The Prodigal Daughter

by Allison Lane

  Chapter Ten

  Norwood stared at the letter, a frown driving furrows across his forehead. The missive was either a glaring example of his grandmother’s deteriorating mental faculties, or it contained an intriguing mystery he would have to solve, for his peace of mind if nothing else.

  Congratulations on your impending betrothal, she had written in the flowing script that had characterized her younger days. That made him think she might be improving. I am sure that you will be pleased with your wife. Her mother was one of my goddaughters, you might recall, a loving, caring girl with a vivacious temperament and a delightful sense of humor. I was devastated by her death.

  Emily’s mother was Lady Medford’s goddaughter? He recalled no such thing, but he knew little about his grandmother, especially her early life. Yet Lady Thorne had not mentioned so interesting a connection at dinner that night, and she surely would have known.

  His mother, the dowager duchess, had long been acquainted with Thorne’s wife and had waxed almost poetic over her friend when pressing him to attach Lady Emily’s regard. He could translate the accolades well enough – her ladyship was exactly like her grace: cold, haughty, high in the instep, and undoubtedly selfish and vain as well. His grandmother could never describe the same woman as loving and caring, with a delightful sense of humor. But it was unlikely that her memory was faulty. Though she often forgot present events, her recollections of long ago were clear.

  So his grandmother must be referring to the first Lady Thorne, to Lady Amanda’s mother. It made sense. Lady Amanda was so different from the rest of her family that her character must come from her mother. Lady Medford’s description fit her quite well. And he had noted no agitation in his grandmother after Lady Thorne’s death. Thus the professed devastation must have occurred many years before.

  He would have to write immediately and straighten out the misunderstanding before false rumors appeared in town. But before setting pen to paper, he collected Debrett’s Peerage from Thorne’s library, wanting to verify his assumptions.

  He was right. Thorne’s first wife had been Lady Amanda Holburn, second daughter of the Duke of Shumwell. The lady had died delivering a daughter, and Thorne had remarried immediately. That in itself generated a host of new questions, but Norwood pushed them aside. Shumwell’s duchess was the eldest daughter of the Earl of Westcote whose principal seat ran with Broadbanks, seat of the Marquess of Idlebury, who was Lady Medford’s father. The two girls were the same age.

  Norwood shook his head. He could see how the confusion had arisen. The second Lady Thorne had routinely referred to Lady Emily as her oldest daughter. If she had ignored the existence of Lady Amanda, his mother would never have heard of the earlier birth. And he had contributed to the confusion. In all his communications with both parent and grandparent, he had never referred to Emily by name, instead calling her Thorne’s eldest chit.

  He frowned. The girl had never been real enough to accord her a name, remaining even now a nebulous concept of suitability rather than a living human being. That would have to change. But at least he could rest easy. His grandmother’s faculties were not as impaired as he had feared.

  Unbidden memories deepened his frown as he rose to replace the book. It had been an unmistakable flash of attraction he had felt for Mrs. Morrison that day by the stream. He had recognized it at the time and recoiled from it, adhering to duty by offering for Lady Emily lest he be tempted by a low-born commoner. He had buried the feeling under a mountain of self-reproach, but it had now worked its way back into the light of day.

  He castigated himself roundly. A flash of lust for a widow was bad enough, but he could not entertain warm thoughts for his future sister-in-law! Propriety must be outraged. She was ineligible for a mistress and impossible for a spouse. Her conduct was unconventional, exhibiting few of the traits one expected of a lady. She was outspoken to the point of rudeness.

  Yet both Humphries and Wellington described her as a good listener. Perhaps it was that quality that he responded to. It was not attraction but comfort. After dealing with his rigid mother for so many years, it was not surprising that he would have confused the two emotions. Lady Amanda would make an interesting relative.

  In the meantime, he must tackle the job of getting to know his betrothed. No matter how dutiful the girl was, she could not be happy spending her life with an aloof stranger. The thought sent his mind off in a new direction. Why was he concerned whether she was happy? He had deliberately chosen a woman who would not interfere with his routine. She had asked him for nothing, yet here he was, wondering how to make her life enjoyable.

  It was Lady Amanda’s fault. She had awakened a concern for others that he had discarded years before. He doubted if he could lay it to rest any time soon, so he must find a way to satisfy his wife. Perhaps they could become friends.

  Having reached that decision, he turned his thoughts to the morrow. Geoffrey might be interested in shooting over a piece of moor that Thorne claimed was loaded with partridge.

  * * * *

  Amanda was walking home, having called on a tenant child who was suffering from a chill, when Thorne caught up to her. To her surprise, he dismounted and mutely fell into step beside her.

  She had not seen him since the major’s dinner party and had no desire to face him again. Their meetings had never been congenial. Yet she held her tongue. He seemed different – almost uncertain. An odd wave of sympathy swept through her and she stifled a gasp. Spending his life in constant disapproval could not have been pleasant. The only kindred spirit in his world had been his second wife. Was he lonely? But she immediately scoffed at so ridiculous a notion. The Marquess of Thorne needed no one. The only characteristic he had shared with his wife was icy aloofness.

