The Wild Child

by Mary Jo Putney

  The general said flatly, “Now what?”

  Meriel and Dominic exchanged a glance. They had discussed this on the journey, and agreed that the direct approach would be best. “We plan to ride to Warfield together, and would appreciate your joining us in your capacity as magistrate,” she said. “I can pretend to be a completely sane lady for long enough to convince my uncle that his misguided efforts on my behalf are no longer needed.”

  “I’ll come, too,” Jena said. “The more supporters Meriel has, the better.”

  The general nodded. “Grahame is stubborn, but no fool. Once he gets it through his skull that Lady Meriel is normal, your problems are over.”

  Meriel frowned. “Will speech and good clothing be enough to convince people I’m sane after so many years when I was considered mad?”

  “Actually, those things are enough. We are judged largely by appearances. If you talk and dress as a lady, by definition you are a lady.” Dominic smiled wryly. “And of course you’re an heiress, which means that you are charmingly eccentric, not mad.”

  The others nodded agreement, but Meriel was less sure. It was hard to believe reclaiming her home would be so easy.

  After breakfast the next morning, the party set off for Warfield on four of the general’s excellent horses. Meriel rode beside Dominic, head high, splendid hair coiled beneath a hat, and expression perfectly composed. Rebecca had given her a riding habit, so she used a sidesaddle and looked every inch a lady. Only someone who knew her well would recognize that she was wound tighter than a clock spring.

  When they reached the wrought iron gates of Warfield, Meriel rang the bell. The gatekeeper emerged from the handsome gatehouse at his usual leisurely pace.

  Meriel inclined her head. “Good day, Walter.”

  The old man’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Lady Meriel?”

  “Of course.” When he continued to stare, she said sweetly, “The gate, please?”

  Hastily Walter unlatched the gates and swung them open. The riders came through, then headed up the long drive four abreast. In his head, Dominic could hear the steady rhythm of army marching drums. Appropriate, since they rode to battle.

  His nerves were taut, though he couldn’t imagine any real trouble, not when they had General Ames and the weight of Anglo-Saxon common law on their side. Amazing how much difference a wedding made. Nonetheless, when they approached the house he was relieved to see Grahame stalking down the front steps unarmed. He hadn’t forgotten the older man’s threats when he threw Dominic out of Warfield.

  Lord Grahame’s gimlet gaze swept across the riders as they halted. Above him, Mrs. Rector and Mrs. Marks emerged to stand tensely at the top of the wide stone steps.

  In a voice of barely suppressed fury, Grahame snapped, “Your gall amazes me, Maxwell. I’ve been searching all over England for my niece. General Ames, do you know what this young devil has been doing? You can’t, or you wouldn’t be beside him.”

  Dominic held his breath as Meriel dismounted gracefully and stood before Grahame, her small figure erect and unyielding as she faced him down. “You should speak to me, Uncle, not my husband and friends.”

  The blood drained from Grahame’s face. “My God, you can talk!”

  “Indeed.” Meriel looked up at the ladies. “Hello, Mrs. Rector and Mrs. Marks. I hope you have not been too concerned on my behalf.”

  “We were worried at first,” Mrs. Marks admitted. Beside her, Mrs. Rector beamed with delight. The enthralled faces of a dozen servants were visible in the windows above. By evening, everyone in Shropshire would know that Lady Meriel was in complete possession of her faculties.

  Grahame stammered, “B-but if you can talk, how come you never did?”

  “I had nothing to say.” Meriel handed her reins to a wide-eyed footman who came down the steps. Voice edged, she continued, “Nor was I mad. While your intentions were good, I did not appreciate being kidnapped and locked up in that vile asylum, nor did I enjoy your threats to my future husband. I trust that nothing so absurd will happen again.”

  Her uncle said defensively, “Given your behavior, you really can’t blame me for assuming you were in need of protection.”

  Her sardonic glance said that she could indeed blame him, but would graciously refrain. Turning to her companions, she said as casually as if she regularly went riding with friends, “Do please come in for coffee.”

