Trondelaine Castle

by April Lynn Kihlstrom

  Wendy could easily picture him doing so. And if he did, she would not be able to conceal the true situation, or her own dismay. And Kevin was the sort to cause trouble with Lord Richard. She was still sitting, staring gloomily at the letter, when a nearby footstep startled her.

  “Anything wrong?” Lord Richard asked.

  He stood, dressed as usual, in casual slacks and pullover, both clearly expensive. His hands were in his pockets and there was the familiar mocking smile on his face. Wendy deliberately did not look at him.

  “No, nothing is wrong,” she said lightly. “In fact, I’m quite pleased. I just received a letter from Kevin. He’ll have my things sent up on Friday with the tour. Poor fellow, he’s quite concerned about me,” she added with a false sigh. “People in love do worry, you know.”

  A look of exasperation crossed Lord Richard’s face, but only for a moment. “Of course,” he said casually, as he walked over to his own desk.

  Privately, however, he felt some satisfaction. He knew Wendy had lied to him about the letter, but he was not sure why. He would catch her out yet! And then, Miss Pratt, beware. With a secret smile, he reached for the latest problem he had been sent. Wendy forced herself to take up her work where she had left off the day before. As usual, it proved good therapy and she was soon lost in concentration.

  As on the previous day, Lord Richard left as soon as Gwen entered with Wendy’s lunch tray. Gwen’s eyes rested with curiosity on the manuscript Wendy was translating. The other servants would be quite interested to know about this. Charles insisted Miss Pratt was a young lady, but if so, why was she working? Not that Miss Pratt ever gave one cause to complain of a lack of breeding, but she was, after all, an American and here under odd circumstances. Well, whatever, Gwen liked Miss Pratt. And Lord Richard’s valet, William, ought not to speak so about her.

  All this ran through Gwen’s mind in the brief moments as she set down the tray and Wendy thanked her. As Wendy had no further requests, Gwen returned to the kitchen. It was a relief to wait on someone who was not always making demands. Still, it was a shame the master wouldn’t consider Lady Sylvia more seriously. She was so suitable in every way. And it was time Lord Richard began thinking of an heir, wasn’t it?

  Actually, Lord Richard was thinking of Sylvia at that moment. He had just remembered a promise to take her to the theater that evening. It was late to be calling her to cancel their date, but it had to be done. She would be angry, but that couldn’t be helped. Why not drive to London at once? his conscience asked. You could be there in time to change.

  He shook his head. No, I won’t leave the castle with her here. I just don’t trust her. Nonsense, his conscience argued, Charles is an efficient protector of the castle. All right, he conceded, it’s a convenient excuse to cancel the date with Sylvia. I just don’t want to go to the theater tonight.

  The mental argument resolved, Lord Richard went upstairs to phone Lady Sylvia. Of the three phones in the house, his would have the most privacy. The other two were in the kitchen and the library, where he would surely be overheard.

  Sylvia answered immediately in her purring voice, “Why, darling, how wonderful of you call! No one has seen you for days, and Peter wagered you would beg off for tonight. I shall be so pleased to prove him wrong. But where have you been hiding yourself, darling?”

  Lord Richard felt distinctly uncomfortable. “Actually, Sylvia, I’m calling to beg off. No, don’t be angry with me, I simply can’t help it. Something important has come up and I can’t leave my work. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

  “I see. Well, never mind, darling, I understand. But where are you and when shall I see you?” she demanded.

  “I’m here at Trondelaine and frankly, Sylvia, I don’t know yet when I’ll be free. But I promise I’ll call you as soon as I know.”

  “Oh, darling! You poor dear, you sound dreadfully overworked. Why don’t I bring Peter and Harry and a few of our other friends to Trondelaine? This weekend? I promise we won’t intrude on you while you’re working. But you’ll have to relax sometime won’t you?”

  “I’d rather not have a crowd,” he said wearily.

  “Oh, darling!” she said happily. “How stupid of me! Of course I won’t bring them, then. I agree a quiet weekend with just the two of us would be much nicer.”

