Today, several beds that had contained flowers past their prime had been cleared and prepared for new plantings. Handcarts full of sturdy plants waited on the paths. He realized that he was about to learn how much work was required to keep a formal garden beautiful.
Meriel marched to a cart and lifted the battered straw hat that someone, probably Kamal, had left for her. After setting it low on her head, she began removing flowers—pinks, he thought—from their nest of straw, and setting them on the raised, diamond-shaped bed. Each plant was precisely positioned equidistant from its fellows.
Taking a trowel from the cart, she knelt and moved the first pink to one side so she could dig a hole. When she was finished, she carefully lowered the flower into place and packed soil around it. Then she stood and handed Dominic the trowel, making a gesture that said quite plainly, “Show me if you can do this.”
As he took the tool and knelt by the flower bed, he had the whimsical thought that she didn’t talk because she didn’t have to. When she wanted to make her wishes known, she could communicate very clearly indeed.
He dug with care, making sure that the hole was large enough to take the root ball without crowding. Then he set the plant inside and tamped earth firmly around the roots.
Feeling an absurd need for her approval, he glanced up at Meriel. Her face was shadowed by the wide brim of the shabby hat, but her nod indicated satisfaction. She moved to a different bed and began taking flowers from the adjacent cart.
Dominic grinned as he began to dig. Would the Earl of Wrexham be pleased to know that his disappointing younger son might be qualified for the job of undergardener? Whistling softly, he set the next pink into place.
As the sun moved to its zenith and slowly began to descend, Dominic learned that planting flowers was surprisingly satisfying. He’d zealously studied agriculture on the Dornleigh home farm. Wanting to understand everything, he had sowed seed, scythed hay, and harvested corn. The garden, though, had been his mother’s particular charge, and he knew little about flowers other than the fact that he enjoyed them.
Now he discovered that working the soil with his bare hands was powerfully sensual. He liked the moist richness of the earth, the knowledge that his efforts would allow the frail, pretty blossoms to grow and flourish.
He thought of busy, frenetic London, where he would be if Kyle hadn’t enlisted him for this charade. That world of fashionable activity and superficial relationships had been his life for years. Shropshire was very different. No wonder gardeners seemed so content. Kamal had a calm as wide as the whole outdoors.
Meriel in garden mode was also a restful companion. Occasionally he’d glance over to where she was working, and smile at the sight of her small bare feet. They were an endearing mixture of elegance and dirt, like the rest of her.
Not that he looked much more respectable. The morning’s activities had fulfilled his vow to ruin one of Kyle’s expensive coats. As the day warmed, he tossed the coat aside, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and generally looked like a perfect ragamuffin.
Completing a bed, he rose and stretched muscles and joints unaccustomed to planting. Then he crossed to Meriel so she could direct him to the bed she wanted done next. She wasn’t working, though. For the first time in hours, she was simply sitting back on her heels, hands relaxed on her thighs.
Following her gaze, he saw that she was intently watching a yellow butterfly. Rather than interrupt, he settled beside her. He could scarcely see her features under the shadow of her absurd hat, but he was glad her delicate skin was protected from the midday sun. The fierce heat of India must have been cruel for someone of her coloring.
The minutes dragged by. What was so blasted interesting about a common yellow butterfly? The countryside was full of them. He began to study this one.
No question that butterflies were prettier than most insects. In fact, he’d never noticed how lovely the fragile golden wings looked with the light glowing through, emphasizing the tracery of darker veins. For such an insignificant creature, it was really quite complex. Interesting that the antennae were club shaped at the ends.
Having collected the nectar of one blossom, it drifted to another. He imagined himself flying like that, weightless and free. A pleasant fantasy, though it was easier to imagine Meriel as a butterfly, for she was a creature of lightness and grace.
