Cordelia herself was its object. Not because she had mistreated them in any way. But because they sensed the anger she felt toward them, hostility she kept deeply buried. Rage Donal couldn’t completely understand.
It had something to do with the girl…the young, fair-haired child whose image Cordelia had injected into the visions. Somehow Cordelia had twisted Othello’s memories and drawn upon recollections within her own mind. But what was their significance? Who was the girl injured by the unfamiliar panther? Was this the sister of whom Theodora had spoken, lost years ago to some tragic accident?
He could be certain of only one cruel fact. Cordelia sincerely believed these animals could be broken to docility and contentment, for at some point—in a past he could only begin to imagine—she herself had been broken of the wildness in her own soul.
Donal rose slowly, clenching his muscles to stop their trembling. He visited each of the cages with a silent and heartfelt apology, stopping last at Othello’s enclosure. The leopard would not come near him, nor did he answer Donal’s pleas.
The weight of a terrible sorrow hung like a yoke on Donal’s shoulders as he walked back to the cottage. He washed up as best he could, changed into the freshly laundered garments Edgecott’s servants had left in his clothes press, and managed to torture his cravat into yet another lopsided knot. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He had promised to make himself agreeable to Sir Geoffrey, but it was not as if he were posing as anything but a temporary, if respectable, employee granted a singular but unsolicited honor.
Edgecott’s senior footman met him just inside the door to the house and anxiously herded him into the drawing room. Cordelia, Theodora and Ivy stood in a stiff tableau at one side of the elegant room, each dressed in what must be her most attractive finery. Ivy’s gown was white as befit a virginal young girl, but her mouth was set in a rebellious line as if she and Cordelia had just been quarreling.
She looked up and beamed at Donal as he entered. “Donal!” she cried, starting across the room at an indecorous gallop.
“Ivy,” Cordelia said. Her voice was quiet and as unyielding as that of any general certain of his absolute authority. Ivy came to a halt, bit her lip, and curtseyed to Donal.
“Good evening, Doctor,” she said.
Donal played along with the game. “Good evening, Ivy,” he said. “Your dress is lovely. Is it one of those you purchased in town today?”
She flushed and pressed her hands to the impossibly tiny circumference of her waist. “It was altered for me,” she said in a whisper. “It once belonged to Cordelia’s—”
“It is not polite to whisper in company, my dear,” Cordelia said, coming to join them. She smiled at Donal, an expression entirely lacking in any emotion beyond polite welcome. “Good evening, Dr. Fleming. I am delighted that you could join us.”
She spoke as if not the slightest disturbance had ruffled her composure just a short while earlier. Her gaze met Donal’s and swiftly moved away. “We shall be going in to dinner presently. I have reminded Cook to prepare only vegetarian dishes for you, Doctor.”
Donal knew she was referring to the awkwardness during the previous evening’s dinner, when he had been served a hearty slice of rare roast beef. Cordelia prided herself on being able to provide Donal with a wholly meatless diet, according to his custom, and she had been embarrassed by the incident.
“I am grateful for your consideration, Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said, suppressing the desire to take her slender, gloved hands in his. “Thank you.”
“I would have spared you the presence of meat on the table,” she said, staring at a point somewhere over his left shoulder, “but Sir Geoffrey will have his beef and fowl. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.” He searched for a way to ease the tension that stretched between them. “I confess I have not attended a formal dinner in some time, and I find myself surrounded by so much beauty that I can scarcely recall the rules of etiquette drummed into my head so long ago. Is it to be my honor to escort you to table, Mrs. Hardcastle?”
Much to his amazement she flushed, and her gray eyes flickered toward his. “This is only a family affair, Doctor, but I should be pleased to accept your arm.”
Ivy gave Donal a mournful look of reproach, but Theodora nodded to Donal as if they were old friends who understood each other without the need for words. Donal wondered if Cordelia had confided any part of her menagerie encounter to her cousin, and decided any such disclosure was highly unlikely. Yet it was clear that Theodora saw through the air of serene benevolence Cordelia imposed upon herself and expected others to accept without question.
