by Unknown
Mervanwey stood, a long, low house of mellow gray stone, atop a tall cliff overlooking the sandy beach of a rocky bay. The child Danielle had spent an idyllic summer running wild over the beaches and fields, exploring the rocks and winning her way into the hearts of the taciturn villagers and fisherfolk. Her cheerful conversation died as they took the steep road toward the house—those memories were too full
of her mother to be welcome or comfortable ones and for the first time she wondered uneasily how her grandparents would^%ceive her unorthodox and utterly unexpected arrival.
"Your grandparents are expecting you, child." Linton's quiet voice broke into her reverie, echoing her thoughts, and she looked at him in wonder.
"But how, milord?"
"I wrote to them from Paris," he replied calmly. "The messenger will have arrived several days ago. He was instructed to make all speed."
"Do they also expect you?" she inquired hesitantly.
"I certainly hope so."
"And . . . about . . . about Maman?"
"They know."
Relief washed through her and gratitude toward her self-appointed guardian who had foreseen and forestalled the unenviable task of informing the Earl and Countess of March of the violent, untimely
death of their only, beloved daughter.
Lavinia, Countess of March, was in her rose garden overlooking the cliff road when the small procession wound its way up the steep path to the house. Her pruning sheers fell unheeded to the ground and, gathering the skirt of the faded gown she wore for gardening, she hastened toward the house, crossing
the broad terrace to enter her husband's library by way of the open French doors.
"Charles, they are coming."
Instantly the Earl of March left his book and his chair to hold his wife for a brief moment before taking her arm and moving with her into the cool, flagged hallway and out into the warm sun of the circular sweep before the front door. Two riders were coming toward them some way ahead of the coach with its postillions and outriders lumbering up the steep drive.
"Is that Danielle, Charles?" Lavinia gazed in shocked amazement at the slight, boyish figure astride the dappled mare riding beside the unmistakable figure of Justin, Earl of Linton.
"She was always a tomboy, Lavvy," her husband remarked gently. "Like Louise, if you remember? I am sure Linton will explain all—there is bound to be a good reason."
The two riders reached them and the Earl of Linton swung easily from the large, black stallion, turning to lift Danielle's suddenly motionless figure from her own mount.
"As promised, March, I have brought you your granddaughter," he said quietly. "Lady Lavinia." He made a magnificent leg toward the still stunned figure of the countess.
Black spots danced in the sunlight before Danielle's eyes, her heart and head began to pound painfully, and cold, clammy sweat broke out on her palms and forehead as panic quite unaccountably and unexpectedly swept through her. Gasping suddenly to draw breath from a tightly constricted chest she turned automatically in unspoken appeal toward the one person whose strength she had come to rely on unconsciously but absolutely.
Linton took the outstretched hand in a grip that crushed her fingers. "Quite so, Danielle," his voice reassured from a vast distance. "It is always strange to reach journey's end, particularly after such a journey as yours."
The Countess of March was a woman blessed with both common sense and wisdom. The look Linton bent on her granddaughter was one she recognized—she had seen it in her husband's eyes on many occasions and had been wanned to the depths of her soul by its love and tenderness. She wondered fleetingly if Danielle also recognized the look for what it was and suspected not—the child's eyes carried only trust and appeal.
Swiftly she moved forward, gathering the small figure to her ample bosom, enfolding her in loving arms, stroking and patting the narrow back with hands that still carried the soil of the rose garden beneath her fingernails.
"There, there, child. You are home now," she whispered softly against the wind-tangled curls. "No one will ever harm you again." Her eyes met those of her husband over the bent head and the Earl of March moved to enfold both wife and granddaughter in his own strong arms. At last Lavinia drew herself upright as practical necessities began to occur.
"We must get you out of those clothes, child," she declared briskly. "Do you have any others?" The question was ostensibly asked of Danielle, but she looked automatically at Linton.
"In the chaise, ma'am," he said calmly.
"Good. See to things, will you, Charles? If we move quickly we'll have Danielle looking respectable again before the household realizes what has happened. The less talk the better, even this far from London."
"My thoughts exactly, Lady Lavinia," Linton concurred with a smile and watched with considerable relief as his charge was whisked into the house by the energetic countess.
Charles gave quick orders as to the disposal of the luggage before extending his hand to Linton. "Come, Justin, we shall take a glass of sherry on the terrace. We owe you more than we can ever repay."
"You owe me nothing, Charles," Linton demurred quietly. "But the sherry I will accept with pleasure.
The story, if you please, should wait for the return of the ladies. It is long and involved and bears telling only once."
"Indeed," March concurred gracefully and ushered his guest through the house and onto the flagged terrace overlooking the front lawn which stretched to the very edge of the cliff top.
They had taken but one sip of the dry wine when Danielle's outraged tones pierced the reflective quiet. Linton looked up with a frown. The sound floated across the garden from an open upstairs window overlooking the terrace.
