So Wild A Heart

by Candace Camp

  They went first around the outside of the house, exploring the neglected grounds and examining the exterior of the mansion. Devin pointed out where the herb garden on the kitchen side of the house had stood, as well as the elegant formal gardens on the terrace behind the house. Flowers still grew there, the roses in a wild tangle, the vines of the arbor running over and dripping down into the doorway. There was a kind of shaggy, careless beauty about the flower gardens, but the unpruned hedges at the bottom of the terrace simply looked like thickets of wild bushes, and the graveled paths were muddy and pocked with holes.

  “There’s been only old Mr. Pettigrew and his grandson for a few years now, and they cannot take care of it all. I have even seen Cummings out in the roses a time or two, trying to cut back the weeds so he can still have roses for the vases,” Devin said. “When I was a boy, I can remember there was a maze down on that side of the terrace.” He pointed toward an area that was overgrown with grass now. “It had to be carefully pruned, and over the last generation it had become completely overgrown. Father had them cut it to the ground and uproot it. He was afraid one of us children would manage to crawl into it and become hopelessly trapped.”

  “I read that the landscaping was done by Capability Brown,” Joseph said. “Is that true?”

  “As far as I know. The alternating elms and beeches as you come up the lane are ones he had planted. And over there—” he pointed in the other direction from the maze, where trees encroached upon the grounds “—those were once a very neat orchard, or so my father told me. Fruit trees all in military rows, planted by his grandfather. In the spring it’s beautiful, a thick blanket of pink and white flowers.”

  “I have a landscaper coming next week,” Joseph said with satisfaction. “We’ll soon set it to rights. I don’t suppose you have the original plans?”

  Devin shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose they might be in the library or my study. I shall look for them.” He turned and looked back at the house, shading his eyes against the sun. “The exterior stone is in pretty good shape, just nicks and chinks here and there, some stone carvings that have fallen off. The roof needs repair badly, I know that. The west wing is entirely closed off because of the water damage. Most of the chimneys don’t draw properly. There’s woodworm in most of the banisters and railings. Dry rot. Wet rot. There are some floors in the west wing that I am not even sure are safe.”

  He looked from Joseph to Miranda and back again. “Still game for repairing the old pile?”

  “You must be joking. You’ve only whetted Papa’s appetite,” Miranda said with a chuckle. “Lead on.”

  They went inside and walked through the house, taking what Miranda termed a short overview. The original old great hall of the center wing had been turned into the large entry of the house, the centerpiece of which was an elegant staircase that rose to the landing, then curved in both directions up to the second floor. The steps were marble, as was the floor of the entry, and the banisters were made of English oak. Miranda had already noticed on her way downstairs this morning that the railing was pricked with hundreds of tiny holes, indicating the presence of woodworm.

  “At least we don’t have deathwatch beetles,” Devin said as they started making their way around the stairs. “Or at least we haven’t heard them knocking.” The larger beetle, which was even more voraciously destructive than the woodworm, was known by the tapping sound it made inside the wood.

  “That’s good.”

  “Those are the best tapestries.” Devin pointed to the huge, faded hangings that decorated the walls of the large room, along with several enormous portraits of ancestors, many of them darkened with time. “Mother had the best ones taken from all the rooms and moved down here, where they would be seen first.”

  He led them next to the vast kitchens and the warren of small larder rooms and servants’ quarters, then took them into the main ballroom, a huge expanse of marble floor that took up most of the central wing of the bottom floor. Then they climbed up the stairs and started from the top, opening the windows in the attic to look out upon the slate tiles of the roof, many of which were broken or displaced, and examining the water damage. They made their way down, walking up and down the halls, poking into all the rooms, so that by the time they reached the second floor, where the main family rooms were, it was long past time for lunch, and they were hungry and dusty, as well.

