The Prodigal Daughter

by Allison Lane

  “It was nothing,” she demurred. “Anyone would have done the same.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Cynical man. While there are a few who are too selfish, most would.”

  “You are wrong, of course, but I am not in the mood for a debate.”

  “You might wish to reread the parable of the Good Samaritan, your grace..” She sighed. “I am only sorry that the fire prevented me from getting into most of the other wing.”

  “You woke Fitch and he alerted those on my floor..” His voice cracked.

  Amanda shook her head in sorrow. After several minutes of silence, she turned through the gates of Thornridge Court, drawing a look of surprise from Norwood.

  “You know where I am staying?” he asked, only just realizing that he had provided no direction.

  “Of course. Everyone in the neighborhood knows about this house party. Surely you expected that.”

  “I’ve never really thought about it..” He shrugged, drawing a stare from his companion.

  “How sad that you withdraw from life. You might also benefit from reading John Donne. No man is an island, intire of itself.”

  He made no response, sinking into a near-stupor, rousing only when she reached the front entrance. Norwood was dizzily aware of how weak he was feeling, but he was not so removed from reality that he missed the footman’s reaction to Mrs. Morrison’s knock. The man froze at the sight of her, becoming even stiffer when he identified her passenger.

  Lady Emily appeared before anyone said a word.

  “How dare you call here?” she demanded coldly.

  “I am returning one of your guests who suffered an accident,” Mrs. Morrison replied calmly. “He will need assistance.”

  Emily looked beyond Amanda, her eyes widening when she identified Norwood. “Frank, help his grace to his room,” she ordered. “Does he need a doctor?”

  “It would not hurt,” said Amanda.

  “Fustian!” snorted Norwood, unwilling to admit to any serious injury and reluctant to face some country sawbones who would only bleed him. “I will be fine. It is nought but a scrape.”

  “I will summon his valet then,” decided Emily, turning away from the door.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Norwood formally addressed Amanda as Frank helped him into the house.

  “You will recover quickly,” she responded. “The housekeeper should have basilicum powder for when you change that bandage. If not, the apothecary in Middleford can supply it..” Without further ado, she returned to her gig and headed down the drive.

  * * * *

  “So Mrs. Miller will recover?” asked Lady Thorne, setting her cup onto a nearby table.

  “I expect so,” Amanda assured her, “though it was a close-run thing. The midwife is trying to convince her that there can be no more children.”

  “Mr. Miller won’t like that much.”

  “He needn’t abstain entirely as long as he is prudent. If he cares for her at all, he will agree.”

  Lady Thorne reddened, but seemed to suddenly recall that Amanda had been married for eight years. She frowned. “What is the tale I heard about you and Norwood?”

  “Is rumor already making something of that?” asked Amanda in surprise. “Good heavens, it has barely been four hours.”

  “There is a story that he was injured.”

  “True, though I suspect he would rather no one knew of it. He slipped while out shooting, and gashed his thigh. In trying to hide the extent of the injury, he insisted on returning to the Court alone. But a stag startled his horse, and it threw him. I happened on the scene just afterward, patched him up, and gave him a ride back to the Court.”

  “You seem to be making a habit of that.”

  “His words exactly. But think how efficient this is. He need avoid only one person to escape reminders of all his embarrassments.”

  Lady Thorne raised a questioning brow, but her comment remained unspoken as Emily appeared in the drawing room door and gasped. “I am sorry, Grandmama,” she said stonily. “I will return when you are free to receive proper company.”

  Lady Thorne drew herself up, eyes flashing fire. “You will come in here this instant, young lady,” she snapped.

  Emily’s eyes widened. “You can hardly force me to associate with a person whom Father has forbidden the estate. She has no business even being here.”

  “Enough, Emily. My son has no control over who I choose to entertain. Your own behavior is sadly lacking. This ridiculous intransigence has gone on long enough. Now greet your sister and join us for tea.”

  Conflict clearly showed in Emily’s eyes, but she reluctantly entered the room. “Good day, ma’am,” she said chillingly.

  “You are looking lovely today, Lady Emily,” Amanda responded, keeping to the formal address though her voice was warm. She had no real quarrels with Emily.

  “Thank you..” Emily turned to her grandmother. “I do not wish to begin an argument, but you must know that Papa will be most upset to discover that I have been exposed to Mrs. Morrison. Aside from all else, she was running around the neighborhood with Norwood, alone.”

  “Would you rather I had left him where I found him?” asked Amanda.

  “It would have been more seemly to fetch help,” stated Emily primly.

  “And might have cost him his life,” snapped Amanda.

  Both Emily and Lady Thorne stared.

  Amanda set her cup firmly on a table. “He was unconscious when I happened along. There was considerable mud ground into a deep cut on his thigh. I’ve seen men die from such wounds more than once. It is imperative that the injury be cleaned as soon as possible. Giving him a ride home was only what any decent person would have done.”

  “He claimed the injury was minor,” protested Emily.