Before he could give more thought to the matter, Croome appeared to inform them that dinner was served. Donal offered his arm to Cordelia, and Theodora and Ivy walked together behind them into the dining room.
As always, the head of the table was conspicuously vacant, though the setting left no doubt that the place of honor was shortly to be occupied. Donal saw Cordelia to her chair, removed his gloves, and remained standing until the other ladies had taken their seats. There followed a period of awkward silence while the butler and footmen awaited the arrival of the master. Ivy openly fidgeted, staring pointedly at the dishes arranged on the sideboard. Theodora made herself very small in her chair, while Cordelia sat erect and imperturbable, her eyes as reflective as twin mirrors.
Sir Geoffrey’s approach was heralded by a sudden flurry of activity among the servants. A few moments later a thin and soberly dressed man of middle years walked through the door, half supporting an older gentleman on his arm.
Donal had already formed an unfavorable picture of Sir Geoffrey, drawn from what he had heard of the baronet’s conversation with Cordelia and Cordelia’s references to her father’s many “peculiarities.” He was quite unprepared for the man who paused on the threshold.
Sir Geoffrey was not a tall man, but he carried himself with the sheer physicality of a natural athlete despite the signs of recurrent illness to which Cordelia had alluded. Leashed energy vibrated from his spare frame, and he wore his well-cut clothes as if they could barely contain the coiled muscle and sinew beneath. His high forehead was crowned by a full head of thick gray hair. His handsome face was thin and there were deep shadows under his eyes, but his skin bore the weathered appearance of a life spent outdoors, and fine creases carved by sunlight stretched across his forehead and webbed at the corners of his eyes.
Those eyes were gray like Cordelia’s, and every bit as piercing as they swept the room. Sir Geoffrey stepped away from his assistant, who meekly withdrew, and strode forward to brace his hands on the back of his chair.
Donal stood and waited for the baronet’s acknowledgment. It was not long in coming. Sir Geoffrey hardly glanced at the women before he fixed his stare on Donal’s face. His nostrils flared as if he had detected some offensive odor.
“You,” he said. “You are the animal doctor.”
“Donal Fleming. At your service, Sir Geoffrey.”
The baronet barked an unpleasant laugh and looked Donal up and down. “Not at my service. Cordelia speaks very highly of your skills, Fleming, and you are apparently not the manure-grubbing bumpkin I would expect to come out of Yorkshire, but I can see far better uses for the overly generous wages she proposes to pay you on behalf of her wretched menagerie.”
Donal kept his face expressionless and glanced at Cordelia. She regarded her wine glass as if she hadn’t heard a word her father had spoken.
“I have been told, Sir Geoffrey,” Donal said, “that you are a naturalist of some repute. Am I to understand that you have no interest in the animals Mrs. Hardcastle brought back from your travels?”
“Interest? Perhaps if her collection included species from Phylum Arthropoda rather than the tediously inelegant Mammalia, I might find it of some small value. As it is…” He waved impatiently at the footman who hovered near his chair and allowed himself to be seated. Immediately the footman poured him a generous glass of sherry fr
om the decanter on the table. Donal resumed his seat as Sir Geoffrey drained the glass.
“You, I suppose, have no knowledge of insects,” the baronet said while his glass was refilled. “Why should you, when there is nothing a man of your profession can do to improve upon the perfection Nature has already bestowed upon them?”
“Dr. Fleming is a most observant gentleman,” Cordelia said, her voice as low and soothing now as it had been commanding with Ivy in the drawing room. “I believe that his interest in the natural world extends to all its facets.”
“Ha.” Sir Geoffrey gestured to Croome, who in turn signaled the footman to begin serving the meal. “Has your latest protégé empowered you to answer for him, Cordelia? Do you already lead him about by the nose as you have attempted to do with every male of any species who has had the misfortune to cross your path?”
Cordelia’s face went white. Donal pushed back his chair and prepared to rise. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Cordelia urging him to silence with the eloquence of her gaze. He pretended not to notice.
“Sir Geoffrey,” he said, “I am only a guest at your table, but I respectfully urge you to employ greater restraint when you speak to a lady.”
