
"Fustian!" My Lord declared brusquely. "You will repay me by learning to ride sidesaddle and by banishing from your memory those words and expressions usually found on the tongues of sailors and fishwives."
"You strike a hard bargain, milord." Danielle suddenly gave him that dazzling smile that had so struck
him during their evening with Pitt.
Lady Lavinia's eyes widened. She had not seen this before and had had neither the time nor the opportunity to speculate on the more feminine traits of her granddaughter. The child had seemed well enough looking, certainly, but with that ridiculous haircut and the overly intense expression she wore constantly was not immediately to be perceived as a beauty. *Now, however, she saw a diamond of the first water under the tomboy facade. A quick glance at Linton assured her that he too saw it—probably always had done, she thought suddenly. She nodded to herself, pursing her lips in a gesture her husband knew well as denoting happy decision. They would pull the coals out of this fire most satisfactorily.
* * *
"So, Linton, how do you suggest we proceed?" March rose from the table once the ladies had withdrawn and went thoughtfully over to the long window overlooking the terrace. The sun was sinking slowly behind the cliff top, filling the sky with a soft pink glow that promised another beautiful day for the morrow.
"With all speed," Linton replied briefly, reaching for the decanter. "A period of mourning will, of course, be necessary, but I think not a full year. The circumstances of her family's death are sufficiently extreme and the timing unknown by all save ourselves that I feel sure a September wedding would cause no censure. It is possible to be ... uh ... uninformative . . . about the finer details, I think."
"Quite so, Justin." The Earl of March was in no wise surprised by his guest's matter-of-fact statement.
It had not occurred to him that a shotgun would be necessary in this delicate affair.
"I think it would be as well to give the impression that Danielle has been with you for some considerable period— certainly since before her parents' death. It will cause no remark and you have been out of town for some time?"
"Since October," March replied. "We shall put it about that Danielle has been paying us an extended visit in preparation for her debut next Season. Perhaps Louise has been in failing health and therefore unable
to sponsor her daughter herself?" A slight sigh escaped him—he and his wife had mourned their daughter in the days since receiving Linton's letter, but now the living required their undivided attention.
"That will serve well, sir." Linton looked at the older man, compassion in his eyes as he understood his thoughts. "I shall drop this information into a few, carefully chosen ears in both London and Paris—the gossips will have it in no time and if news of Languedoc has already reached the French court it will explain the matter of Danielle's survival most satisfactorily."
"And the wedding.. . ?" March queried, raising one eyebrow.
"In London, I think, at the start of the Season. We do not wish any appearance of a hole-in-the-corner affair, any undue haste or secrecy," Linton said slowly. "A quiet ceremony attended only by family in St. George's, Hanover Square, will do very well—Danielle's and your recent tragic loss will explain the lack of pomp. It will be quite unexceptionable."
"And how, Justin, do we explain to my granddaughter that she is to become the Countess of Linton?" March could not resist a soft chuckle as he put this so-important question.
"I think you may safely leave that to me," Justin declared coolly. "On my return will be soon enough.
My brat needs some healing time before she is presented with any more shocks."
"She is remarkably quick-witted," March murmured, avoiding Linton's eye. "I am sure she will quickly grasp the principles of a marriage of convenience."
"You mistake the matter, Charles," Justin said gently. "This is to be no marriage of convenience. I will wed Danielle de St. Varennes because I choose to do so, not to preserve my honor or hers."
"Is this to be a love match, then?"
"I have loved your granddaughter since the first evening I met her" was the calm reply. "She is, of course, quite unaware of this fact. I could hardly take advantage of her situation, so have played the part of dictatorial guardian." He shrugged slightly. "She is not, I think, indifferent to me but the woman in her
still sleeps. I look forward to the very pleasant task of awakening her." He smiled suddenly. "Have no fear, March. Danielle will come to no harm from me."
"I have no such fear, Justin. We will take good care of her in your absence."
"That I don't doubt," Linton said with a short laugh, "but I think it time she stopped running wild and began to make some excursion into Society."
"Lavinia will arrange that with great enthusiasm, unless I am much mistaken. There are several families
in the area who will provide quite unexceptionable contacts for the child so long as she does not develop some 'tendre for the squire's son."
