Lord of the Beasts

by Susan Krinard

  She darted upstairs and returned with a straw bonnet that completely obscured the sides of her face. Donal offered his arm, and Miss Shipp gently steered him around the house to the rose garden in back.

  Whoever had designed the garden must have held pretensions of grand formality; well-placed classical statues graced the gravel paths, and wrought-iron benches had been carefully positioned between the neat parterres. Every shrub and hedge was precisely clipped by an expert gardener.

  “Would you prefer to sit, or continue to walk?” Donal asked.

  “Walk, if you please,” she said. “Exercise after an illness is good for one, I have heard.” She tilted her head as if she were peering around the brim of the bonnet. “What—what did you wish to ask, Doctor?”

  “Please call me Donal,” he said. “I realize it is an impertinence, but I am unused to formality among my cows and chickens.”

  A sound much like a laugh emerged from the bonnet. “I, too, do not care for rigid adherence to convention,” she admitted. “I shall call you Donal, if you will call me Theodora.”

  “Theodora,” he said. “I have been to visit your cousin’s menagerie.”

  “Indeed. I know that Cordelia…Mrs. Hardcastle…was most anxious for you to see the animals.”

  “Yes. She is right to be concerned about their welfare.”

  Theodora came to a sudden halt and turned her head enough for Donal to catch a glimpse of her face. “Oh! Are they quite ill?”

  “Their lives are not in danger.” He met her gaze. “How did Cordelia obtain this menagerie? Did she have the animals captured for her?”

  “Oh, no. Not at all, Doctor…Donal. Is that what you thought?”

  He could not very well explain how the animals’ terrible memories had overtaken his mind and left him with impressions of cruelty, pain, and fear. “I did not know what to think,” he said honestly. “I did not want to believe it.”

  She pressed his arm. “You need not. Cordelia…she rescued the animals, every one, from their previous owners.”

  His heart gave a leap. “Rescued?”

  “Yes. Perhaps she has not spoken…that is, she has not told you of her adventures in a number of exotic countries?”

  Donal recalled Cordelia’s brief reference to seeing cages “all around the world.” “She may have mentioned it in passing,” he said, “but she did not—”

  “She has been nearly everywhere with Sir Geoffrey,” Theodora said eagerly. “India, Africa, the South Seas, the Americas. I can scarcely imagine…” She broke off in consternation. “I do beg your pardon. I did not intend to interrupt. But you see, Cordelia is one of the kindest and most generous people I have met. Everywhere she has traveled, she has helped both people and animals in need. The creatures she brought to England were in dire condition before she saved them. She saw each one nursed back to health and has spared no expense in caring for them. If not for her, these animals would surely be dead.”

  Donal closed his eyes, struck by the keenness of his relief. “Your cousin’s actions are most admirable.”

  Theodora nodded, her face once again concealed in the shadows of her bonnet. “I do admire her greatly. Though she has spent little of the past seventeen years in England, she has already done wonders for the parish since her return, helping the needy and generally improving the quality of life for the people of the village. She cannot abide cruelty of any kind.”

  “I well remember her attempt to help Sheba, the elephant at the Zoological Gardens.”

  Theodora put her hand over her heart. “She frightened us dreadfully, approaching such a large beast with no protection. If you had not come…but that is so like Cordelia. I am quite certain she has risked her life a hundred times in similar circumstances.”

  Donal could well believe that once Cordelia set her mind on any action, she would follow through regardless of the hazard to herself…and in spite of the opinions of the society she seemed to value so highly. It was only one of the many contradictions in her character that he found so puzzling. And so disturbingly intriguing.

  “Lord Inglesham commented on her generosity,” he said. “He did not seem to entirely approve of it.”

  Theodora was silent so long that Donal bent forward to look at her face. She had assumed a blank expression, too perfect to indicate anything but distaste. “Happily,” she said, “Lord Inglesham has no say in what my cousin does with her life or her fortune.”