Time slowed as he studied the butterfly and its leisurely progress around Meriel’s flower bed. When it finally flew away, he blinked with surprise, wondering how long he’d been caught up in his observations. He hadn’t watched an insect so closely since he was a small child, if then. Part of Meriel’s special quality was her ability to become totally absorbed, like a child.
But now she was all business as she rose to her feet and ushered him to another bed and another cart of flowers. “You’re a harsh taskmistress,” he said teasingly as he took up his trowel again.
He was almost sure that he saw a wicked gleam in her eye before she turned away. Smiling, he started digging again.
About midafternoon, a pleasant, cultivated tenor voice said warmly, “Good day, Meriel. How are you?”
Startled because he hadn’t heard footsteps, Dominic glanced up and saw a middle-aged gentleman of fair coloring and slight build crossing the parterre to where Meriel worked. She stood at his approach.
He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “My dear child. It’s good to see you.”
She tolerated the kiss, seeming neither pleased nor displeased. For an unguarded instant, the man’s expression showed profound regret. Then he raised her work-hardened hands, regarding them ruefully. “I do wish you’d wear the gloves I gave you.”
Warily Dominic got to his feet. Given the man’s coloring, build, and expensive clothing, he was probably Meriel’s uncle, Lord Amworth. But if Dominic guessed wrong, it would be a hard error to explain. Worse, Amworth knew Kyle better than anyone else at Warfield. He would be the most likely to see through the imposture.
The man glanced over when Dominic stood. His jaw dropped. “Lord Maxwell?”
In his brother’s cool voice, Dominic said, “Have I managed to surprise you?”
“You have indeed.” The newcomer’s disbelieving gaze scanned the pretend Lord Maxwell. “I scarcely recognized you.”
“It seemed advisable to enter into Lady Meriel’s activities.” Dominic allowed himself a faint smile. “She’s quite willing to put me to work.”
The man looked from Dominic to Meriel and back again. “Does she accept you in…in other ways?”
The man had to be Amworth, though Dominic resolved to avoid using the name until he had proof. “I’ve been moving slowly, so as not to alarm her.”
“That’s wise. Though as you know, time is not unlimited.” His concerned gaze went to Meriel. “I was on my way to my own estate, and decided to come by and see how you were progressing.”
“Will you stay the night?” Dominic asked, hoping the answer would be no.
He was out of luck. Amworth nodded. “I always enjoy visiting Warfield, especially at this season. Will you walk with me, Maxwell? I want to speak with you.”
Desperate for an excuse to avoid a private conversation, Dominic said gravely, “I dare not abandon my task for fear my supervisor would become angry with me.”
Amworth smiled a little. “Very well. Until later, then.”
Gloomily Dominic watched the older man return to the house. He’d have to be on guard all evening. He hoped the ladies were in a talkative mood, since every time Dominic opened his mouth, he’d be in danger of putting his foot into it.
Dominic dressed with extra care that evening, even allowing Morrison to shave him. He was glad he’d made the effort when he saw that Amworth came down to dinner with full London formality. Mrs. Rector and Mrs. Marks were also dressed in their best.
After casual chat over sherry, he and Amworth escorted the ladies into the dining room. As always, a place was set for Meriel, though she hadn’t dined with her chaperons since
Dominic had arrived at Warfield.
Then Meriel appeared in the dining room doorway. Dominic looked up, and felt as if he’d been poleaxed. This was Meriel as he’d never seen her. Her shining hair was swept into a knot high on her head, revealing the slim elegance of her pearl-adorned neck. Her white gown glittered with silver embroidery, and when she stepped into the room he saw that she wore matching silver slippers.
Her appearance was so striking that it took him a moment to realize that the garment was at least thirty years out of date. Not that he cared—beautiful was beautiful. He almost fell over his own feet as he rose to escort her to the table. She wore perfume, a heady blend of spice and flowers.
“I’m so glad you’re joining us, Meriel. We’ve missed you these last few days.” Mrs. Rector glanced at Dominic. “Her mother’s gown. Emily was also petite.”