  “You have a lot to learn about men,” said Amanda with a sigh. “They fall into two categories. There are whiners who turn the most minor events into life-threatening crises, requiring constant attention and making the most irritating demands. That sort has vapors as easily as the giddiest female. But most men are stoics, minimizing any problem, refusing to discuss it, and spurning all assistance. They are the kind who describe a slash to the bone as a scratch and who pass off a bullet in the shoulder as a bit of a nuisance.”

  “She is right,” confirmed Lady Thorne, seeing the disbelief in Emily’s eyes. “And they make very bad patients. I’ve yet to meet a gentleman who can handle illness with aplomb.”

  “Being confined to bed destroys their image of invincibility. Plus they despise finding themselves beholden to anyone. Trying to mother them makes them worse..” Amanda shrugged. “But enough of gentlemen’s foibles. I must return home. You have grown into a lovely lady,” she said, turning to Emily. “And despite what you might think, I have no quarrel with you. I am quite happy with my life and have no desire to return to a place where I have never been welcome. It would be nice if we could demonstrate proper manners when we meet, which we invariably must as we both live in the same area. Are you aware that I am here only because our mutual father decreed that I must stay here? Personally, I would rather have returned to London.”

  Emily had flushed at the words. “I did not know,” she admitted. “But how can I be polite to someone who must be ostracized for eloping, among other shameful deeds?”

  Amanda sighed. “Lady Emily, it would be better for all concerned if you see me as another member of the gentry class, a widow who is living quietly. I have no wish to join society, so the ton’s opinion matters not.”

  “Even the gentry would not accept your behavior,” scoffed Emily. “How could you be so stupid as to be taken in by a handsome face in a uniform who only wanted a big dowry?”

  Unable to help herself, Amanda laughed. “Where did you get such an absurd idea? No, don’t bother to answer. It can only have come from Father. You are wrong, Emily. Jack was not handsome, and though we were only friends when we married, we grew to love each other deeply. He cared nothing for money
. Not only did he not ask for a shilling, we took great pains to hide his identity lest Father make trouble for him.”

  “Then why did you elope?” asked a puzzled Emily.

  “Father refused to take me to London for the Season, instead selling me to a brutal wastrel who would have abused me horribly.”

  Emily blanched.

  “You needn’t worry for your own future,” said Amanda dismissively. “Unlike me, you have always been a dutiful daughter. I only hope duty demands that you behave civilly when we chance to meet.”

  “I will try,” she murmured finally.

  Driving back to town, Amanda frowned over the meeting with her sister. She had not been completely truthful. Though never part of the ton, she had enjoyed the socializing in Vienna more than she wanted to admit. But that life was closed to her, and would have been even if she had not married Jack. Her father had seen to that.

  Norwood gingerly explored the knot on his head. It was much smaller than it had been earlier. Two hours of sleep had also diminished the pain. Unfortunately, the nap did nothing to restore his memories to their hiding place.

  He still had trouble believing that the outspoken Mrs. Morrison lived nearby. Again he had made a cake of himself, and again she had been there to castigate him and to challenge him.

  Fitch. She had put into words his own nebulous thoughts. He did indeed feel guilty. He demanded respect, loyalty, and quality service from his employees, but laying one’s life on the line had never been part of the bargain. Why had Fitch done it? Several people had tried to dissuade him from returning to the inn. He must have believed it to be part of his duties. There was no reason to think affection might have played a role. Norwood was a remote, humorless man incapable of inspiring such an emotion in his servants.

  But perhaps it was a broader dedication to mankind. Mrs. Morrison had quoted several writings that extolled the idea. Norwood did not espouse it himself – it was a philosophy better suited to the lower classes and the very young – but Fitch might have. Norwood actually knew almost nothing about the valet, despite having employed the man for fifteen years. He had never entertained any interest in his servants.

  Greater love hath no man...

  It haunted him.

  Chapter Six

  After a day and night of rest, Norwood resumed his activities. He despised weakness. Besides, lying in bed was boring. He had brought no books, and Winter had found nothing of interest in Thorne’s library.

  “Good morning, Lady Emily,” he murmured when he arrived downstairs for a late breakfast.

  “I trust you are recovered, your grace,” replied Emily.

  “Quite.”

  Conversation lagged while a footman filled Norwood’s plate. The silence was not strained, but neither was it comfortable.

  “Do you miss London?” he asked at last.

  “Town offers more activities than the country, but both have their merits,” she responded politely.

  Another silence stretched.

  “I hope you do not mind attending dinner at the Grange with Squire Reeves tonight, your grace,” said Emily eventually. “I am not sure how Father came to accept the invitation.”

  “Not at all,” he disclaimed, though he wondered what he would find to discuss with the man. He rarely associated with the gentry.

  “I suppose it is necessary to remain on good terms with one’s neighbors, regardless of rank..” She sighed. “Is that how it is at Norwood Castle?”

  “I seldom bother with entertaining,” Norwood admitted. He saw her eyes widen and continued, “though that will change in the future. Now that I am involved with Parliament, I must spend more time in town..”

  “Entertaining adds interest to life,” pronounced Emily. “I have been in charge of ours since my mother died nearly two years ago.”

  She was well trained, Norwood admitted, nodding absently in her direction. The house party was proceeding smoothly. But he refrained from complimenting her expertise. It was ridiculous to draw attention to the obvious. If she had not been adept at this necessary skill, he would not have chosen to court her.

