Lord Richard frowned, drawing his eyebrows together. “What is so amusing?”
“I’m sorry,” Wendy apologized, “but you look as though you’ve just come out of a trance.”
To her surprise, he smiled and ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest, I feel as if I have.” His glance fell on the chess table. “Whose move?”
“Yours.”
He walked back to the table and sat down. As his eyes took in the disarray of pieces, he exclaimed, “Good lord! How did we ever reach this mess?”
Wendy laughed again. “Does it matter?”
He grinned. “I suppose not.”
The game began to move more quickly and Wendy was aware her opponent had suddenly, drastically improved. Nevertheless, due to a superior position when they resumed the game, she won.
“You’ll have to give me another chance, you know,” he warned her wryly.
“Yes, but not now,” she agreed. “It’s teatime.”
In fact, Gwen was rolling the tea trolley into the library. “Very well, later,” Lord Richard conceded. When Wendy had poured the tea and Gwen had left the room, he said, “This must all have seemed quite bizarre to you.”
She shook her head. “Hardly! You’re not the only one who ever gets stuck on a problem.”
He smiled and it seemed to Wendy he had never looked more human and approachable. She was tempted to apologize for her outburst of the morning, but instinctively she knew it would only remind him of their respective positions and draw a curtain between them again.
Instead, she asked, “What do you do when you haven’t any guests to play chess with?”
The grin widened. “If I’m here, I commandeer Charles-ever since I discovered he knew the game. In London, I have a secretary who plays chess and, in desperation, I sometimes turn to my valet. But he hates the game.”
Wendy smiled quietly. She could imagine the servants describing Lord Richard’s eccentricity with a shudder. But she only said, “What are you working on? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“Well, in this case, one of the companies I consult for has a problem. They’ve been doing the usual time trend studies. Only now something is drastically wrong. I have to try to find out what-and quickly. You see, they estimate level of inventories and order raw materials months in advance. If their estimates model is wrong, it could cost them a great deal of money. I have to determine whether the fluctuation is temporary or part of a new trend. If it’s temporary, I need to find the cause and probable length of the fluctuation. If it’s not temporary, I have to design a new model. Do you understand?” He grinned.
“Not completely,” she admitted cheerfully. “But it sounds interesting. So you’re a consultant?”
“Not precisely. I own shares in a number of companies. It is in my interest to see that they do well. Each, of course, has its own staff to handle ordinary problems. But when a problem like this occurs, I handle it-if I can. I receive a fee for such consulting, but the big return is from my share in ownership.” He paused. “It’s true that much of the work in economics seems dull. But in my position, I handle the most interesting problems.”
“You don’t sound much like your namesake.” Wendy laughed.
Lord Richard frowned. “Did I tell you about him? When you’re off those crutches I’ll take you upstairs and show you his portrait. Though, actually, his half-sister was far more interesting. No, I’m not going to tell you that family scandal. We haven’t a portrait of her anyway.”
“Was she illegitimate?”
Lord Richard gave her a withering look. “Had that been the case, my dear Wendy, I should never have mentioned her at all.”
Realizing she’d best change the subject, she asked, “More tea?”
He nodded and gave her his cup to fill. She poured tea, he thought, as though she had been brought up in an English home. But then, her mother was British. Or so Wendy claimed.
Wendy was not conscious of his gaze and she turned back to Lord Richard to give him his teacup.
He was looking at something on his desk. “Thank you, just set it there,” he said and continued to study the matter on his desk.
Wendy felt as though she were intruding and said, “If you will excuse me, I have some things to attend to.”
“Of course.” The reply was absentminded.
With a wry smile, Wendy got to her feet. As quietly as she could, she left the room. When she was gone, Lord Richard closed the library doors and returned to the chair by the chess table. He sipped his tea slowly, thoughtfully.