Sir Geoffrey nearly choked on his sherry, and his violent movement sent the platter-laden footman scurrying out of reach. The baronet slammed the palm of his hand on the table.
“You speak so to me, you insufferable puppy?” he snarled.
“The gift of speech was given to only one species of the Phylum Mammalia,” Donal said. “It would be a sin indeed to waste such a capability when its employment is so clearly required.”
Sir Geoffrey stared, red-faced, as if he might ignite from within, and suddenly burst into gales of laughter. “By God,” he said. “He gives as good as he gets, does he?”
Cordelia half-rose. “Papa, you must be careful….”
The baronet’s amusement ended in a fit of coughing, and his meek attendant materialized to offer assistance. Sir Geoffrey pushed the man away and gulped down the glass of water a footman placed before him.
“Sit down, Cordelia,” he said, wiping his hand across his mouth. “I am not dying just yet.” He ignored Donal entirely and turned to examine Ivy. “And this is the other creature you netted in Yorkshire, is it?” His eyes narrowed speculatively. “A pretty piece. She puts me in mind of someone…” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Of course. Lydia. The eyes…” He looked at Cordelia. “Is this why you took her in? So that you could have Lydia again?”
Ivy threw Cordelia a startled glance. Cordelia accepted a bowl of soup from the footman and picked up her spoon. “Lord Inglesham tells me that he brought you a number of interesting books on botany while Theodora and I were in Yorkshire, Papa. I hope that you have found them enjoyable?”
Sir Geoffrey opened his mouth to answer, but Ivy spoke first. “Who is Lydia?” she demanded.
Cordelia set down her spoon. “It is not polite to interrupt a conversation, Ivy. I was speaking to my—”
“You haven’t told her about your sister?” Sir Geoffrey asked, the words edged with spite. “Hasn’t she the right to know why your guilt over Lydia’s death has made a common guttersnipe the recipient of such miraculous good fortune?”
Cordelia met her father’s gaze. “We will not speak of such things tonight, Papa.” She took a careful sip of her soup. “Cook has taken special care with dinner. Let us enjoy it.” She nodded to Ivy. “Perhaps you can show Sir Geoffrey what you have learned, my dear.”
Ivy’s face set in dangerously stubborn lines. “Perhaps that would not be such a good idea,” she said sweetly, mimicking Cordelia’s tone. “Surely a ‘common guttersnipe’ could never perform up to the exacting standards set at this table.”
Cordelia nearly dropped her spoon. Sir Geoffrey looked on the verge of apoplexy, and Theodora cringed in her seat. Donal closed his eyes. There would be no peace at this table tonight. Sir Geoffrey had poisoned the atmosphere with his gibes and innuendo, driving a wedge between Ivy and Cordelia when they most needed to be allies. Had Donal been glib and clever he might have rescued them all from disaster, but the cruel undercurrents in this family’s relationships were too bitter and complex for his mending.
As matters stood, he would have preferred to take his leave and find refuge among the horses in the stable or the rabbits in the wood. But leaving the women to Sir Geoffrey’s odious whims was quite out of the question.
He cleared his throat. “Sir Geoffrey,” he said, “I would be most interested in hearing about your travels around the world.”
The baronet’s eyes snapped to his. “Would you, indeed?”
“I have been considering such travels myself, and I should be glad of any advice you might—”
“Advice? My advice to you is to quit this house while you can. There is no place for you here, and when Inglesham marries my daughter—”
“Father!” Cordelia exclaimed.
“You are no longer a maid, Cordelia, nor are you young. You’ll get no better offer. I’d gladly pay a fishmonger or chimneysweep to take you off my hands. And as for that horse-faced cousin of yours—”
“Sir,” Donal said, struggling to control his voice, “I have asked you to treat the ladies with respect. Perhaps you are too ill to recognize your inappropriate behavior. Shall I call a servant to escort you to your room?”
The silence was thunderous. Sir Geoffrey’s sallow skin reddened as if he had been scalded. His breath sawed in and out of his throat.
“You are ill, Papa,” Cordelia said, rising. “We shall take our meal elsewhere, so that you may rest.”
