by Dorothy Mack
“You were correct as usual, my dear. I was tired and would have done better to lie down upon my bed. Now I am paying for falling asleep in such an uncomfortable position.” The blue eyes fell on the expectant young man and turned back to the girl with a question in their depths.
“This is the marquess of Lunswick, Grandpere. He was a friend of my father’s.”
“Oh, dear!” The amiable countenance wrinkled in thunderstruck consternation, and the old gentleman leaped so awkwardly to his feet that it was necessary for him to accept his granddaughter’s supporting arm for a few seconds until he had steadied himself. The girl’s utter calmness aided him in regaining his own composure, but anxiety lingered as he grasped both her hands and said urgently:
“He wrote to me and I meant to have a talk with you about your father before his arrival, my dearest child, but I put it off and put it off, and now see what has happened. Did he tell you about Perry’s death?”
The marquess had been standing silent but intently observant and now ventured, “Yes, I fear I have given Lady Marianne a rude shock, and I must apologize for my ill-timed arrival, but may I offer by way of extenuation the assurance that had I the least idea how matters stood, I should not have approached her before speaking to you, sir.”
The old man made a slight mechanical gesture accepting and dismissing this specious apology and, as his granddaughter had before him, echoed hesitantly, “Lady Marianne?”
Justin noted the expression of weary sorrow before it was slowly replaced by interest in himself, as the old man extended his hand in a surprisingly firm clasp and raked his unexpected guest with an estimating, and the younger man was convinced, extremely discerning eye. He said with simple courtesy:
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lunswick. May I offer sincere apologies for the nature of your welcome? I hope you will pardon an old man’s lapse of memory. You will of course remain to share our repast.” He glanced at his granddaughter, accepting her slight nod as confirmation, and proceeded to offer his guest some quite tolerable sherry.
If Justin had expected to hold a private conversation with Mr. O’Doyle before dining, he was foiled by Lady Marianne who had remained with them for a few minutes before drawing her grandfather away to change. Now as he stared thoughtfully into the flames in the fireplace his lip curled with amused contempt as he considered her tactics. Obviously she had no intention of allowing him to discuss his plan to remove her to Somerset before she had made her own objections known to her grandfather. Well, much good it would do her in the long run. If the old man should prove obstructive, he held the winning card in his control of her assets. Not that he desired to use coercion on a man with whom he already felt an instinctive rapport. Mr. O’Doyle struck him as being a genuinely likable person. It was otherwise with his granddaughter however. He stirred and kicked a log with unacknowledged irritation. Never had he met a less prepossessing female! It was not that she was particularly ill-favored. Frowning in concentration, he attempted to bring her features before his mind’s eye with minimal success. All he could recall was that she was dark skinned, which must be reckoned a serious flaw, and dark haired, what he had seen of it, for she had worn a concealing cap. In fact all her dark drab clothing had better served the purpose of concealing than enhancing any claims to good looks that she might possess. Of course she had been working when he met her. No doubt her appearance would be considerably improved when she joined them for supper. He devoutly hoped her attitude would have undergone a similar change for the better, for he found her calm impassivity singularly disaffecting.
However when Lady Marianne reappeared, Justin’s optimistic prophecies were both found to have been based on wishful thinking. Certainly she had made an evening toilette, but any overall improvement in her appearance was too slight to be of any significance. She was still depressingly garbed in black, this time in a heavy, stiff silk gown, shiny from wear, which would have proclaimed its venerable age had not the outmoded style made that distinction redundant. Another cap, of yellowed lace and muslin this time, unbecomingly covered all of her hair except right in the front where the dark hair grew from a point in the center of her forehead. His eyes ran over her measuringly and he sighed silently. Scrawny as a plucked crow! As his assessing glance met hers for an instant, he would have taken his oath that her dark eyes were filled with a sort of triumphant mockery and his own narrowed thoughtfully, but he kept his expression blandly civil and offered his arm to lead her into another small but lovely apartment where a plain though beautifully prepared meal awaited them.
