The Rebellious Ward

by Joan Wolf

  “Notice you?” said Edmund coolly. “It was impossible not to notice you. You pretty well ran Eton while you were there.” Suddenly his face relaxed into its rare, warm smile. “You made a bit of a noise at Cambridge too, as I recall.”

  “Oh,” said Catriona innocently, “were you a scholar too, Lord Lochaber?” The whole circle broke up into laughter, and Catriona stared with good-natured bewilderment into Ian’s dark eyes.

  “The only thing Ian ever studied at Cambridge,” said Lord Lochaber’s loving wife with distinct tartness, “was how to make an idiot of himself.”

  “True,” said Edmund gravely. “But he did it on such a grand scale that it was quite impressive.”

  “You weren’t a scholar, then, like Edmund?” asked Catriona.

  “She’ll pin you to the wall every time, Lochaber,” Edmund murmured, and Ian grinned.

  “I put in three wretched years at Cambridge, Miss MacIan, and then I decided I had had enough. Unfortunately, my family”—and here the dark eyes briefly touched the lovely face of his wife—”wanted me to stay. So I had to get thrown out. Which I did.”

  “I know,” put in Mr. Halley unexpectedly. “I heard about it when I was up at Cambridge. Everybody always hears about it,” he added naively.

  “Goodness, what did you do?” asked Catriona, wide-eyed.

  Edmund grinned. “To the wall,” he said and laughed.

  Ian’s strong, masculine face abruptly lit with an answering smile. For a brief minute they looked strangely alike. “Everyone always blamed me for that race,” Ian said softly. “ ‘Only Ian Macdonald could have thought up that escapade.’ That’s what they all said. When the truth is ...” He broke off tantalizingly, and everyone stared at him. He was right. He had the kind of face that one could believe anything of. Next to him Edmund looked very polished, very elegant, very civilized. Catriona saw her cousin’s eyes and suddenly laughed.

  “It was Edmund’s idea!” she cried.

  “It was indeed,” Ian said. “I’m glad to see there’s someone else who isn’t fooled by you, Burford.”

  “You were a bad influence on me,” Edmund said smoothly.

  “Hah!” said Ian. “You plotted it all out, cool and calculating, with that mathematical precision you were so famous for. All I did was listen.”

  “And drink.”

  “And drink. Of course.”

  “And do it.”

  “True.”

  “But didn’t you race, Edmund?” asked Catriona.

  “Of course. But I didn’t get caught.”

  “You didn’t want to get thrown out.”

  “Very true. Speaking of drinks, Lochaber ...”

  “Lead the way,” said Ian, and the two of them ambled off, still talking.

  “I rather suspect they are both a bad influence,” said Frances Lochaber with amusement. “Ian was so disappointed last year when we were in London and the duke was away in Paris. He’s always said Burford was the only Englishman he ever really liked.”

  “I wonder why Lord Lochaber never came to visit at Evesham,” said Catriona.

  “He was fighting in South America until just a year ago,” Frances replied quietly. “He left right after that famous scene they were both discussing just now.”

  “Oh,” said Catriona. For a minute the two women watched the black heads of Edmund and Ian as they made their way across the room, then Catriona turned to ask Frances something else, but suddenly it seemed as if they were surrounded. Catriona watched for a minute as Frances responded expertly and charmingly to the flock of male admirers who had descended upon her, then the marquis spoke into her ear.

  “Shall we dance?”

  “Yes.” Catriona smiled up at him with great sweetness. “Please, Richard, I should very much like to dance.”

  She danced with the marquis and then with several other men and she was standing again with her fiancé when Lord Lochaber came up and said, “You won’t deny me a turn with a fellow Scot, will you, Hampton?”

  “Of course not,” answered the marquis and watched Catriona glide off with Ian in a waltz before heading toward the excellent champagne.

  “What were you and Edmund talking about for so long?” Catriona asked almost immediately. She looked around and saw Edmund dancing with Frances Lochaber.

  “Sheep,” said Ian in response to her question.

  “Do you have sheep?” asked Catriona. “Edmund has a great number of them.”