“Emily was something of a collector of exotic costumes, Lord Maxwell,” Mrs. Marks added. “Meriel has appeared in everything from Norwegian peasant dress to embroidered Chinese robes. No doubt she chose a more conventional garment in your honor, Lord Amworth.”
Amworth rose, his gaze locked on his niece, pain in his eyes. “I remember this gown. Emily wore it the night she was presented. Meriel looks so much like her.”
Dominic pulled back her chair. She sank into it as gracefully as drifting eiderdown, silken skirts whispering around her. Her gaze was cast down demurely like a girl from the schoolroom attending her first adult entertainment. Reminding himself of the minx who’d done her best to frighten him out of ten years of his life that morning, Dominic took his own seat again.
As the meal began, he pondered once more the question of how much Meriel understood. She recognized her uncle and apparently cared enough to dress to please him. Dominic liked the thought of her dressing up in her mother’s clothes. His little sister had done the same when she was a child.
Though he’d only seen her eating with her fingers before, tonight she used knife and fork with perfect ease. She would have learned table manners as a child, before the tragedy that had disturbed her mind. Yet most of the time, she didn’t choose to exercise the refinement she showed tonight.
He thought of the uncontrolled wildness she’d shown earlier when she attacked the poacher. Might she have—he groped for a concept—a personality made of disparate pieces? Wildness coexisting with docility? Danger lurking behind a dreamy facade?
He sighed. As usual, he had observations and questions, but no answers. Perhaps Lord Amworth could be induced to speak more of her condition over the port.
At the end of the meal, Mrs. Marks rose and gave the signal for the ladies to withdraw. Dominic would have to cope with Amworth on his own. The two men stood politely as the women left. Gazing after them, Dominic noticed that Meriel turned the opposite direction from the older women. He remarked as he took his seat again, “Meriel’s conformity doesn’t extend to sitting in the drawing room?”
“Not usually.” Amworth reached for the port decanter that had been set out for the gentlemen. “Sometimes she’ll join us later. I hope she does tonight. I don’t see as much of her as I’d like.” He poured for both of them, then settled back in his chair. “So tell me your thoughts now that you’ve had time to become better acquainted with my niece. Will she make you a wife?”
Dominic hesitated, wishing he could avoid this conversation. His distaste for the marriage of Meriel and Kyle grew greater with each hour. If he wanted to, he could spike the betrothal right now. But then what? Not only would he lose Bradshaw Manor, but Amworth might well turn to another prospective bridegroom. Kyle at least would not mistreat Meriel. She might do worse with another man.
“It’s too soon to say,” he temporized. “Meriel is a rare creature, in some ways a child, yet with her own kind of wisdom. I scarcely know what to make of her.”
“My own thoughts exactly.” Amworth leaned forward earnestly. “Surely the fact that you appreciate how special she is will make a good foundation for marriage.”
“Perhaps from my point of view.” Dominic hesitated. Then, knowing he’d hate himself if he didn’t speak up, he continued, “But what about Meriel’s needs? Might she not be happier if she is left alone? She seems content with her life.”
“I wish it were that simple.” Amworth sighed. “She needs a protector. Life is uncertain. If something were to happen to me, I fear for Meriel’s welfare.”
After a long silence, Dominic prompted, “What do you fear?”
The other man gave him a sharp glance. “We discussed this before, Maxwell.”
Trying to cover his misstep, Dominic said smoothly, “I listened then without really knowing Meriel. I’d like to hear it all again now that my image of her is fuller.”
Accepting that, Amworth said, “Her other uncle, Lord Grahame, has thought from the beginning that she might do better in an asylum. Several times he has sent doctors who specialize in madness to examine her, and all have agreed.”
Dominic’s brows arched. “They think she can be successfully treated?”