"I shall return with all due haste, March." Linton laughed. "But Danielle, for all her childishness, has a deep core of sophistication that will not, I suspect, allow her to fall prey to the dubious charms of some callow youth."
* * *
When Danielle descended to the breakfast parlor very early the next morning she found only Linton. She was not to know that this had been arranged at his request when he had taken leave of his hosts the previous evening and came forward eagerly, her hands full of papers.
"I am glad to find you alone, milord. I have written to Monsieur le Cure and have drawn up some maps. Shall I explain them to
you?"
"Certainly." He smiled. She was wearing a rose silk wrapper over her nightgown and looked entrancingly feminine in spite of the short, slightly rumpled curls—except that she was barefoot.
"Where, are your shoes, brat?" He raised his glass, subjecting her pink toes to an interested scrutiny.
"Oh, I couldn't find them," she declared airily, apparently unmoved by his examination. The earl sighed and gave up the attempt to bring her to a proper sense of confusion and recognition of this solecism.
"This is a map of the village." Danielle stood at his shoulder, leaning over to put the paper beside his plate. "This is the lane from the chateau." It was a beautifully drawn map, cartography clearly being another of her many and varied skills, he reflected distractedly, trying not to react to the sweet fragrance of her skin, the soft pressure of her breast under the thin silk as she leant against his arm.
"Danielle, it is quite impossible for me to eat my breakfast with your arm in the way," he declared suddenly, taking her by the waist and drawing her onto his knee. 'There, that is much better. Now I can eat with one hand and we can put the map to the side, like so. Pray continue."
Danielle stiffened momentarily as a most odd sensation washed over her. His hand was light and warm around her waist, his shoulder firm and supportive at her back, the thighs in their buckskin britches taut and hard-muscled beneath her buttocks. She had never been so powerfully aware of another physical presence.
"I... I could sit in the chair beside you, milord," she murmured.
"You could," he agreed cheerfully, spearing a kidney with his fork. "But I am quite comfortable. Are you not?"
She was very comfortable, too comfortable for comfort, but her companion was continuing with his breakfast as if their seating arrangement were the most natural thing in the world. Danielle went on with her explanation.
Afterward, she accompanied him outside to his waiting horse and the post chaise. "Why, milord, where is the mare?"
"I am leaving her for you, brat." He smiled. "But you will ride her sidesaddle—are we agreed?"
The small nose wrinkled. "I will undertake to leam, milord, but I cannot promise never to ride astride."
"I am satisfied, Danielle." He took the reins of the blaek in one hand and smiled down at her, a look in
his eye that she had never seen before and that puzzled her mightily—it was almost as if he was seeing someone else; he had certainly never looked at his brat in that way. His next words reassured her slightly. "You will be good now, won't you?"
"Assuredly, sir, for I know what to look forward to on your return if I am not," she murmured demurely, lowering her eyes meekly beneath the long lashes.
"Minx!" A long, gloved finger caught her chin, tipping it upward. "Do not be too sure of anything, mon enfant. I am not known for my predictability." The dark head bent, those firm, curved lips hrushed hers in a featherlike caress so light she wondered afterward if it had ever happened, and the Earl of Linton mounted and without a backward glance rode off down the driveway.
Danielle gathered up the skirt of her wrapper and ran across the dew-wet grass to the cliff top, watching the procession out of sight behind the bend in the steep path. Her hand, raised in farewell, dropped to her side as she scrunched her bare toes in the damp, rough crabgrass, feeling forlorn and bereft and wondering why.
Chapter 7
Time passed rapidly and Danielle's thin cheeks and skinny body filled under the application of good food, rest, fresh air, and an abundance of love and kindness. She found her excursions into Garnish society tedious in the extreme, the young people boring, ill-educated, and with a sense of humor that she could not help but castigate as puerile and totally unamusing, their elders complacent, smug, stay-at-homes with no understanding of or interest in the world outside their farms, their shooting, and the whisk table. But she tried hard to bridle her impatient tongue and swallow the hasty, sarcastic comments that rose all too frequently to her lips. Her efforts were viewed with sympathy and understanding by her grandparents and her occasional lapses drew no more than the mildest reproof.