It was almost time to go to the sitting room. Wendy stood before the mirror, feeling quite satisfied. Her hair was tied back and up into cascading curls with a green velvet ribbon. As always, Wendy was thankful for hair that curled by itself. The green velvet gown fitted her figure closely until the waist where it began to flare as it fell softly to her ankles. She bit her lip over the sandals, but there was nothing to do about them. With a smile, she turned and left her room.
Lord Richard was seated when she entered the James Room, but rose immediately. He did not succeed in hiding his surprise. The dress gave Wendy a new sense of poise.
“Good evening, Lord Richard,” she said easily.
“Good evening. A glass of sherry?”
“Yes, please.” As he handed her the glass, Wendy could not resist adding impishly, “I trust your digestion will not suffer from my appearance this evening.”
He sat on the couch beside her. “Of course not,” he replied coolly. “The dress has always been one of my favorites. Though my mother would have worn emeralds with it.”
“Hardly necessary, I should think,” she answered sweetly.
He shrugged with a smile. They both turned as Charles came to announce dinner. The servant’s eyes, as they rested on Wendy, registered distinct approval. Wendy was amused.
As she started forward, she indicated her crutches. “Not very formal, I’m afriad.”
Lord Richard resisted the impulse to tug one of her curls. Instead, he followed quietly. Charles was thoughtful. It was not so easy to classify the young person, but he began to feel she might, after all, be a young lady. One could not understand, however, Lord Richard’s animosity toward her. But then, one was only a servant and milord was not likely to share his confidences with one. Quietly, Charles began to supervise the dinner. It was one of cook’s better efforts. Cook was rather excited. It was rare for Lord Richard to be home on a weekday.
Later, as Wendy prepared for bed, she considered the evening. It had been an unusually comfortable one. To her surprise, Lord Richard had been very sparing of his sarcasm. She wondered, not for the first time, what he was really like. There had been only one awkward moment. Lord Richard had been questioning her about her British family.
“I consider myself not to have any!” she had said. And, reluctantly, when he raised his eyebrows, she had explained, “My mother’s family was quite upset when she married my father. Because he was an American and a nobody, just out of college. Known in his field, but without any sort of background. So they disowned her.”
Lord Richard had been silent for several moments. Then he had said slowly, “Didn’t your mother ever try again, later, to write to her family?”
“In the first few years, yes. The letters were always returned unopened.”
“Her brothers? Sisters? Were they unyielding also?”
“There was only one brother. He went to see my father when the engagement was first announced. Tried to buy off my father. When my father refused, he said a lot of very nasty things. Oh, my mother’s family was quite united!”
When next he had spoken, Lord Richard had asked her about something entirely different. But she had felt he was still thinking about her mother.
She shrugged now. After all, it didn’t matter. He was British. One couldn’t expect him to sympathize with her mother. He’d have felt much more on the family’s side. At least he had not said so aloud. And he had, for the most part that evening, been quite p
leasant. With a sigh, she dismissed the matter and picked out a book to read.
Tuesday passed slowly for Wendy. She forced herself to write a letter to her father. She hoped it did not convey any of her own misgivings. She did not want him to worry. That evening, she wore the chiffon dress and Lord Richard was pleasant again. Perhaps, she told herself hopefully, he is beginning to realize his suspicions are absurd.
Wednesday, however, was quite different. Gwen, when she came to remove the breakfast tray, said, “Lord Richard wants to see you in the library right away, Miss Pratt.”
Puzzled, Wendy thanked Gwen for the message and took up her crutches. What on earth could he want? The library door stood open, but she knocked anyway.
“Come in!” the familiar, deep voice called.
Lord Richard stood by his desk. Wordlessly, he indicated a seat and she took it. He hesitated a moment, then tapped a package on his desk. “This came for you. From your publishers.”
“Oh, good!” she exclaimed. “I assume it’s some translating to be done. I was in the middle of a Spanish manuscript.”
Lord Richard handed it to her. Wendy’s guess was correct. The manuscript and her notes were there.