  “You do not like the viscount?” he asked.

  “It is not for me to judge one of such high estate,” she said primly.

  He almost laughed. “Were his boots quite ruined?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The boots anointed by the impertinent dog in Covent Garden.”

  A strangled sound emerged from the bonnet. “You saw?”

  “I did.”

  Theodora raised her hands to her mouth. “He must have been furious,” she said, “though of course he wouldn’t let Cordelia see. She would not approve of his making a to-do over such a frivolous matter.”

  “And he cares for her approval?”

  “He cares very much.” The bonnet turned left and right, and Theodora leaned closer. “He wishes to marry her.”

  Donal’s muscles tightened, and he drew in a sharp breath. “Why?”

  She withdrew abruptly. “Forgive me,” she said. “I spoke out of turn.” She gathered her skirts as if to flee, and he touched her arm, certain—for reasons he could not fully understand—that he must learn all he could about Cordelia’s relationship with Inglesham.

  “I asked to speak to you in confidence,” he said, “and you may be sure that I will not share our discussion with anyone else.”

  She sank down on the nearest bench. “What more can I tell you?”

  “Why does Inglesham want to marry Cordelia?”

  “Do you think it impossible that a man of good family should wish to marry a widow past the first blush of youth?”

  He blinked in surprise. “Such a thought had never occurred to me.”

  “Then what has my cousin’s friendship with the viscount have to do with your care of her animals?”

  Her steady question held more than a hint of challenge, though she still looked ready to flee at the slightest provocation. Donal himself felt an unaccountable desire to turn tail and run.

  “I frequently do not comprehend human motives,” he admitted. “If Ivy is to remain here, I must know that there is nothing that will compromise her happiness.”

  Theodora searched his eyes and gradually relaxed. “Of course. Your concern is laudable.” She sighed. “It might be best if I begin with Cordelia’s first marriage. She was still very young when she met Captain James Hardcastle while he was serving in India. Because of her extraordinary upbringing and years away from England, she had little chance to meet eligible men or enjoy a conventional courtship. When she was introduced to Captain Hardcastle, she had only just lost her younger sister, Lydia, to a tragic accident.”

  “I don’t remember her mentioning a sister.”

  “She seldom speaks of Lydia.” Theodora rose and began walking along the path, her hands pressed to her skirts. “Cordelia and James were married after a brief engagement, and Cordelia settled with the Captain in India. They had hardly been together more than three months when he was killed in a skirmish with bandits.”

  “I am sorry,” Donal murmured.

  “I had not met Cordelia then, but I know that she left India soon afterward and rejoined Sir Geoffrey in his travels. She has shown no inclination to remarry since her return six months ago…but she and Inglesham have known each other since they were children. His estate is only a few miles from Edgecott. The viscount has always been a frequent visitor, and Sir Geoffrey approves of him.”

  Donal glared at the ground under his feet. “Does she love him?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Does he love her?”

  Theodora fumbled with the ribbons of her bonnet. “A pe
er of the realm may marry for love, if he is fortunate,” she said. “A viscount would not be ashamed to marry an Amesbury, even if she is only the daughter of a baronet. But there are often other considerations behind such alliances.” She turned to face Donal, her very ordinary brown eyes vivid with some strong emotion. “My cousin is a wealthy woman in her own right, with an inheritance from an aunt that is hers to dispose of as she pleases. Sir Geoffrey is not poor in the least, but he has an unfortunate tendency to gamble and has suffered certain reversals in recent years…”

  “He wants her money,” Donal said flatly, kicking at the gravel with the toe of his boot. “Will she not lose control over her fortune if he marries her?”

  “Yes. But Cordelia has no reason to distrust him. She is…” Once more Theodora trailed off, and her lips pressed together as if she were sealing away any further comments.