Lavinia found to her amazement that this girl/woman was most knowledgeable about the finer points of running a household. With her easy manners and obvious competence she became quickly accepted as a trusted member of the family who could always be relied upon to untangle a knotty domestic problem whether it be the unexplainable disappearance of three pairs of the best bed sheets, a discrepancy in the kitchen accounts, or the awkwardness arising from the housekeeper's niece having inadvertently insulted Lady Lavinia's dresser.
Lord March found an educated mind, a quick brain at the chessboard, and a very skilled cardplayer and soon resigned himself to losing at piquet or chess at least twice as often as he won. When she was discovered in the cellar advising the butler on the readiness of the '73 burgundy he privately decided that for all her unconventional ways she would make Iinton a very lucky husband. This was no schoolroom miss who would fritter away her allowance and her time and bore him with vapid inanities on the rare occasions she chose his company above that of her society friends.
But Danielle was not truly happy. She kept herself occupied because it was not in her nature to repine, but her thoughts were too often with a dark-haired, black eyed, soft-spoken individual. In a strange way she felt him looking over her shoulder and began to judge her actions and words according to how she knew he would react—the amused smile, the approving nod, the slightly raised eyebrow, the brisk rebuke, or the so gently pronounced warning.
They heard no news. May 5, the date set for the meeting of the States General, came and went. Danny fretted and fumed, and took to riding out astride the dappled mare from sunup to sundown across the flat countryside and the long deserted beaches.
It was the first week of June before the messenger arrived bearing a short, uninformative note from Linton stating simply that he would arrive at Mervanwey within three days of their receipt of this communication and he hoped he would find them well.
"But he doesn't even say if he reached Languedoc, or what has happened at Versailles... or anything!" Danielle exclaimed in frustration and a fair degree of pique that the terse note had carried no special message for her.
"Patience, my love. You will hear all from Linton himself in just a short time. You are twisting those ribbons into a veritable bird's nest," Lady Lavinia scolded gently. "I will instruct Betsy to make haste
with the green silk—it will be just the thing for you to wear to greet His Lordship."
Danielle, however, had other ideas—ideas that were fortunately not imparted to Lady Lavinia who might otherwise have succumbed for the first time in her sensible life to a fit of the vapors.
Thus it was that in the late afternoon of the third day, Justin, Earl of Linton, traveling this time in the comfort of his own well-sprung coach, was startled out of a deep and exceedingly pleasant reverie concerned with the awakening of the tenderer emotions in the bosom of one Danielle de St. Varennes by the crack of a pistol shot, an alarmed yell from his coachman, and the sudden, violent halt of the conveyance. A quick thought for the wooden box beneath his seat and his own pistol was in his hands as he reached for the door handle. The next instant, a very familiar voice reached his ears.
"For God's sake, man! You are quite cow-handed. Look to your horses before the leader throws a trace. They would not have plunged like that if you had not jabbed at them in such an idiotish fashion!"
Replacing his pistol in the small pocket of his waistcoat the earl let down the window and regarded the slight figure, still castigating the clumsy coachman, with considerable exasperation.
"Danny, you incorrigible wretch! Come over here this instant."
He couldn't see her face, hidden as it was behind a black silk loo mask, but his eyes were riveted to the still smoking flintlock pistol in her hand.
"How dare you, Danny! Give me that pistol."
Danielle pulled off her mask showing him a pair of brightly laughing
eyes. "It is quite all right, milord. I am considered an excellent shot, you should know." And with total ease she slid the pistol back into her belt. "I have been used to handling firearms forever, and if your idiot of a coachman had not reacted so foolishly there would have been no discomfort to anyone. Did you get sadly jolted, sir? I really did not intend for that to happen. I fired well over their heads."
Linton, rendered momentarily speechless, merely looked at her and slowly the laughter faded from her eyes.
"I see you are cross now, milord. It was just a prank, something un peu amusant, n'est-ce-pas?"
"It was not at all amusing," His Lordship informed her bluntly.