  However, Joseph and Miranda wanted to finish the tour, so Devin led them down the hall, looking into what he called the morning room, which had been paneled all in dark wine-red Cordovan leather with brass studs, now faded and cracked. Next came a music room, and across the hall was what he termed the small ballroom, a chamber about half the size of the main ballroom below. Beyond it lay the library, a large, gloomy room.

  Devin crossed to the windows and pulled aside the heavy draperies, revealing a set of tall windows that faced south, letting in a pleasant light that revealed a room two stories high, filled with books.

  “Oh, my…” Miranda breathed. “What a wonderful room!” Two tables and a number of well-cushioned chairs sat in the middle of the room, as well as a large globe on a stand and another stand containing a large, old, leather-bound Bible. Built-in bookcases eight feet high ran all around the room. The double bank of windows took up much of one side wall, and above the bookcases on two of the other walls were more hangings and portraits. But the fourth wall held a wooden walkway about four feet wide, reached by a wooden staircase, and that wall was also filled with bookcases.

  Miranda walked all around the room, admiring everything, thinking of how she would refurbish the room and make it beautiful and comfortable. This, she knew, would be a room in which she spent much of her time. “I love it here.”

  She climbed the wooden staircase to the loft of the library, noting that the banister here, too, had the tiny pinholes that indicated woodworm. When she reached the upper level, she walked along, admiring the books.

  “Oh, look!” she cried. “Here are books about the house. I can’t quite see all the titles. I wonder if there is a map of the gardens in any of them.” She stepped back to get a better angle of sight to the top shelves. “I’ll need a stool.”

  She went up on tiptoe, straining to see better, and reached behind her to balance her hand on the rail. The balustrade gave way beneath her hand, and Miranda, off balance, felt herself falling helplessly backward into space.

  12

  Miranda shrieked, twisting and grabbing frantically as she fell. With one hand she managed to grab one of the slender railings, and she held on for dear life. Below her she could hear her father shout her name and the sound of feet running. Her arm felt as if it were about to tear out of its socket, and her fingers were slipping from the railing. She scrabbled desperately with her other hand for some purchase, but found nothing but slick wood floor. Then the rail snapped, and she plummeted toward the floor below.

  But the seconds when she had clung to the railing had given Devin enough time to reach the spot below her, and he caught her as she fell, so that instead of crashing into the hard wood, she thudded against the solid flesh of his chest. He staggered back under the force of their collision, and they fell into a heap on the floor. For a moment they lay there, stunned. Devin’s arms were clasped around Miranda so tightly she could scarcely breathe, and she realized an instant later that she was clinging to him equally hard. She closed her eyes, and a shiver ran through her. For an instant she had thought she was gone.

  “Miranda! Are you all right? Jesus God, I thought you were dead!” Her father, who had run for the stairs to climb up to her, now hurried over to where they lay.

  “I—I’m all right,” Miranda said, her voice muffled by Devin’s shirt.

  Joseph reached down and grasped her arm, helping her up, and Devin released her. She stood up, brushing at her dress with her hands. She wanted to burst into tears, she realized, to throw herself back against Devin’s firm chest and give way to hysterical sobs. But that was not her w
ay. Besides, she told herself, Devin had just saved her life; she shouldn’t repay him by turning into a sodden, clinging female.

  She clasped her hands together to hide their trembling and turned to Devin. She tried to give him a smile, but it didn’t work. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

  “You’re welcome. I—You scared the very devil out of me.”

  “Me too,” Miranda confessed, and this time a smile came out. “I should have been more careful. I know the whole place is infested with woodworm.”

  Devin nodded and glanced upward at the empty stretch of balcony where the railing had fallen. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

  He looked at the balcony for a long moment, a frown starting on his forehead.

  “I think a nice rest would be in order for you, my dear,” Joseph said, putting his arm around his daughter. “Come along, I’ll take you up to your room.”

  “But I am supposed to see Mr. Strong after this,” Miranda began to protest.