They were served by a very young girl who appeared nervously fascinated by the presence of a noble guest. At one point she dropped a plate of vegetables and was only prevented from going off into tears by Lady Marianne’s quelling look and calm words. As she fumblingly cleared away the mess of spilled peas, Justin smiled comfortingly and the girl’s comely face brightened. He missed the faint surprise that fleetingly animated his hostess’ deliberately aloof features.
Though the game pie he was eating would rank among the best he had ever tasted, the evening as a social event was destined to be memorable only for the air of discomfort that his practiced ease of manner could do nothing to dispel. He maintained a determined flow of polite conversation, intermittently aided by Mr. O’Doyle, who was pleasant but inclined to go off into periodic reveries. The girl contributed as little as bare civility would permit. At first he wondered if she might be suffering from a disabling shyness which could not be wondered at, living retired as she likely did, but after a thoroughly exasperating hour of attempting to set her at her ease and draw her into the conversation, he came to the uncharitable conclusion that she suffered from nothing save an unreasonable dislike of himself and an ill-natured determination to resist all of his conversational overtures.
This conclusion received unneeded support when they removed to the drawing room for coffee and port. Justin broached the subject of his visit, addressing his conversation entirely to Mr. O’Doyle. Now the wretched girl decided to enter the discussion. In a voice in which Justin thought he detected a touch of bravado, she said:
“I have already told Grandpere of your mother’s kind invitation and he agrees with me that it will not do. I am needed on the farm and Grandpere is not well enough to be left alone. Perhaps at some other...”
“Marianne!”
At the gentle rebuke in Mr. O’Doyle’s voice the girl’s hands became very still on the coffeepot. A faint hint of color appeared in her cheeks and she kept her eyes down. Justin waited.
“I shall miss you very much, my child, but I feel strongly that you should at least sample the life your father’s position entitles you to lead before making any great renunciation. Clara will take good care of me and there is nothing wrong with my health except that I am no longer a young man.”
Justin had leaned forward unconsciously and he caught his breath at the full impact of misery in the girl’s overbright eyes as she raised them imploringly to her grandfather’s face. She said nothing, merely pleading with those huge dark eyes. The old man swallowed with difficulty. His elderly, rather angelic face mirrored his deep love, but his voice was quietly insistent.
“You must go, my child. Give it a fair chance.”
She rose to her feet then, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. “Very well, Grandpere. I will do as you wish. If you will excuse me, Lord Lunswick, I ... I have a slight headache. With your permission, Grandpere, I’ll retire.”
Despite his basic hostility toward the girl, Justin was moved to compassion by the husky note in her voice and the memory of the naked misery he would not have credited to such an apparently cold-natured girl. Now as she bent to kiss her grandfather good-night, he strolled to the door and opened it for her. She kept her eyes averted as the silk whispered its way across the room, but he prevented her from slipping quickly out by extending his hand and wishing her good night. After an instant’s hesitation she placed her hand rather reluctantly in his a
nd said stonily, “Good night, my lord.”
When her eyes met his, Justin received his second shock in as many minutes, not so much at the excess of antipathy contained therein, but at the astonishing evidence that the eyes he had assumed brown or even black in the shaded glare of the sunset and across a large dimly lit table, were, in actual fact, a deep intense blue with a hint of purple in their depths. What’s more, they were set in a veritable forest of thick black lashes. If it had not been for their antagonistic expression he would have had no hesitation in declaring them supremely beautiful. He stood almost hypnotized, unaware that his grip on her hand had tightened involuntarily until she pulled hers away abruptly and disappeared up the stairs. She did not glance back at the man staring after her with a thoughtful frown causing a line to deepen between his brows.
Only when she was well out of sight did he turn to rejoin his host in the drawing room, and only then did he allow an expression of mild triumph to reign.