  “I know. I’m new in the sheep business, but his family has been in it for centuries. He’s going to be very helpful to me.”

  “Is he?” Catriona smiled up at him. He was even taller than Edmund. “I’m glad,” she said.

  He smiled back, and she was aware suddenly of his potent attractiveness. He was not precisely handsome. It was the impression of intense life contained in his high-cheekboned face that was so beguiling. She did not realize that what she was seeing in Ian’s face was a mirror image of her own extraordinary magnetism.

  Frances Lochaber realized it. “Look at them,” she said softly to Edmund, and obediently he turned his head to watch Catriona and Ian. “The Celts,” said Frances. “What quality is there in the race that makes them burn so much brighter than anyone else?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Edmund quietly.

  “You ought to have Catriona’s portrait painted,” Frances said. “Perhaps Ian’s cousin Douglas would do it.”

  “That will be for her husband to arrange,” Edmund said stiffly after a minute.

  “Yes,” said Frances. “I suppose so. How much older Lord Rivers is looking these days,” she remarked then, tactfully changing the subject.

  “I don’t believe he is well,” Edmund replied, smoothly following her lead. And for the remainder of their dance they spoke only trivial pleasantries. It was a game they were both experts in.

  Chapter Twenty

  Edmund and Ian were inseparable for the next few days, and Catriona found herself spending a good deal of time in the company of Ian’s wife. Frances said she had come to London to shop, and since Catriona was in the process of putting together a trousseau, she lent Frances her company on numerous excursions.

  “It’s so much more fun to shop with someone,” Frances confided. “And I never have made friends with many Englishwomen. They always seem so cold.”

  Catriona grinned. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “And Ian is impossible to shop with,” Frances went on serenely. “I could choose the most hideous dress imaginable, and he’d say it looked fine. I’m so glad the duke is keeping him busy. Otherwise, I’m afraid, he’d be ready to descend on Aysgarth right now and snatch Nell back so we could go home. And her grandparents so look forward to seeing her. It would be a shame to give them less than a month.”

  The marquis was not bored by shopping and he accompanied them on a number of expeditions. He also arranged an outing to Richmond Park for the three of them, Margaret, Mr. Halley, and Lord Morton, one of Frances’s seemingly unending stream of admirers. At the last minute their party was joined by Edmund and Ian, quite throwing the numbers off, as Frances complained to her husband when he appeared dressed in buckskins and riding boots.

  “I thought I had better start keeping a closer eye on you,” he returned imperturbably. “Haven’t any of your old suitors gotten married?”

  “Certainly they have.” She smiled up at him. “They’re no longer suitors; they’re friends.”

  “So you say.” He put his hands on her waist and lifted her easily into the saddle. She looked down into his upturned dark face, and her smile was ineffably lovely. He had never had any cause to be jealous of her, and he knew it.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “So I say. But I am not so sanguine about my own rivals.”

  His hands were still on her waist. “What rivals?” he asked in surprise.

  “The Duke of Burford,” she answered smartly, “and his sheep.” She touched her heel to her horse’s side and walked sedately away down the
street.

  In two minutes Ian had caught up with her. “Today,” he said, “I will be a devoted husband.” She glanced up at him and saw the faint amusement in his dark eyes. “Neither Morton nor Hampton will get near you,” he promised.

  “Lord Hampton is not interested in me,” his wife said.

  “No, that’s true; he’s not.” Ian grinned. “She’s a captivating little minx, isn’t she?”

  “Yes,” said Frances, and there was no answering smile in her voice. “I only hope she’s chosen the right man.”

  There was no more time for conversation. They had reached Grosvenor Square, where they were to meet the rest of the party.

  The ride to Richmond was uneventful. It was a lovely day, and once they got inside the gates of the park, they all allowed their horses to stretch out into a gallop. Margaret and Mr. Halley were the first to slow down, and then Frances expertly brought her own horse down to a trot and then a walk. She was joined in a minute by the duke. Catriona, the marquis, and the rest galloped on ahead.