  “Don’t worry about Strong. He’ll probably welcome the chance to recover from the shock of meeting you,” Devin told her with a grin. “I’ll send him a note telling him you will see him later. The place has been going to the devil for years. It won’t matter if you take another day or two to whip it into shape.”

  Miranda’s legs were beginning to tremble in the aftermath of her fear, and she was afraid that she would start to shake all over if she stayed there much longer, so she nodded and let her father lead her out of the room.

  Devin stood where he was for a moment, looking at the open doorway. His heart was still pounding like a mad thing. He didn’t think he would ever forget the sight of her tumbling off the loft. For an instant it had been as if the world had stopped.

  He turned then and went up the staircase, walking along the loft until he got to the vacant spot where Miranda had fallen. He looked down at the break in the wood, first on one side, then on the other. They were the same—neatly sawed almost all the way through, only the bottom third torn and jagged. Someone had laid a trap, and Miranda had fallen into it.

  Miranda refused to move back the wedding because of her fall. That evening, after a nap had restored her nerves, she was a little embarrassed by everyone’s concern, and she assured them all that she was fine.

  “My pride is bruised, mostly,” she said with a smile. “There is no reason not to continue with the wedding as we had planned. The worst thing that’s wrong with me is a slightly sprained wrist.”

  So the following afternoon Devin and Miranda were wed in the village church. The ceremony was simple and brief, as Miranda had requested, but the church was filled with the scent of the masses of white roses on either side of the altar, and the old stone church was cozy and bathed in the golden light of the fading afternoon sun. It was for Miranda a beautiful moment, sweet and profound, and the words the vicar spoke resonated through her. This was what she wanted. This was what was meant to be.

  Devin’s hand was warm and firm around hers. She glanced up at him. His face showed little expression, and she wondered what he was thinking, whether he was sad or happy, or scared at the prospect of losing his freedom. She wondered if he thought of Leona and wished that it was she instead of Miranda who stood beside him there. Fiercely, Miranda swore to herself that she would someday erase the thought of Leona from his mind.

  They rode back to Darkwater in an open barouche, and along the way, the people of the village turned out to wave and smile and cry out good wishes and congratulations. There would be a large party for all of them in the side yard at Darkwater this evening, while the Aincourts’ friends and family gathered to celebrate in the small ballroom.

  She glanced over at Devin, who looked at her and winked. “All a bit medieval, isn’t it?”

  Miranda chuckled. “You read my mind. But I am sure Papa is wallowing in it.”

  “Pleasing your father must be very important to you.”

  “I love him. But I wouldn’t do absolutely anything to please him.”

  “Yet you married to please him.”

  “I married to please myself.” The words slipped out before Miranda really thought about them.

  “Indeed?” Devin’s eyes darkened. “Then I sincerely hope that I am able to accomplish that.”

  “Doing what I want will please me,” Miranda explained. “I realized that life is much easier for a married woman than a single one, even one with as forward-thinking a father as mine. A married woman may go where she likes and with no one accompanying her, and no one thinks a thing of it. There are no silly restrictions about wearing whites and pastels and no bold colors. The world does not recoil in horror if she is alone with a man. And, of course, there are the other reasons I told you at the time we became engaged.”

  “I remember.” Devin watched her for a moment. “You are an odd woman. Most women, when they speak about marriage, speak about love.”

  “Many women feel the need to make the best of a bad situation,” Miranda replied crisply.

  Devin was startled into laughter. “My dear Lady Ravenscar, you are hopelessly blunt.”

  “It is very odd to be called that,” Miranda said softly.

  “You had better get used to it.”

  “I suppose so.”

  He studied her thoughtful face. “Having regrets already?”

  “No.” She looked up and smiled. “Merely thinking. Wondering what our lives will be like.”

  “Unusual, I should think.”

  “You are probably right.”