Watching her, the Earl finally said, “I suppose you will need a place to work.” He pushed a button and, a few minutes later, Charles appeared. “Charles, in the third guest room is a small desk. Please have it moved into the library at once. At the far end of the room.”
“Very good, sir.”
As Charles left in search of the desk, Lord Richard frowned. Then he moved among the bookcases. Wendy, concentrating on the manuscript, seemed oblivious to all this. She looked up with a start when Lord Richard’s shadow fell across her. He was holding a heavy book and frowning. “It’s a bit old,” he said, “but the best I can manage.”
Wendy took the book he handed her. It was a Spanish dictionary, circa 1900. She smiled. “Thank you! I’m certain it will suffice.”
At that moment, Charles returned with another servant. The two men were carrying an oak desk which they put near the window farthest from Lord Richard’s desk. Quietly, he took the book and papers from Wendy and put them on the desk. Then, when Charles returned with a chair, he said, “There you are, a place to work. But please do so quietly.”
Wendy nodded and moved to the desk, the sound of her crutches muffled by the thick carpet. Then there was the clatter as the crutches slipped from her hands and fell to the floor. Flushing, Wendy turned to see if Lord Richard had noticed. He had and he looked angry. He turned away as her sheepish glance met his eyes.
Oh, lord! she thought. Now he thinks I’ve done it on purpose. She turned back to the desk and tried to work quietly. But never had paper rattled so loudly. Thank heavens she used a silent felt-tipped pen. She was very conscious of Lord Richard’s lack of concentration and, as a consequence, was unable at first to settle down to her own work. But at some point, they both became absorbed in their respective concerns, for it came as a surprise when Charles came in with a lunch tray.
In answer to his polite request, Wendy cleared off space on her desk for the tray. Then Charles left. Wendy turned to ask Lord Richard a question and discovered that he had disappeared. She smiled wryly. Clearly he was telling her he did not want her company and that he would not allow it to intrude more than necessary. Well, that pleased her well enough. She could work as she ate. This manuscript was important.
Some time later, Wendy looked up to discover that the lunch tray had been removed. Lord Richard had not returned, but then she recalled that he rarely seemed to work in the afternoon. She turned back to her own work. Really, Lord Richard’s Spanish dictionary was excellent, better than her own, which had been an expensive investment.
She wondered whether he had any very old dictionaries. Some of the translating she was called upon to do was of works a few centuries old and such a dictionary would be of incomparable help. Well, even if he had one, she told herself, he certainly wouldn’t let you use it. Nor could she blame him.
Teatime came and Wendy was still at work. But she broke off eagerly as she heard Dr. Witler’s voice in the hallway. “No, don’t botherI can find my way.”
Roger’s grin matched hers as he entered the library. His glance slid from her to her desk and back again. He started laughing. “Don’t tell me the old boy has put you to work!”
The laughter was infectious. “No, no. I’ve just gotten a package from my publishers with work for me while I’m here.”
Roger’s manner became brisk and professional. “How is the foot today? Have you had any problems with it?” After several minutes of examination, he pronounced himself satisfied. “Just continue to keep off it. You know, I didn’t really need to stop by, but it was such an excellent excuse I couldn’t resist the opportunity. Particularly at teatime. The cook, Mrs. Peters, is incomparable. Will you ring for a cup for me?”
But there was no need. The ever efficient Gwen came in then, with everything necessary for an extra guest. Roger was clearly well liked here, for Gwen gave him a wide smile. “Come for tea, have you, Dr. Witler? I told Mrs. Peters, when I saw you, we’d be needing another tray!”
He smiled affectionately in return. “You don’t think I’d call at any other hour, do you? Thank you, Gwen.”
To Wendy’s prejudiced eyes, it seemed Gwen’s hips swayed a little more than usual as she left the room. And Roger seemed to appreciate the fact. With an effort, she shrugged off her momentary irritation and poured tea for herself and Roger.
“How has the dragon been treating you?” he asked. Wendy was puzzled, so he added, “Richard. Hadn’t you noticed the family crest contains a dragon? And he seems to be acting like one with regard to you.”