  Cordelia is blind, Donal completed for her. But he knew too little of the viscount to condemn him out of hand because of Theodora’s suspicions or his own dislike. Nor had he any reason to interfere in Cordelia’s personal affairs. Good God, he hardly knew the woman….

  And that made no difference at all to his irrational feelings.

  “Thank you, Theodora,” he said. “You have helped to understand the situation a little better.”

  She looked away. “I hope that I have not discouraged you from allowing Ivy to stay. I should never forgive myself if I—”

  “Dr. Fleming!” Cordelia’s voice interrupted Theodora, who appeared relieved at the intrusion. Cordelia rounded a corner on the path, her smile bright enough to encompass both her cousin and Donal.

  “Theodora,” she said. “Croome said I might find you and Dr. Fleming in the garden.” She turned to Donal. “I hope you have not felt too neglected, Doctor. I have been doing my best to make Ivy comfortable in the house. She is resting now, but you will see her at dinner. And we have already planned a trip into Gloucester for fittings next week, if you should care to accompany us.”

  It was as if she and Donal had parted on the best of terms several hours ago. Cordelia’s annoyance with him had apparently been forgotten, and after hearing Theodora’s tale about the animals and the loss of her husband, Donal could not feel anything but sympathy. He returned her smile with all the warmth he could muster.

  “I am delighted to hear that Ivy is settling in so well,” he said. “If you require my assistance on your visit to town I will be happy to join you, but I should not wish to become a burden upon ladies in pursuit of sartorial pleasures.”

  Cordelia arched a brow. “How eloquent a way of saying that you would find our excursion dreadfully dull, Doctor. But I quite understand.” She indicated that he and Theodora should return to the house. “I have come to tell you that our head groundskeeper has located a suitable cottage where you may lodge while you stay at Edgecott. If you will come inside, we shall have tea and I will tell you more.”

  Donal slowed his pace. “I am certain it will be—”

  “Come, come,” she said, her gray eyes teasing. “I know that you have already been to your chambers and the breakfast room, so the house can hold no more terrors for a man who has faced down a charging loxodonta africana.”

  His skin grew hot. “I…of course I will join you for tea, Mrs. Hardcastle. Thank you.”

  She gave him a smile of triumph and preceded him and Theodora into the house, leading them to a small and pleasant room that received the afternoon sunlight. A tea service was already waiting. Donal sat uneasily in his delicate chair, his gaze fixed on the strip of blue sky visible through the window. Theodora excused herself after a single cup and retired to her room.

  “My cousin seems much improved,” Cordelia commented, offering Donal a second cup of tea. “Did she show you the garden?”

  He cradled the tiny teacup in his hands and nodded. “It is a very well-kept garden.”

  “‘Well-kept.’ How carefully you say it, though I can see that something does not meet with your approval.”

  The chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “It is not my intention to insult—”

  “I know it isn’t. But you do prefer your Yorkshire ‘garden’ of heather and wildflowers, do you not?”

  “I appreciate Nature in her original state,” he said, “unfenced and untamed.”

  “Then you must often be disappointed with what you find around you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Even on the moors?”

  “Even on the moors there are fences, and animals made to serve men.”

  Cordelia took a sip of her tea and set down her cup. “Surely you must admit that not all things can exist in their unaltered state, not on the earth we inhabit.”

  “Certainly not in England.”

  “Nor in any part of the civilized world.”

  He let his gaze wander over the contours and planes of her face, wondering anew what had shaped such a paradoxical creature as Cordelia Hardcastle. “Theodora tells me that you have been all over the globe.”

  “My father was…is…a naturalist. He took me and my sister with him in his travels after my mother died.”

  “Then you must have seen many places where man does not yet hold sway.”

  “Yes. But I was speaking of the civilized world. It is only natural that men should wish to domesticate the wilderness in order to live in greater safety and comfort. Human beings have done so since the beginning of time.”

  “Is it for safety and comfort that men place animals in zoological gardens, hunt foxes to their deaths and set dogs and cocks to fight against each other?”