  Another footman appeared, and the horses were led away as Meriel and company ascended the steps. Dominic took the chance to murmur to her, “Well done! Only a little longer now.”

  She nodded, tense but well in command of herself and the situation.

  Though Grahame’s jaw was twitching, he did his best to adjust to the new circumstances. By the time everyone was seated in the large salon, he was able to say with a stiff smile, “I’m sorry for the problems I caused you, Meriel. I…I had thought I was caring for you as my brother would have wished.”

  Apparently deciding his apology was adequate, Meriel gave her uncle a stunning smile as she stripped off her riding gloves. “I can understand your misapprehensions. We shall speak no more of it. I was fortunate to have two such conscientious guardians.”

  The awkwardness was broken when Roxana came galloping up to Meriel, tail wagging and almost beside herself with excitement. Meriel knelt for a few moments to assure the excited dog that she truly had come home.

  Her gaze on Meriel’s wedding ring, Mrs. Marks remarked, “Marriage must agree with you, Mer…Lady Maxwell. I’ve never seen you look so well.”

  Meriel exchanged a glance with Dominic as she rose to her feet. This had also been discussed on the return journey. “I am not Lady Maxwell, but Lady Meriel Renbourne. My husband, whom you have come to know and value these last weeks, is Dominic Renbourne, twin brother to Lord Maxwell.”

  The ladies gasped, and Lord Grahame’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?” he said in a dangerous voice. “Wrexham has palmed off a younger son on my niece?”

  Smoothly Dominic said, “My father knew nothing of the switch. In fact, he still doesn’t. I must write him and my sister tonight.” He’d considered writing from London, but decided it would be better to wait until matters were resolved at Warfield.

  Mrs. Marks frowned. “How could Wrexham not know? He and your sister were visitors here for two days!”

  “My father’s vision is poor, and he expected to see Maxwell,” Dominic explained. “Lucia’s eyes are younger and keener, and she recognized me immediately, but held her tongue at my request, since the situation was somewhat awkward.”

  “Awkward indeed,” Mrs. Marks said dryly. “I’ve heard of children amusing themselves by changing places, but never of an adult sending his twin into a courtship.”

  Dominic offered his most reliable smile, along with the explanation he and Meriel had concocted, half truth and half lie. “There is often a…a special connection between twins. When my brother met Meriel, he had a very strong intuition that she and I would suit. He persuaded me to come in his place for the second, lengthier visit. I agreed with great reluctance because of the deception involved, but Maxwell was most convincing.”

  “Dominic revealed his true identity very early,” Meriel said serenely. “To be honest, I had not been drawn to Lord Maxwell. An estimable man, but not restful. Though they look much the same, Dominic is very different.” She gave him a conspicuously doting smile; the minx had the makings of an actress.

  Glad to say something that was wholly true, Dominic said, “I was shocked to find myself falling in love with Meriel, but once I did…” He spread his hands in a gesture meant to imply that love conquered all and fate moved in mysterious ways. Though it was a feeble explanation for an outrageous situation, Kyle was unlikely to contradict it. He would look like a fool if he told the truth, and Kyle did not like looking foolish.

  Mrs. Rector said admiringly, “What a tale! As fine as any of Mrs. Radcliffe’s.”

  Dominic gave her a sharp glance, thinking he heard irony
in her comment. She met his gaze blandly. If she disbelieved his version of events, she kept it to herself.

  Grahame still looked indignant that Meriel had ended up with an untitled younger son, but he knew better than to challenge a situation that had been accepted by the ladies, the Ameses, and Meriel herself. In a conciliatory tone, he suggested, “Since the heir to Warfield has married, there should be a celebration for the tenants and villagers.”

  Mrs. Rector brightened. “Oh, yes. It’s a very old family tradition, Meriel.”

  Knowing how tiring it was for Meriel to play the role of gracious lady, Dominic asked warily, “What kind of celebration?”

  “Midsummer Eve is just a few days away. That would be a perfect time for an outdoor feast and bonfire. With luck, Amworth might be well enough to come with his wife, and perhaps your family as well, Renbourne.” Grahame’s voice turned sardonic. “After all, none of us were fortunate enough to attend the wedding.”