Amworth’s mouth twisted. “Oh, no one suggested there was any chance she would ever be normal. But doctors are curious brutes. I think they liked the idea of experimenting to see what might help.” He stared down into his port. “Perhaps she would improve at a modern asylum and my stubbornness is selfish. But I…I can’t bear to think of her locked away in such a place. I’ve kept news of her occasional bad spells away from Grahame for fear he’d use them as evidence to remove her from Warfield.”
The thought of Meriel subjected to medical experiments made Dominic shudder. “If that’s selfishness, I’m selfish, too. I can’t imagine her anywhere but here.”
Amworth looked up, his gaze intense. “One of the reasons I want you for Meriel’s husband is that you have the reputation of being a man of honor. If you marry her, promise me that you’ll never lock her away.”
Dominic looked down at his port as he thought how the honorable Kyle had sent a substitute in his place. “There is no marriage yet.”
“There won’t be one unless you promise that she stays here, where she is happy, and that she is cared for with kindness and dignity,” Amworth said harshly.
Choosing his words, Dominic said, “I swear that no matter what happens, whether I marry her or not, I shall always protect her to the best of my abilities.” And if Kyle would not swear a similar vow, Dominic would tell Amworth the truth of this deception.
The older man gave a sigh of relief. Rising to his feet, he said, “Before we rejoin the ladies, would you care for a stroll through the gallery upstairs?”
Knowing the suggestion wasn’t casual, Dominic said, “Of course.”
Silently he accompanied Amworth to the gallery, a long room on the north side of the house. A gentle promenade in bad weather, it had wide, diamond-paned windows on one wall and paintings on the other. Amworth stopped at a portrait near the entrance and lifted his lamp so light fell clearly across the canvas.
The picture portrayed a smiling young woman with flaxen hair sitting on a stone garden bench. On her lap was a small and angelically lovely little girl with sparkling light green eyes, while a craggy man with humor and intelligence in his gaze stood behind. If Dominic wasn’t mistaken, the setting was the Warfield rose garden. “Your sister and her husband with Meriel, I assume.”
“It was done just before they went to India.” Amworth gazed broodingly at the painting. “They had been married for years and had begun to despair of having a child. Then Meriel came. They both doted on her.”
“Why did Lord Grahame take his family to an unhealthy place like India?”
“Emily wouldn’t hear of him going without her, and she wouldn’t go without Meriel. Grahame’s mission was for only two years, so they thought it would be safe enough. Meriel was a remarkably healthy child.” He closed his eyes for a moment, his expression bleak. “It wasn’t disease that killed my sister and her husband.”
“You and your sister were very close?”
The property ownership question intrigued Dominic. Grahame and Amworth both had family seats, while Emily had owned Warfield in her own right, and apparently she and her husband had used it as their primary residence. He’d better not ask about that, though; it might be something else Amworth and Kyle had discussed.
They walked along the bank of paintings. Many of the portraits showed men and women who were small-boned and very blond. The women often had Meriel’s fey, otherworldly air. Dominic remarked, “The family resemblance is very marked.”
Amworth stopped by a Tudor family portrait. “I wish there was a picture of the first Meriel. The family archives indicate that she was much like my niece, except that she had black hair. Her husband, a Norman earl, was very blond. Those traits have come down through the family for centuries. Family names and titles have changed, but the blood has carried on, often through female inheritance. Warfield was never made part of an entail, so it could be left to a daughter if there was no male heir. My niece is a direct descendant of the first Meriel.” He sighed. “I hate to think that will all end now.”
“Surely there are other branches of the family.”
“True. But my own sons look more like their mother.” He hesitated before adding with some difficulty, “Elinor has been an ideal wife and mother and countess, but…she has never been able to accept Meriel. She finds mental imbalance disturbing. When the boys were small she was concerned for their safety.”
He didn’t need to say any more. Dominic understood how Amworth had been torn between the demands of his position, the needs of his own family, and those of his niece. Probably he would have taken her into his own household if his wife had not objected. He’d done the best he could to see that Meriel was loved and happy.
The Wild Child Page 9