"No! You may not take them. They are mine!" Her voice was rising alarmingly.
"What the devil?" March gazed in astonishment at Linton who put his glass down on a small table.
"I think, if you will excuse me, March, my presence is required upstairs before Danielle regales your entire household with some of the choicer epithets in her lamentably extensive vocabulary."
Linton strode swiftly through the house and up the stairs, following the sounds that seemed dangerously close to hysteria, entering the chamber from whence they came without ceremony. Danielle, in chemise and petticoat, was standing in the middle of the room seemingly engaged in a tug of war with an elderly woman who bore all the marks of an old and trusted retainer. The countess stood to one side, looking on helplessly as her granddaughter appeared on the verge of strong hysterics for no immediately explainable reason. She welcomed Linton's arrival with only relief, forgetting the impropriety of a gentleman's presence in a young lady's bedchamber, particularly when the young lady in question was clad only in
her undergarments.
In another minute Danielle was going to be beyond control and Linton didn't hesitate. He reached her in two long strides and gripped the slim shoulders with fingers that bit into the smooth, bare skin. "Danielle, you will cease this unseemly display immediately! Do you hear me?"
The firm level voice reached her through the rising panic and desperation and slowly the wild, almost
feral look in the brown eyes faded, a tinge of color returned to the deathly white cheeks, and the Figidity left her body.
The countess turned away to hide a slight smile. Quite clearly, the Earl of Linton had more than one way of dealing with her granddaughter's complex personality.
"I'm sorry," Danielle whispered, "but please, milord, tell them they must not take away my clothes. I... I may need them again, if something happens again and I . . . I have to run away again."
Compassion flooded the earl as he realized what was happening. It was far too soon for Danielle to accept security, to put behind her the thought that she needed to be prepared for any eventuality. Her boy's clothes were utterly necessary to her peace of mind.
"No one will take them away, brat," he said gently. "But you can surely do without them whilst they are laundered."<
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Slowly she released her convulsive grip on the britches and jacket, allowing the maid to take them before the storm of weeping overwhelmed her. Linton took the shaking figure in his arms and, sitting on the bed, settled her on his lap cradled against his chest until the racking sobs slowed and at long last ceased. The Countess of March herself sat on the broad window seat feeling in some vague way that she should remain as chaperone but also that it was both too late and quite unnecessary. There was an intimacy between these two that had been forged in some extraordinary situation that she was certain had been as inevitable as it had been improper.
"I'm all right now," Danielle whispered, struggling to sit up, wiping her bare arm across her wet eyes and running nose.
"Oh, Danny! When will you stop doing that?" Linton chuckled softly, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping her face himself. "Blow your nose, now."
She gave him a watery smile and obeyed vigorously. "Why did that happen?"
"You have been holding a great deal inside in recent weeks." He set her on her feet and rose himself.
"Get dressed now. I'll leave you in the competent hands of your grandmama."
Lady Lavinia followed him out of the room, pulling the door half shut behind her. "You do not think, Linton, that perhaps a draught of laudanum and her bed might not be the best course?"
Justin frowned and then shook his head. "No, I think not. She is remarkably resilient, ma'am. I think that outburst will probably have done more good than any opiate. She will want to tell you her story herself and also has some further plans which I am hoping she will reveal without too much delay." His lips curved in a slight smile. "She has informed me that I will not approve of them, and, I think, hopes to persuade you and March to accede to her wishes without my interference."
"A forlorn hope, I gather, Justin?" Her Ladyship smiled.
"Quite."
The countess nodded in brief satisfaction and returned to the bedchamber.
The muslin gown earned her immediate approval. "It has the mark of Lutece, unless I am much mistaken."
"Milord bought it for me," Danielle informed her, adjusting the fichu carefully.
"Then it is undoubtedly Lutece," the countess averred.
"He also gave me this brooch, ma'am. Do you think it was perhaps improper of me to accept it?" Danielle looked anxiously at her grandmother, who could not resist smiling.
"My love, I suspect that that gift is about the only 'proper' thing that has happened to you in months. It is quite unexceptionable, just right for a young girl. But Lin ton's taste is always as impeccable as his judgment in these matters. You have minded him well, I hope."
"I have not had very much choice, Grandmama," Danielle replied tartly. "My Lord Linton is most persuasive!"
Her Ladyship had no difficulty in believing this, but merely suggested mildly that they repair to the drawing room.
They kept country hours when in Conwall and dinner was announced soon after the ladies had arrived downstairs. Linton had exchanged his riding clothes for a plain but superbly tailored coat of brown cloth and fawn knee britches—more morning dress than evening but Lord March had informed him that they stood on no ceremony when at Mervanwey. They dined with a degree of informality but their dinner, in quantity and quality, would not have disgraced any London table. Once the covers had been removed, however, and the port decanter placed at Lord March's elbow, the servants were dismissed and March suggested that they dispense with the formality of the ladies' withdrawal and hear Danielle's story in the privacy and comfort of the dining room.