  Dominic glanced at Meriel. Perhaps because she had been silent for so long, they found it easy to communicate without words. He arched his brows in question. Since she could easily slip away from such an event if the crowd became overpowering, she nodded her consent. “That would be splendid, if Mrs. Marks and Mrs. Rector agree.”

  “The choice is Lady Meriel’s. Since she no longer needs chaperons or companions, our authority is at an end.” Now that Mrs. Marks’s initial excitement at Meriel’s return had passed, there was anxiety in her eyes. The situation at Warfield had been a godsend for a pair of poor widows.

  Meriel said immediately, “You are my family, and Warfield is your home.” Her gaze moved from Mrs. Marks to Mrs. Rector. “I hope you will stay here always.”

  As Mrs. Marks relaxed, Mrs. Rector rose to give Meriel a hug. “Bless you, child.” Resuming her seat, she said, “Perhaps we should move to the Dower House, Edith, and give these young people more privacy.”

  “Such details can be decided later,” Dominic said. “Now we must think about the wedding feast, since that is less than a week away.”

  Two pots of coffee later, all of the plans had been made, mostly by the ladies and Jena. Having been her father’s hostess in India, she had a number of practical suggestions for arranging a large gathering on short notice. Invitations would be sent to Dornleigh and Bridgton Abbey. Dominic doubted that his father would come—Wrexham would probably be as furious as Grahame at the change in bridegrooms—but certainly the Renbournes should be invited.

  Coffee and planning completed, the Ameses left. As soon as the door closed behind them, Grahame excused himself, ostensibly to attend to correspondence. Dominic suspected that his real desire was to find a quiet place to absorb what had happened. Changing his opinion of his “mad” niece was obviously a painful process.

  The ladies withdrew to the morning room for embroidery and a good private gossip, leaving Dominic, Meriel, and the adoring Roxana in the hall. Dominic gave Meriel a quick hug. “You did it, sprite! The battle was won with no blood spilled, and you’ve been accepted by everyone as mistress of Warfield.”

  “With the help of my friends.” Eyes shining, Meriel ripped off her riding boots and stockings. “Finally!”

  She yanked out her hairpins and shook loose the primly coiled chignon, then shed her riding jacket and darted down the hall that led to the back of the house. Dominic blinked, then took off after her.

  Meriel burst into the open air, caroling her delight to the Shropshire skies. Exuberantly she raced down the steps and into the parterre, her flaxen hair flying behind her and Roxana barking at her heels. The London lady had turned back into the wild, magical creature who had first captured Dominic’s heart.

  As exhilarated as his bride, he followed her along the garden paths, which had grown as familiar as the lines on his own palm. He stayed half a dozen steps behind Meriel, not trying to catch her, enjoying the sight of her swift, supple form.

  She finally ran out of energy in a small glade in the wilderness area. Laughing, she collapsed on the soft, flower-strewn grass, heedless of her handsome riding habit. “It’s so wonderful to be home!”

  He dropped onto the grass beside her while Roxana flopped happily on the other side. “Does Warfield seem different to you?”

  “Better.” Lying on her back, she stretched luxuriantly. “It will be worth leaving sometimes just to have the pleasure of coming back. I think I’d like to travel, someday. Italy. Vienna. The Greek Isles.” She laughed suddenly. “And perhaps I’ll write a book on how to arrange flowers in ways that almost no one will like or understand!”

  “You might start a new fashion.” Thinking of another topic that needed discussion, he asked, “How do you feel about children? In the nature of things, they often come quickly after a marriage.”

  She frowned, her eyes darkening. Dismayed, Dominic realized that she’d had virtually no contact with children for many years, so it might be hard for her to imagine herself as a mother. Hoping she didn’t hate the idea of a family too much, he said, “I’m sorry, we should have discussed this before. If it isn’t already too late, there are methods to delay starting a family, if you would prefer that.”