  “Good afternoon, Amanda,” he said after five minutes had passed in silence.

  “Father,” she responded. Until she knew what had prompted this odd behavior, she was determined to remain detached.

  “It occurred to me at dinner the other night that perhaps I misjudged your departure..” His voice revealed a continuing struggle between honesty and stubborn pride.

  She glanced at his impassive face but made no reply. What could she say? If he was looking for an argument, let him start it.

  “Why did you leave?” he asked at last.

  “I refused to wed a brutal man who would have beaten me every day of my life whether I deserved it or not.”

  “Fontbury?” He sounded surprised.

  “Surely you knew that much about him,” she scoffed, then brought her tone under control again. “The one time he visited here, he struck down and permanently crippled the stable boy for allowing his horse to sidle while he was mounting, ran Ned Taylor into the ditch for not removing himself from the road when Fontbury approached, and ravished Mrs. Sutler – you might remember how pretty she was.”

  Thorne blanched, but it was not his nature to admit either ignorance or fault. “So you eloped with a half-pay soldier. Did he expect to acquire a large dowry?”

  “An unworthy question,” she said, not adding even for you, though the words hung in the air between them. “You know he never asked you for so much as a penny-piece. We were friends. He could not stomach consigning me to so evil a man, so he offered to take care of me himself. And he did.”

  “What was he doing here?”

  “Recovering from injuries. He had been gravely wounded in Buenos Aires. After we married, we spent several months with his great-uncle while he regained the rest of his strength..” She shrugged.

  Another silence stretched. Thorne’s horse clopped along behind them, its hooves the only sound in the still air. Not a whisper of a breeze ruffled the leaves. It seemed the entire world held its breath, amazed at the marquess’s unusual behavior. Amanda glanced toward the woods and distant stream. Neither bird nor bee fanned the air. Time hung suspended as if they had stumbled into a dream. She returned her eyes to the road, negotiating a corner and starting downhill.

 
; “Was he unable to provide a home for you here while he was in Spain?” Thorne asked at last, censure threading the words though he was noticeably trying to control it.

  “The question never arose. Jack’s life was the army. Either I could remain behind, lonely and fearful for his life and health, or I could join him. I chose the latter.”

  “Did Wellington exaggerate your own activities?” he asked after another pause.

  “He made them sound more glamorous than they really were,” she said with a shrug. “I knew quite a bit about healing even before I married Jack. It was better for everyone if I bound up simple injuries immediately after battles instead of forcing the men to wait hours – or even days – until the surgeons had seen to the serious wounds. Not until Waterloo did I work directly with the doctors. But the number of casualties that day was so high, they drafted anyone with even modest skills. Society ladies who would normally faint at the sight of blood were treating the wounded on the streets of Brussels.”

  Silence returned. Amanda dared not say anything. Thorne had never spoken to her this way in her life. He usually harangued her for faults and misdeeds before ordering punishment. Now he was not only asking questions, he seemed to be listening to her answers, even taking the time to absorb them.

  “What about Vienna?” he said at last. “Did Wellington throw you into society so he could trade on your birth?”

  “He did not know of my connections until dinner the other night. As the wife of one of his staff officers, I was invited everywhere. He had already observed my ability to fit into any crowd. And he knew that people routinely came to me for advice, often pouring their life stories into my ears. I’ve a knack for listening. So he asked if I would look for particular bits of information. I was hardly alone in that regard. Every third person at the Congress was spying, often for more than one master. It was an unusual situation..” Again she shrugged.

  “Wellington made your husband sound almost acceptable.”

  Amanda bristled, not only at the words, but at the sarcastic, disbelieving tone. “You needn’t stretch your principles too far. You would not have liked him. Jack was larger than life in many ways. He was very energetic, always busy doing things. If he wasn’t on duty, you would usually find him coursing hares, organizing races, or throwing his heart into some other physical activity. He frequently scrambled to help others, even peasants, often at great risk to himself. He also deplored arrogance and delighted in discomforting the pretentious. I suspect that was at the root of his estrangement from his own family. But he had no use for fools and would certainly have called you on the carpet for the life I lived before we wed.”

  Thorne glared. “Enough of this nonsense. I have work to do..” Mounting his horse, he headed for the Court.

  Fool! she cursed herself as Thorne disappeared. Despite her resolution, she had insulted him. Not that the words were false. Jack had been appalled at her ignorance, her isolation, and her family’s antagonism. She had sometimes wondered what would happen when they returned to England. It would have been just like Jack to confront her father. With her new understanding of his character, the possibility was even more likely. Bored and frustrated, he would have welcomed a fight, and the marquess would have offered one. She shivered.

  * * * *

  She was still mulling over the meeting with her father the next morning. After a largely sleepless night spent trying to deduce what had prompted his unusual behavior – and castigating herself for driving him away – her mind was so preoccupied that she cannonaded into a gentleman as she exited the bookseller’s.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she said automatically as he bent to retrieve her package.

  Dark brows jutted alarmingly. “Trying to drum up a new patient, Mrs. Morrison?”