Sir Geoffrey shot to his feet, toppling his chair behind him. “Cordelia,” he rasped, “get that man out of my house, and have him take that miserable shadow of Lydia with him.”
Ivy bolted up in her seat, her eyes shimmering with angry tears. There was a sudden commotion at the door, and Sir Reginald dashed into the dining room. He dodged a footman’s grasping hands and leaped into Ivy’s lap. She hugged him to her chest.
“You are a horrid old man,” she said to Sir Geoffrey, “and I would not stay in this house for a thousand pounds a year.”
“Ivy—” Cordelia began.
“You!” Ivy said, turning on Cordelia. “You only wanted me because you feel guilty about your sister?” She darted away from the table. “And you made me come here,” she said to Donal. “Sir Reginald is my only true friend.” She spun for the door. Cordelia hesitated, her gaze flying from Ivy to her father, and rose to follow the girl.
“Let her go,” Donal said. “She will do better alone for a little while.”
Cordelia’s eyes glistened with humiliation. She signaled to a footman, who left the room and returned with Sir Geoffrey’s attendant. He hurried to the baronet’s side and spoke softly in his master’s ear.
“Get out,” Sir Geoffrey whispered. He pressed his hand to his chest. “Out!”
Donal remained by his chair, watching Sir Geoffrey as Cordelia and Theodora collected their gloves and beat a dignified retreat. Only when they were well out of the tyrant’s reach did he turn to follow.
“Fleming,” Sir Geoffrey said behind him. “You think yourself quite the gentleman, do you not, defending my helpless daughter?” He wheezed a laugh between his teeth. “D’you fancy a female who lacks every sensibility a proper lady ought to have, no matter how much she tries to ape the more delicate members of her sex?”
Donal faced the baronet. “Since you had the raising of your daughter, sir, you are hardly in a position to complain of any flaws in her character.”
Sir Geoffrey took a step forward, and his attendant restrained him with a hand at his elbow. “She was born into her character,” he snarled. “She would have been no different if she’d spent all her life in England.”
“Indeed? You seem eager to be rid of her, yet I am under the impression that it is her very strength of purpose that efficiently manages this house, its grounds and its staff when you are in
disposed. Are you quite certain Mrs. Hardcastle is so easily dispensable?”
Sir Geoffrey leaned heavily on the table, his arm trembling beneath his weight. “You know nothing of Cordelia, animal doctor. You imagine that you see strength instead of willfulness, composure in place of the constant struggle for self-control.”
“Perhaps you are not the one to speak of self-control, Sir Geoffrey.”
“For all her defects, you shall never be her equal.”
Donal bowed. “That was never my ambition, Sir Geoffrey. Good evening.”
He strode from the room before the baronet could engage him in another fruitless contest of wills, but his mind was spinning with all he had heard. More talk of the mysterious Lydia, of guilt and death. Sir Geoffrey’s apparent disdain for Cordelia when he so clearly relied on her to manage his affairs. And more allusions to the passions that lay concealed beneath Cordelia’s seemingly unexceptionable exterior.
“You imagine that you see strength instead of willfulness, composure in place of the constant struggle for self-control.” Donal had glimpsed that struggle on more than one occasion. He knew that Cordelia’s emotions had been raging tonight, and he had been helpless to comfort her. His feeble attempts to defend her had been more than worthy of Sir Geoffrey’s mockery.
Every imprudent feeling urged him to go to her now, to explain his behavior and assure her that he had paid no heed to her father’s ugly remarks and veiled accusations. But she had suffered quite enough humiliation this evening, and he would be the last person she wished to see.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TOD WAS WAITING near the great stone house when Ivy ran out the door, Sir Reginald in her arms.
She paused long enough to set the spaniel down, swiping at her face with the backs of her hands. Wetness glistened on her cheek. A moment later she was running again, up into the wolds overlooking the house and into the sanctuary of the trees.
Tod followed, his heart’s wings beating hard inside his chest. He had spent the past hours making ready for this first meeting, knowing he must skillfully feign friendship for one who had been his rival. But he had not been prepared for the sight that greeted him now.
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