Danielle looked askance at the port decanter which showed no inclination to move in her direction and Justin smiled slightly.
"It is not considered the thing, Danny, for ladies, particularly very young ladies, to partake of port after dinner."
At her rather crestfallen look, her grandfather gave a low chuckle. "We are quite private, Linton, and the child is half French after all. If she is used to taking it I cannot see that it will do any great harm. However, miss, in company it will not do at all, so you must accustom yourself to two standards." He filled her glass, casting a twinkling glance at his wife, who was looking most disapproving.
Danielle told her story for the third time to an audience as attentive as her two previous ones, finding that with repeated telling the horror seemed to recede somewhat. On this occasion she included much more detail of her life and that of her mother and of events leading to the massacre, providing her listeners with an explanation and a description that shocked them considerably more than it did her. As before, she ended her narrative at the point where she had met the Earl of Linton.
A heavy silence hung over the table as she concluded and she was not to know that the thought uppermost in all three of her listeners' minds was how to put Danielle de St. Varennes on the conventional tracks again after such a life and such an experience. Justin had already decided how this was to be done and watched with secret amusement the cogitations of his hosts, knowing that sooner rather than later they would reach his conclusion. He hoped, however, that they would not blurt this out in front of Danielle; it was a task he preferred to keep for himself.
But neither the earl nor his countess were foolish, and having raised a family of two sons and one very high-spirited, self-willed daughter, were well aware of the dangers inherent in a premature announcement to the mercurial Danielle as to her future.
"And what of your subsequent journey, Justin?" March refilled his glass and passed the decanter to his guest.
"One beset with alarums and excursions, sir," Linton said with a rueful half smile. "But I think we contrived to keep Danielle's identity a secret from the world—except for Pitt." He explained their sojourn in London and the meeting with the prime minister. "Pitt has promised both his discretion and his friendship, so I think we need have no fears in that quarter."
"Danielle traveled as a boy all that time?" Lady Lavinia spoke for the first time in a tone of shocked incredulity.
"Yes, ma'am. As my servant, actually. Although it is not a role she is particularly adept at," Linton murmured.
Danielle took a deep breath into the sudden silence before speaking with some difficulty. "I realize, milord, that I have not always appeared sensible of your many kindnesses and that perhaps I might have seemed ungrateful for your protection ..."
"Danny!" the earl exclaimed, interrupting this fumbling beginning. "You are not about to thank me, are you? If you do so, I shall begin to think your experiences have quite overset your reason!"
"I was intending to apologize, as it happens," she replied acidly. "Whilst I was not grateful for your interference, I could perhaps have been a little more amenable."
The earl's eyes danced. "You were certainly an unpredictable traveling companion."
"Yes, well I should not have teased you about your headache when you were foxed in France, and then got into a fight with that bete Jacques," Danielle continued doggedly, determined to rid herself of this unpleasant confession and thus missing Linton's warning look. "And then I came up on deck when you had said not to and nearly got swept overboard and then was horribly seasick and you had to look after me and then I made Lord Julian notice me and . . ."
"I think, Danielle, that we do not need a catalog of your indiscretions," Justin broke in very softly. "Your grandparents will not find them edifying."
Silenced, she glanced at her grandparents, who were both looking thunderstruck at the chasm of impropriety revealed by her artless recitation.
"Lord Linton is quite right, child," Lavinia said hastily. "Those few days you spent in his company had best be buried as deep as possible. Although, I must confess to feeling a degree of compassion for you, Justin."
"Not necessary, ma'am, I assure you," he demurred with a smile.
"Well, we must think now of how best we can brush through this affair," March declared firmly. "I think, my dear, that Linton and I should discuss this alone."
"Yes, of course." Lady Lavinia
rose instantly. "Come, Danielle, I have asked Hannah to sort through some clothes that we might be able to alter for you, until we can have your wardrobe made up. Let us
go and see what she has discovered."
"No!" Danielle exclaimed suddenly. "You do not understand—none of you understands. I cannot remain here."
Only Linton showed no surprise at this impassioned statement. He took snuff and with great deliberation flicked a speck from his sleeve with a lace handkerchief before saying, "Enlighten us, Danny."
"I have to return to Languedoc before the situation in France becomes so bad that all travel is impossible. We have perhaps two months, no more, and maybe less if the States General produces confrontation." She was talking quietly, desperately now, turning to her stunned grandfather. "I have it all planned, sir, but I will need some funds and passage to France. If you still have Dream Girl, I can sail to Brittany and make my way on horseback, traveling as a factor, perhaps, on a journey to oversee his master's estates.