  At the house, they moved up to the small ballroom, where a large repast had been laid out in celebration of the wedding. Family and friends were there, including all the people of the area who were considered of sufficient social standing to attend the country wedding of the Earl of Ravenscar. Miranda had been given to understand that a city wedding or one planned for months in advance would have been an entirely different thing. Invitations would have been much sought after, and many of the lesser gentry who would be here today would not have been part of the elite. Miranda had trouble understanding the ins and outs of who was suitable to be invited, the rules a seeming mish-mash of considerations of money, family standing, proximity and social entanglements. Miranda had nodded when Lady Ravenscar tried to explain and told her gratefully that she would leave it all in that lady’s hands.

  Miranda and Devin stood in a receiving line just inside the ballroom, along with Devin’s mother, Uncle Rupert, and Rachel and her husband, all lined up in an esoteric order that they all seemed to understand without question. Miranda’s family brought up the end of the line, needless to say. Miranda was sandwiched between Devin and his mother, a fact for which she was grateful, as it eliminated the need for her to carry on much conversation. Devin would introduce her to whoever came up—or, if he could not remember, which was sometimes the case, his mother would smoothly come to the rescue and introduce the visitor to Miranda herself.

  Miranda was saying a few words to the doctor when she felt Devin stiffen beside her. At almost the same moment, on the other side of her, Lady Ravenscar’s arm twitched convulsively. Curious, Miranda glanced over at the newest arrivals. An old woman was standing there, smiling at Devin, and behind her stood the woman Miranda had seen with Devin at the opera. Devin’s mistress had come to the wedding reception.

  “Miss Vesey,” Devin said in a constrained voice to the old lady, bending down a little to shake her hand. “How nice to see you again. It has been a long time.”

  “Yes. I don’t get around much these days. I was so glad that Lady Vesey offered to accompany me. You know Lady Vesey, don’t you, my nephew’s wife?”

  “Yes. I know Lady Vesey.” Devin’s voice was cold and controlled, but Miranda could sense the intense emotion radiating from his body. She wished she knew exactly what he was feeling.

  She had no doubt what his mother was feeling. Lady Ravenscar was as taut as a violin string, and Miranda suspected that she would have liked to fly across the few feet separating t
hem and slap Leona.

  Leona, on the other hand, looked like the cat who had got into the cream. She was dressed beautifully, in a conservative silk dress of a muted green, nothing like the low-cut gown she had worn to the opera. However, it fit her so well and did such wonderful things for her eyes and hair that it drew one’s attention almost as much as the evening gown had. She was stunning—hair, eyes, skin—and her beauty was just as dazzling close up as it had been at a distance. Miranda could not help but feel a frisson of uncertainty as she gazed at the other woman’s perfectly modeled face. How could she ever hope to compete with this woman for Devin’s affections?

  “Ravenscar and I are old friends,” Leona said now, looking up into Devin’s face with laughing eyes. “Aren’t we, my lord? I hope you won’t mind my inviting myself along to the celebration. Vesey’s aunt needed an escort, otherwise I would never have imposed.”

  “Of course not,” Devin’s mother said icily. “A lady would never do such a thing. Hello, Lady Vesey.”

  Leona’s gaze slid over to Lady Ravenscar, and in doing so fell on Miranda. Her eyes widened a trifle, and Miranda thought she saw the woman stiffen before she smiled at her. It gave Miranda a wicked spurt of pleasure to think that the sight of her had discomfited the woman. Obviously Lady Vesey had expected a different sort of woman.

  “Allow me to introduce you to Devin’s wife,” Lady Ravenscar went on. “Miranda, this is Lady Vesey. Her husband’s estate lies not too far away from here. We see very little of them, however.” She paused before adding, “They are almost always in London.”

  Miranda ignored her momentary flash of uncertainty and held out her hand to the woman. “It’s nice to meet you, Lady Vesey. I am enjoying meeting Lady Ravenscar’s friends. If only we had known you were here, we would have sent you an invitation.”