CHAPTER THREE
But the cold clear light of dawn brought second thoughts concerning the appropriateness of any triumphal war dances, no matter how privately observed. He must have been suffering a temporary mental aberration if the petty triumph of overriding that unlikable girl’s objections could have seemed like a victory. What kind of victory saddled him with an unwilling, uncivil, unappealing house-guest for an indefinite period of time? As he let Mountain amble his sure-footed way down the shaded lane he had noticed the previous day, he was preoccupied with his troublesome thoughts to the exclusion of any real appreciation of the clean cool air and dew-bedecked plants. What had he taken upon his shoulders when he had blithely set forth to carry out Perry’s last wish? Completely unlike him in appearance, she possessed her father’s cool insolence in full measure. He gave a short bark of laughter at which Mountain perked up his ears. Absently he patted the big stallion. “Yes, old boy, an arresting quality to be sure, but not one to win admirers even in a more eye-catching female.” He frowned, thinking that it was his mother who would bear the greatest burden of this ill-natured girl’s company. In the few days prior to his departure for Yorkshire, she had talked herself into a state of pleased anticipation and was eagerly looking forward to outfitting her “borrowed daughter,” as she had gaily referred to the unknown Marianne. A sour smile routed the frown temporarily. Well, in that department at least she would have unlimited scope for her talents. He had never seen anyone in greater need of a thorough overhaul than his reluctant ward. So far he had seen his charge in nothing save unrelieved black, even before she had been made aware of her father’s death. That dress last night had the appearance of having been fashioned for a much larger woman, the ugly cap was yellow with age, and she had worn no ornament of any kind—not so much as a knot of ribbon. Surely even in the country, fashions filtered down from Town after a time, and there could be no serious lack of funds, judging by the condition of the farm and the contents of the house. His frown deepened as a remembered picture of a girl’s mocking face danced before his eyes. In that instant an unassailable conviction smote him that she had deliberately made herself as unattractive as possible—but why? He was examining this unsavory theory when Mountain came over a small rise, and instinctively he reined in the bay to survey the delightful scene sloping away from him.
The lane ended at a small lake, its sparkling waters reflecting the pure blue of an almost cloudless sky. Sunlight gleamed on the waters and gilded the long grass waving gently right down to meet the water, except in one spot to the right where a shelf of rock-strewn sand formed a narrow beach. On the opposite side the land rose gently again. Hedges outlined fields already harvested. He could see to a line of low hills stretching across to the north and east, and an occasional cottage tucked in among the hills.
A movement some distance to his left brought his attention back to the near shore. The subject of his solitary musings of a moment ago was racing toward the water from a field behind the house. Even hampered by heavy skirts that she alternately kicked and lifted, he had to admire her speed. She was nearly to the water’s edge now and had cast off the shawl she had been wearing. Good Lord, what was she about, ripping at the fastenings of her gown with impatient hands? Surely she did not have the intention of swimming at this time of year! Without conscious planning he swung Mountain off the lane and urged him down the sloping ground to a fallow field, then up a rise before descending near the spot where the girl had been ripping at her clothes. By the time he had topped the final rise and once again could see the water, she was already emerging from the lake, staggering a little under the weight of an inert bundle in her arms, greatly impeded by her chemise which clung to her legs, making it difficult to climb up the sloping bank. Within seconds he was off Mountain and had raced to her side, removing the bundle which he could now see was a young child. Her arms freed, she climbed unaided out of the water before he could put the child down to come to her assistance. So far neither had uttered a syllable, the only sound in the world was the coughing and choking of the now partially revived child.
“Thank God! For a moment I feared he was dead.”
The girl hastily retrieved her woolen shawl and, kneeling, wrapped it around the little boy Justin had laid in the grass. As she gathered the now retching and sobbing child into her arms and rocked him, murmuring soothing phrases in what Justin dimly recognized as a broad Yorkshire dialect, he removed his riding coat and placed it around her shoulders.
“Here, let me take him now. Put this right on, you’ll catch your death. Where does he live?”
She allowed him to take the child, but shrugged off the coat and rose to her feet.