  “How have you been enjoying your stay in London, Lady Lochaber?” Edmund asked civilly as his horse fell in next to hers.

  “Very much. As I expect you know, Catriona and I have been shopping. There are no shops like London’s in Edinburgh—although you cannot get Ian to admit that.”

  Edmund laughed. “He’s always been a fiercely proud Scot.”

  “Yes. So am I, actually,” Frances added.

  Edmund looked at her in surprise. “That’s right. You are Scottish as well, aren’t you?”

  “One hundred percent. Although Catriona, who is only half-Scot, is more a Celt than I. I show the Scandinavian blood of the western isles.”

  Edmund appeared interested and began to ask her some questions about Scottish history. Frances answered him, and they rode together for perhaps ten minutes, engrossed in conversation. But Frances, who had an extremely feminine and perceptive nature, knew instinctively that Edmund was not interested in her. The spark that was so frequently present in men’s eyes when they looked at her was not there in his. He was in love with someone, she guessed shrewdly, so in love that he scarcely noticed her own beauty; or rather, he noticed— he was not blind—but he was not moved by it. It happened that way with some men when they were totally involved with one woman. She knew. It was like that for Ian. Frances wondered idly who it was for the duke.

  * * * *

  She asked Catriona as the two of them rode together on the way home. Ian and the duke were riding ahead with Margaret and Mr. Halley, and Lord Hampton and Lord Morton had gotten into a conversation about a pair of horses they were both interested in.

  “Is your cousin going to be married?” Frances asked Catriona in a soft voice.

  “I’m afraid so,” came the glum reply. “To Lady Sophia Heatherstone.”

  “What! That cold fish!” Frances looked appalled.

  “Isn’t she awful?” Catriona said with passion. “I used to tell myself it was because she was so beautiful that he liked her. But next to you she’s not beautiful at all.”

  “Or next to you,” said Frances.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Don’t look so surprised. You know the effect you have on men.”

  Catriona kept her eyes on her horse’s ears. “I’m beginning to,” she muttered. “It’s a little frightening. I never thought I was pretty.”

  “You’re not pretty. Nor is Ian handsome. But he’d have to beat the women off with a stick if I weren’t around to put up a No Trespassing sign.”

  “Yes,” said Catriona, recalling her dance with the Earl of Lochaber. “He would.”

  “It’s the same thing you have,” said Frances. “The thing that what’s-her-name Heatherstone does not have.”

  “Sophia,” said Catriona. “Her name’s Sophia. I hate the name Sophia.”

  “It’s never been a favorite of mine either.”

  “Kate!” called the marquis. “Would you like a matched pair of grays?” Catriona dutifully slowed her horse to turn and answer him.

  * * * *

  They were starving when they got back to Burford House, and the duke invited them to stay for a cold supper. “We’re all in riding clothes,” he said easily, “so it won’t matter.”

  Frances went upstairs with Catriona and Margaret to tidy up. She spent quite a long time arranging her hair, and Catriona finally said to Margaret, “You go ahead, Meg. I’ll wait for Lady Lochaber.” Margaret was anxious to get back to Mr. Halley and gave Catriona a grateful look before departing.

  Frances ran the comb one more time through her ash-blond curls and turned to look at Catriona. “How old are you, Catriona?” she asked softly.

  “Seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in the fall.”

  Frances sighed. “Eighteen,” she said. “When I was eighteen, I made the biggest mistake of my whole life.”

  Catriona’s eyes enlarged. “What was that?”

  “I married a man I didn’t love.”

  Catriona felt color staining her cheeks. “Oh,” she said.

  “He was a wonderful man and he loved me very much. I felt constantly guilty that I couldn’t love him as he deserved.” She scanned Catriona’s face. “I had quarreled with Ian, you see, and he went off to South America.”

  “Oh,” said Catriona again. She felt incapable of finding any other word.

  “I’ve never discussed my first marriage with anyone,” Frances said, “and I suppose you wonder why I'm telling you this now....” She broke off as Catriona shook her head.

  “I think I know why.” Her voice sounded very gruff.