  Again the silence stretched.

  Emily finally excused herself from the breakfast room. “I must convey the ladies to Middleford to look at the shops.”

  Norwood merely nodded.

  All in all, breakfast had gone quite well, he reflected as a footman jumped to bring him another slice of toast, which he absently slathered with marmalade. His own thoughts were usually preferable to conversation with others. It would seem that Lady Emily was not a chatterbox in the mornings.

  Annabelle had posed no problem over breakfast either. She invariably ate it alone in her room. But her continuous prattle over other meals wore on his patience. Not in the beginning, of course. He had been delighted that she found him so easy to talk to. Few people did. Only after they were wed did he discover that her volubility was a screen that covered nervousness and fear. The more those feelings grew, the more she talked until he cringed at the sound of her voice, hating himself even as he did so.

  Suppressing a shudder, he rose from the table, deliberately turning his mind to the question of whether to ride out with the gentlemen. It would be prudent to wait another day to allow his leg to recover its strength. There would be dancing at the squire’s that night. If he were limping, he would have to supply an explanation of his accident – his two accidents. He shivered. Neither reflected well on him.

  * * * *

  Squire Reeves was an influential man locally. Despite lacking a title of his own – Thorne had pointedly informed Norwood that one of the man’s ancestors had refused a barony several generations earlier, having fallen out of charity with the monarch who offered it – he was welcomed in the highest circles. His dinner party included the area nobility as well as the upper reaches of the gentry.

  Norwood adopted a pleasant, though unsmiling, face, willingly exchanging remarks in the drawing room before dinner. He owed it to his position to behave as a model guest even toward those with whom he would not ordinarily associate. The company was typical of a country gathering. Besides the party from the Court, it included the dowager marchioness, a local viscount, two baronets, some retired military officers, and a smattering of others.

  Not having met Lady Thorne before, Norwood gravitated to her side. “I understand you were close to my grandmother,” he commented.

  “You make her sound dead,” she chided him gently. “We still write regularly. Catherine is delighted that you decided to visit us.”

  He knew why. His grandmother was another who fretted about the succession. “It is too bad that she could not accompany me,” he said. “She would have enjoyed seeing you again, but her health has not been good for several years.”

  “So I understand. Her last few letters have rambled quite badly.”

  “Her good days are becoming less common,” he admitted.

  “That is sad. She was so full of life when she first came to London, with a spark that attracted the attention of everyone she met, and not just the gentlemen. She had an equal number of female friends. I was surprised when she chose your grandfather, for he was a bit of a dry stick and older than some of her other admirers.”

  “Perhaps the choice was not hers,” he commented cynically. Who would bypass the heir to a duke?

  “Hardly. Her father was pushing her to accept the Marquess of Woodcross. He doted on his daughter and wanted a gentler husband, begging your pardon.”

  “Not at all,” he disclaimed, fascinated by her words. He had never met his grandfather. “Why did she choose Medford then?”

  “She loved him..” A snort and shake of the head told him that she disagreed with the criterion her friend had used. “And he was as mooncalf over her as a giddy young girl. It was positively embarrassing to see them looking at each other.”

  Norwood stifled a pang of envy, but his customary cynicism quickly returned. “I doubt it lasted.”

  Lady Thorne frowned. “It did, a
ctually. When he died fifteen years later, she was devastated, withdrawing from everything for nearly three years. Her grief intensified her regrets that there had been only one child. She and your father had never been close.”

  “I know, though no one ever explained why.”

  “They were too different,” said Lady Thorne. “There was never any particular incident to divide them – at least not that I ever heard. But your father was a cold, stern child who was uncomfortable around warmth. In that regard, he was a throwback to his grandfather. Catherine was unhappy over it, doing her best to teach him to care – she would have been pleased if he had developed an attachment even to a horse or a toy. But he never did. The only emotion he showed was cold fury at any slight to his consequence. Yet it was not until he married your mother that he and Lady Medford became truly estranged. The new duchess encouraged his most unfeeling traits and deplored Lady Medford’s open friendliness.”

  “That is why she moved to London?”

  “Precisely, though she was sorry to have given in. It meant that she rarely saw you. That wrenched at her heart for she recognized in you many of the characteristics she had loved in her husband.”

  “Thank you for sharing that,” he said, bowing his head in acknowledgement. “It is a tale I had not heard.”

  “I suspected as much. But how is she?”

  Norwood answered questions about his grandmother’s health and prospects, but his mind was no longer engaged in the exercise. What traits could his grandmother have noted that differed from his father? Unless it was his childhood tendency to rebel against his father’s teachings, having to learn the hard way that his parent knew best. His intransigence had led him into several scrapes. He seemed to harbor a streak of madness that occasionally burst out to overwhelm all rational thought, leading him to behave as unreasonably as those born in the lower orders. Thank heaven he had finally outgrown that youthful quirk.

  He terminated his remarks about Lady Medford and moved on to exchange a word with Lord Quinn. They were discussing the continuing unrest over food prices when a nearby conversation attracted his attention.