  She sat up and crossed her legs, expression troubled. “I think I would like to wait a while, but that isn’t what bothered me. I…I just remembered a fragment of conversation about having a baby. An argument. But I can’t remember when, or who was talking.”

  “One of the Warfield maids being scolded for getting herself with child without a husband, perhaps?” he suggested.

  “No-o-o-o.” She gnawed at her lip. “A long time ago, and much anger.”

  Too much anger, if she still remembered the episode with such disquiet. He took her hand. “Does the memory make you dislike the thought of babies?”

  She shrugged. “It was of no importance. Only a passing thought.” She tilted her head to one side pensively. “I’ve never thought of having children, but I should think I will enjoy them, rather like kittens or puppies.”

  “Only you would say that.” Optimistic that in time she would want children as much as he did, he leaned forward into a kiss. Her lips clung to his, blossom sweet.

  She tickled his ribs. Laughing, he set out to discover her ticklish spots. At first they disrobed each other playfully, but soon the kisses and caresses became more urgent until they came together joyously, free of the shadows that had plagued them until now. She was a pagan princess, gloriously naked and at ease in the daisy-spangled grass. A goddess who made his bones melt with passion and fulfillment.

  Afterward they lay tangled in the sunshine, both of them gasping for breath. Smoothing back her hair, he said huskily, “I love you, Meriel. Love being with you, love the man I am when I’m with you.”

  Her eyes closed, but not soon enough to hide her discomfort at his declaration. He wondered, with sudden depression, if she would ever fully return his feelings. Perhaps it was necessary to grow up in normal society, to see the cycles of courtship and marriage, to understand the meaning of human love.

  Another thought struck, slow and chilling. Meriel no longer needed him. Marriage had given her the protection required to become the undisputed mistress of Warfield, and it was Warfield she loved, far more than any man or woman.

  He drew her close, trying not to think of how he’d promised to leave if she ever asked him to. That wouldn’t happen right away. She was fond of him, she trusted him enough to share control of Warfield, and she certainly enjoyed their lovemaking.

  But the bonds of love and custom and commitment that held most marriages together were outside her experience. Would the day come when she no longer wished to have him about? Might she lose her temper and send him away in a fit of rage? Or after the first flush of passion between them faded, would she become curious about bedding other men and take lovers? If that happened, he’d leave voluntarily.

  Sharply he told himself not to borrow trouble. Certainly Meriel was a passionate mistress who cared for him in her way. He would simply have to take
life day by day. If they had children, that would surely forge a deeper bond. And even if she sent him away in a fit of temper, she could always invite him back.

  A cloud drifted across the sun, and he wrapped himself around her. They were not only lovers, but friends.

  He would pray that was enough.

  Chapter 38

  Wrexham and Lucia had returned to Dornleigh. Hell. From his horseback vantage point on top of a hill overlooking the house, Kyle saw the carriage pull up and his father and sister climb out. He promptly turned his horse and rode in the opposite direction. He’d had a couple of days of almost total peace and quiet since returning home, but he still wasn’t ready for company.

  He debated whether he should be the one to break the news that Dominic had stolen the heiress Wrexham had wanted for his heir. No, not when that would mean listening to his father bellowing. Besides, the subject was far too painful.

  The rage he’d felt in London had burned out, leaving him exhausted and empty. Sooner or later he’d have to do something—but damned if he knew what.

  Kyle managed to avoid his father and sister for a day and a half; Dornleigh was large. But the next evening, after a day long expedition to the nearby hills, he returned to his room and found Lucia sitting in his most comfortable chair, reading a book. She glanced up when he entered. “Too late to run—I’ve seen you.”

  He considered bolting—the day he couldn’t outrun his little sister, he was in trouble—but there was something very undignified about living like a nervous squirrel in his own home. Warily he entered the room. “I should have locked my door before I left.”

  Lucia closed her book and set it aside. “You can’t hide forever. At least I’m on your side, no matter what.”

  He tossed his hat across the room. It dropped neatly over the corner of a carved wooden chair. “Does that mean you’re consigning Dominic to the nethermost regions?”