  “Animal fighting is an abomination, and does not belong in a discussion of rational human behavior. Hunting is a primitive custom which I hope will eventually lose favor. As for zoological gardens…do they not allow men to better understand and thus preserve unfamiliar and exotic species?”

  “I only know what the animals feel.”

  “I concede that no one should be able to guess their emotions better than one of your profession. But in the case where animals are held in captivity, common sense tells us that making the creatures comfortable and helping them adapt to their new situation is by far the most compassionate and prudent approach.”

  “Prudent,” he repeated. “Is that your guiding principle, Cordelia? Prudence?”

  Her lips tightened almost imperceptibly at his use of her given name. “You perhaps imply that I showed a lack of such prudence in my decision to offer a child of unknown antecedents a home at Edgecott?”

  “It did seem a rather impulsive decision.”

  “In rare cases, Doctor, it is necessary to leaven one’s customary circumspection with a certain daring that may seem, but is not, contradictory.”

  Donal smiled. “I have no quarrel with occasional impulsiveness. In fact, I quite approve of it.”

  Silence fell between them. Cordelia reached for her cup, missed her aim and knocked it against its saucer.

  A light tapping came at the open door, causing Cordelia to jump in her seat. She immediately rose and met the footman as he entered and bowed.

  “I am sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Hardcastle,” he said, “but Sir Geoffrey has asked that you attend him in his suite.”

  Cordelia brushed her hands over her skirts and nodded. “Very well, John.” She turned back to Donal, avoiding his eyes. “My father wishes to see me. I know we have not yet discussed your cottage, but I will see you again in the drawing room before dinner, at six o’clock.”

  With those words of dismissal, she hurried out of the room. Donal heard her shoes on the stairs, and then the sound of a door closing.

  He could not have said what made him follow her. He slipped into the entrance hall, listened for servants, and casually climbed the stairs as if he intended to go to his own room. At the landing, however, he turned left into the wing reserved for family members, passing through yet another gallery of Amesbury portraits. No sooner had he reached its end than he heard the raised, petulant voice of an angry man.


  “…bringing cursed waifs and tradesmen into the house, the least you can do is have consideration for your own flesh and blood.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Cordelia’s voice answered, strangely muted. “But Dr. Fleming is not a tradesman—”

  “Whatever he is, I will not have you forget your duty…” He paused. “Yes, there on my left temple. Not so firmly, if you please.”

  Donal moved closer to the door, poised to beat a hasty retreat if anyone should chance by.

  “There now, Papa,” Cordelia said. “You must take your quinine.”

  “The stuff is foul.”

  “You have endured much worse.”

  Sir Geoffrey made a gagging sound and coughed loudly. “You delight in tormenting me. If I had control over your fortune—”

  “Please, Papa. Calm yourself.”

  “Calm be damned. I wish to see this…this animal doctor you have brought to Edgecott. Perhaps he will provide some amusement after all.”

  “Of course you shall meet him, Papa, when you are better.”

  “Better? I shall never be ‘better.’” He coughed again. “Is Inglesham still here?”

  “No, Papa.”

  “Why don’t you marry the fellow, Cordelia, and have done with it? You know that your mother would have approved. More than approved. And I wish it as well.”

  “I know, Papa.” After a moment Donal heard her footsteps moving across the room. The door swung open before he could conceal himself. “Now you must rest. When I—” She saw Donal, and the high color in her face deepened. She backed away, hastily shut the door, and spoke in a low voice to her father. When she came out of the room, her face was composed again.

  “Dr. Fleming,” she said. “Have you lost your way?”

  Donal tugged at his cravat. “I apologize for intruding. I—”

  “Doubtless you overheard,” she said. “My father suffers from recurrent attacks of malaria he acquired in the tropics. It can be quite disabling, and he has been somewhat worse of late. He was not always so querulous.”