  “Never, your grace!” she gasped before spotting the sparkle deep in his eyes. Heavens! The man had a sense of humor. She lightened her tone. “Merely testing your reflexes. You failed. I trust I haven’t damaged you too badly.”

  “Only my dignity. You may repair it by joining me for cakes. That shop looks inviting, but it is gauche to gobble gooey pastries alone.”

  “Thank you, your grace.”

  “What problem is so distressing as to make you oblivious?” he asked idly once they had been served. Scooping up a dollop of icing with one finger, he licked it off, something he had not done since childhood.

  “I was reviewing a conversation. Ridiculous place to do so, I agree.”

  Even his silliness had not eased the furrows in her forehead. Norwood looked at her face with its obvious signs of sleeplessness and felt an uncharacteristic urge to pry. “Is someone ill?”

  She glanced up, and their gazes locked. “No, it was merely a meeting with my father..” Shock flooded her face with the words. “Forgive me, your grace. I should not be prattling on so.”

  “Why not? We will be brother and sister in a few months. Is Thorne cutting up rough again? He looked ready to strangle you at dinner that night..” He had a sudden memory of her strained face as she admitted the lifelong estrangement with her father, and wondered if she realized how much the situation still hurt her. Probably. She had already warned him that he must choose between her and Thorne.

  “No. That’s too normal to even notice..” She hardly knew what she was saying. There was something about the duke that pulled words out of her mouth before she had a chance to examine them. “I met him unexpectedly. Not only did he ask questions about Jack, he seemed to be listening to the answers. There is no explaining such odd behavior.”

  “Perhaps he is trying to make up your quarrel.”

  “How does one undo a lifetime of hatred?” she asked bitterly. “In the end, nothing has changed. I infuriated him, as usual.”

  “I doubt it lasted long.”

  “You do not understand, your grace. The unbreachable barrier will always remain. I share those traits that he abhorred in my mother, for I am undutiful, undignified, improper, and unworthy of my breeding.”

  “Not everyone views those as detriments,” Norwood assured her, surprising himself with a statement that stood at odds with his own oft-stated views. “I received a letter from my grandmother yesterday in which she described your mother as loving, caring, vivacious, and possessed of a delightful sense of humor.”

  “She knew her?” Amanda’s face lit up, changing her into the same beauty who had laughed with Wellington.

  “She stood godmother to your mother..” He spoke with deliberation to hide a sudden touch of very unducal indigestion.

  “I never knew the duchess had any connection.”

  “She is styled Lady Medford, as her husband died before inheriting.”

  “Ah..” Amanda relaxed. “So Lady Medford is your grandmother.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “No, but my grandmother does. It is odd that she never mentioned that there was a further connection to my mother. But perhaps it was out of courtesy to Thorne’s second wife. I don’t suppose you ever met my mother.”

  “Not to my knowledge. Aside from rare visits to Lady Medford, I never left home before going off to school.”

  “She did not live in the dower house?”

  “No. There was little attachment between her and my parents, so she chose to live in London.”

  “What caused such a rift?” she murmured softly, sensing pain.

  “Nothing in particular. Just different ideas – much like you and your father, I expect. My great-grandmother had died with her sixth child, so when Medford married, Grandmama assumed running the Castle, retaining that position even after her husband died. My father had already achieved the title before he married, so my mother naturally assumed control.”

  “But surely Lady Medford would not object to that.”

  “Of course not. But my father had long disapproved of Grandmother’s softness in dealing with tenants and servants. His wife was even less tolerant. They also disagreed on how I should be raised. Ultimately, Lady Medford decided to avoid frust
ration by living in town.”

  That explained some of Norwood’s arrogance, decided Amanda as she followed his lead into neutral topics. His parents were just as cold and haughty as hers, but he had not rebelled. Did he regret discussing himself? His manner had stiffened again.

  * * * *

  That afternoon Amanda took tea with Lady Thorne. Having disposed of the neighbors, the progress of Mrs. Miller’s newest infant, and Ben Wilson’s dive off the barn roof that broke his leg, they were discussing Wellington’s brief visit when Emily arrived. The girl had been coolly polite since Thorne’s acknowledgement of Amanda.

  “How are things at the Court?” asked Lady Thorne when they finished greetings and Emily was sipping a cup of tea.

  “Hectic. There are a thousand things that must be done before the ball if it is to proceed smoothly.”

  “You will manage,” murmured Amanda. “Grandmama tells me you are a wizard at organization.”

  Emily smiled, obviously surprised by the compliment. “Thank you, but the credit must go to Grandmama. That was never one of Mama’s strengths.”

  Amanda raised her brows. She had not known that, but then she had never been included in either planning or attending Thorne’s entertainments before she left home. One of the books she had read while staying with Uncle George had been Samber’s translation of a French volume subtitled Mother Goose’s Tales, which contained a story about Cinderella, a girl whose stepmother barred her from her rightful place in society. Amanda had felt a certain kinship with the mistreated girl. Now that feeling had returned, but she quickly suppressed it. Her situation had never been the same, for her father had been the force behind her own ostracism. Besides, both her stepmother and her Prince Charming were now dead. Life was not a fairy tale.