Wendy grinned. “No, I hadn’t noticed, but the description does suit him. Breathing fire upon occasion, and at other times-well, I’ve always thought dragons rather cute.”
“Cute?” Roger burst out laughing. “Lord! Don’t let Richard hear you describe him that way!”
“What way?” came the familiar voice from the doorway.
Guiltily, Wendy started. She didn’t dare turn and look at him. Roger, on the other hand, merely grinned and said, “Now, now, Richard. Weren’t you ever taught not to eavesdrop? Care for some tea?”
Richard walked easily to a chair and sat down. “No, thank you, Roger. Have you taken to giving young women lessons on how to approach men?”
Roger shot a glance at Wendy before answering. She looked rather uncomfortable and he altered what he might otherwise have said. “Hardly. Especially since this young lady would not be interested.”
Lord Richard glanced at Wendy mockingly. “I had forgotten. There is a fiance-somewhere.”
Wendy, never very patient at best, lost her temper. “I never believed, Lord Richard, that a title or money gave one the right to be rude.”
“Oh, but it does. It does,” was the soft, mocking reply.
“Stop it, Richard!” Roger’s tone was peremptory. “You’re behaving like a jackass. Miss Pratt has given you no cause for your suspicions and she doesn’t deserve such treatment.”
Richard looked at the doctor with raised eyebrows. “Has she made a conquest, then? What would your wife think?” His voice turned angry and serious. “You forget Wendy’s accident, Roger. She had been well warned not to go near the tower. Nor is she so stupid as to have been unable to guess at its dangers. I find it difficult to believe the accident was not staged for my benefit!”
“Blast it, Richard! She did hurt those tendons. I know-I examined her,” the doctor retorted.
Wendy shrank deeper and deeper into her seat, fighting the desperate desire to cry. The two men glared at each other silently until her wavering voice said, “Please, Roger, it doesn’t matter what he thinks. Don’t fight about it. I suppose it-it does seem strange to him.”
The tension eased perceptibly. “I don’t deny the injury was real,” Richard said wearily. “But why were you in the tower, Wendy?”
Both men stared at her expectantly. Roger gave her a slight, encouraging smile. But she could only sit there staring back. She would not tell the Earl about the children.
After several moments, Roger looked away and Lord Richard sighed again. “Come, Roger, let’s go into the garden for a game of chess.”
The doctor rose with alacrity. “Thank you, Richard, but I must be going. Cheers, Wendy!”
She nodded, pained by the false note of gaiety in his voice. Lord Richard walked him to the door and she was left alone. With a sigh and a silent curse, Wendy turned back to her work.
Shortly after breakfast next morning, Wendy timidly proceeded to the library. Dinner, the evening before, had been a strained affair and she half expected to be ordered out of the library as soon as Lord Richard saw her. But he was not yet at his desk and Wendy decided to complete as much work as possible before he arrived.
On her desk there was a letter. It was from Kevin and she opened it eagerly, suddenly aware of how much she missed him. Had anyone been watching, they would have seen her smile fade and change to a frown, then finally, to obvious dismay. At last, biting her lower lip, Wendy slowly set down the letter and closed her eyes.
She could almost hear Kevin’s voice starting with puzzled amusement, then changing to suspicion, then anger and back again. He would send up her valise, of course, but he couldn’t understand why she must stay there. He teased her about the possibility of her chasing the Earl of Loftsbury. But the teasing had a note of pettishness and suspicion. Then he asked why she had said he was not to consider coming to visit on the weekend. If the Earl was so agreeable as to invite her to stay at the castle until she had recovered, why should he object to Kevin’s presence for a few hours? Or did he have designs on Wendy? Ha ha. That was absurd, of course.
Why absurd? Wendy wondered with irritation. Perhaps Kevin would arrive incognito, with one of the tours, to see her.
Trondelaine Castle Page 5