“I must not deprive you of your coat, thank you, my lord. I’ll get back into my gown.” She picked up her discarded garment, eyeing the long rip with dismay, but attempting nonetheless to put it on.
Justin, impassively surveying the now shaking girl, did not fail to register the interesting fact that she was not, after all, the scrawny crow she had resembled last night. The dripping chemise clung to a very nicely curved figure, the sight of which seemed to increase his irritation unreasonably.
“Put it on, I said,” he growled, again thrusting the coat at her, this time with no ceremony at all.
Now Marianne complied thankfully, having succeeded only in further tearing her gown by her agitated, barely controlled movements.
“Ooooh, that is heavenly warm, thank you.” She approached the child again with outstretched arms, but Justin stepped back.
“I’ll return the boy to his home. You must get into dry clothes immediately. Just tell me where to take him.”
“He lives in the cottage just beyond that rise. You can see part of the roof and chimney from here,” she said, gesturing with an outflung arm, “but I shall come with you or Margery will be terribly alarmed.”
“Margery?”
“His mother. Jamie’s parents are tenant farmers. They are a great help to me.”
“Well, she had best take care of her son and forget the farm. She nearly lost him this morning.” They were now striding quickly in the direction of the thatched roof that was becoming visible.
“Margery is a wonderful mother!” cried Marianne, stung by his criticism, “but Jamie’s baby sister has been ailing recently and Margery has had to be with her constantly. Jamie is an extremely adventurous four-year-old, but he knows the lake is a forbidden playground, don’t you, Jamie?”
The bedraggled little boy seemed completely cowed by his recent experience, and was unhappily aware of his helplessness in the strong arms of the grim-faced giant carrying him. At Marianne’s stern tone he hung his head and refused to look at either noncomforting adult.
Marianne was finding it extremely fatiguing trying to keep up with the marquess’ long strides, her wet chemise hampering each step, but fortunately they had not covered half the distance before an agitated young woman appeared on the path, breaking into a run as she spotted the ill-assorted trio approaching the cottage. The anxiety in her vo
ice was apparent.
“What’s amiss, Miss Marianne? T’lad’s not bad hurt, is he? Oh, th’art wet, not t’lake again?”
“He’s quite unharmed, Margery,” Marianne replied soothingly, “but where he fell in this time was deeper and I fear it was a close run thing. It was fortunate that I was walking over the rise and saw him go in.”
The marquess observed that the comely young woman’s color faded at this intelligence, but she thanked Lady Marianne with parental fervor and turned with outstretched arms to relieve him of the now whimpering child.
“I’ll take him wi’ me now, sir. Miss Marianne mun get out o’ those wet things. I’m reet grateful to you both.” She sighed and glanced at the child in her arms with fond despair. “Happen this time he’ll learn a lesson, think on?” The patent doubt behind the hopeful words caused the marquess’ finely cut mouth to twitch slightly.
Marianne patted the child’s damp tow-colored head. “I am persuaded he has. Be a good boy, Jamie.” She had half turned away, then remembering, added, “Margery, will you ask Jonathan to come and see me before he goes home tonight?”
“Of course, Miss Marianne. ’Tis true, then, th’art going away?” Her fine gray eyes flashed accusingly in the direction of the marquess for an instant, and he reflected that gossip traveled no slower in the country than in a crowded town.
“Yes, Margery, I am sorry. I shall miss you and Jonathan and Jamie and little Marianne, of course,” she added with a slightly wavering attempt at a smile.
“But, th’art coming back?” the country woman persisted.
“Oh yes, it will be just a short visit with friends of my father’s, but I fear I shall miss little Marianne’s first steps.” She had flicked a challenging glance at the marquess with this declaration of intent, but by the blandness of his polite expression, he might not have heard or seen the challenge. “This is Lord Lunswick, Margery,” she added hastily. “He will escort me to his mother’s home.” The Yorkshire woman gracefully managed an unsmiling curtsy despite the burden in her arms.