  “I don’t want to pry.” Frances was speaking very slowly now. “I realize you scarcely know me, and it is extremely presumptuous on my part to try to give you advice, but I would hate to see you make the same mistake I did.”

  Catriona sat down. It was a relief to have someone to talk to, someone older and more mature than she. “I want to love Richard,” she said earnestly. “I like him very much.”

  “It would be hard not to,” answered Frances. “He is charming. But you can’t will yourself to love someone, Catriona. It doesn’t work.” She smiled ruefully. “I know, believe me.”

  “But everything turned out all right for you.”

  “Yes.” There was a shadow of strain around Frances’s lovely eyes. “Because Rob died.”

  “Yes,” Catriona almost whispered. “I see.”

  “Sometimes I ask myself what I would have done if I had been married to Rob and Ian came back. And then I think, God, I’m glad Rob died. And he was such a good man, Catriona. He was so good to me.” Frances’s face looked almost haunted. “Don’t do it, Catriona. One day you will really fall in love, and then it will be hell.”

  “Have you always loved Ian?”

  “There’s never been anyone else for me. There never will be.”

  “I know.” Catriona bowed her head. “I know. But Ian loved you back.”

  “Yes.” Frances looked at Catriona’s shining dark head. She was beginning to understand the problem.

  “I have to get married, don’t you see?” Catriona was going on recklessly. “I have to get away from Edmund. I can’t live in the same house with him if he is married to Sophia Heatherstone.”

  “Yes,” Frances said very slowly. “Yes, I believe I do see.”

  Catriona looked up. “What shall I do?”

  Frances’s beautiful face looked very preoccupied. “The duke is not engaged as yet, is he?”

  “No.”

  “Are you quite sure he plans to become engaged?”

  “Everyone seems to think he will,”

  Frances smiled in faint irony. “That means exactly nothing. Let me think about this for a few days.”

  “You won’t tell Lord Lochaber?” Catriona asked anxiously.

  “Good God, no,” Frances answered instantly. “He’d be furious with me for interfering.”

  “You haven’t interfered,” Catriona said with a grateful smile.

>   Frances still looked preoccupied. “Not yet,” she said enigmatically and rose to her feet. “We’d better go downstairs. Margaret will be convinced that I’m the vainest creature that ever lived.”

  “No, she won’t,” returned Catriona absently. They left the room together, each absorbed in her own thoughts.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  A week later Catriona left London for Evesham Castle. Edmund had invited the Lochabers, and Frances asked Catriona to come also as company for her. “I can’t bear the thought of listening to nothing but sheep talk for a week,” she complained.

  Ian, who knew his wife could converse very intelligently about sheep and the price of wool, looked at her speculatively. Frances looked back so sweetly that he knew something was brewing, but he hadn’t a clue as to what it was.

  So Catriona accompanied the Lochabers and Edmund to Evesham. And of course where Catriona went, the Marquis of Hampton went as well. The duchess announced that she was tired of London and wanted to go home. And Lady Dawley decided to go on a visit to her daughter, who had a house full of sick children and needed help. That meant that Margaret would be left without a chaperone, and so she returned to Evesham with the duchess. With Margaret, naturally, came Mr. Halley. And when they reached the Castle, George and Henry were home from school.

  Consequently it was a far larger house party than Edmund had envisioned. “Now I’ve got to think up some schemes to entertain this crowd,” he grumbled to Ian before they left London. “I was only planning to show you the estate.”

  “They don’t need to be entertained,” Ian said carelessly. “The lovebirds will keep each other occupied. And Frances can come with us.”

  “I rather got the impression that Lady Lochaber was not looking forward to a week of rusticating.”

  “Nonsense,” said Ian. “There’s nothing she likes better than to be outdoors.” Edmund said nothing but raised a skeptical eyebrow. Ian’s mouth quirked. “I know. I know what she looks like. But she grew up in the Highlands, remember, and she’s as strong as a lioness. At home she knows the name of every crofter in Lochaber. And she knows as much about sheep as I do. Don’t let her face put you off.”