  “Sylvia, I want to be alone,” he explained patiently. “You do understand, don’t you… darling?”

  “I suppose,” she replied pettishly. “Well, enjoy your solitude and call me when you have time from your work.”

  With relief he said, “Thank you, Sylvia. I knew you’d understand. And I promise I’ll call you as soon as I can. Now, I must get back to my work. Goodbye… darling.”

  “Cheers.” Slowly, Sylvia hung up the phone, various suspicions and plans flitting through her mind.

  Lord Richard, on the other hand, only felt relief that matters had gone better than expected. Sylvia had been surprisingly understanding, particularly since his explanation had sounded so odd. But Wendy’s presence at Trondelaine was one of those things one just could not tell Sylvia about. Her patience, after all, was not infinite.

  Dear Sylvia! He might have made up his mind about her already if he hadn’t known that both her mother and his had secretly schemed for their marriage. Well, at least Sylvia was herself innocent of such plots. Though he had no doubt that she would marry him if he asked her. He was in sufficiently good spirits that an air of virtuous satisfaction swept over him and he determined to continue working even though it was afternoon and he usually went riding at this time. Nor did he begrudge a pleasant smile to Wendy as she sat at her desk. Although, confound it, she needn’t have looked so surprised!

  But she was surprised. Though hopefully it meant he would be human again. She wondered what Lord Richard’s servants thought of these abrupt shifts of mood. Well, no doubt they were accustomed to him. Feeling somewhat more relaxed now, Wendy found herself working more quickly and efficiently. Which also improved her mood.

  That evening, Wendy wore the Indian print plum-colored dress, with her hair loose and curling over her shoulders. Lord Richard started when he saw her.

  “Forgive me,” he apologized smoothly, “it is simply that you present quite a different picture in that dress than my mother did. I should never have suggested it as an evening dress, but I am quite happy Mrs. Peters did so. It suits you very well.”

  “Th-thank you,” she stammered.

  Following the usual ritual, she sat while Lord Richard brought her a glass of sherry. He was amiable enough until, a short while later, the soup was being served. “If it weren’t for your presence here,” he said, “I should be at the theater this evening.”

  Spoon halted in midair, Wendy gazed at him with dismay. “Oh, I am sorry, Lord Richard.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t be!” he retorted with an irritation undiminished by the knowledge he was being unreasonably rude. “But it is only one more change you have caused in my habits.”

  Eating to cover her embarrassment, Wendy was silent. She had no idea what she ought to do or say. The silence only irritated Lord Richard further. “Never mind,” he said, “I want to talk to you about tomorrow. We will be dining very early and I’ll have a tray sent to your room so you needn’t dress for it. Then I must request that you remain in your room so that you do not distract the tourists. They’re on a strict schedule. Charles will have one of the servants collect your baggage from the driver and deliver it to your room. Is that quite clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. You will also avoid annoying the servants with special requests tomorrow as they will be unusually busy in preparation for the tour group.”

  Wendy sat frozen, trying to control her temper. In the end, she succeeded and merely nodded coolly to Lord Richard. She reminded herself that boorishness on his part was no excuse for similar behavior on hers. Charles, standing at the sideboard, missed none of the exchange. He did feel the master was being rather unreasonable to t
he young lady who was really bearing up rather well… considering. It was a pity gossip was beneath the dignity of the head servant. He would have so enjoyed discussing this with Mrs. Peters.

  Lord Richard’s angry voice broke across his thoughts. “Charles! More wine!”

  It was Friday evening and Wendy had just finished dinner. A rather distracted Gwen came to collect the tray. “They’ll be here soon, Miss Pratt,” the maid said. “The master said to remind you to keep to your room.”

  Wendy smiled in amusement. “I will. Though if he were really worried, he should have told you to take my crutches!”

  Gwen smiled in return. “He’s always a little nervous when the tourists come. Afraid they’ll break something, he is.”

  She left hurriedly, knowing she must be back in the kitchen before the tourists arrived. Wendy leaned back in her chair, holding an open novel, missing the music that they usually listened to in the evening. Without any trouble, she could picture Lord Richard standing on the terrace outside the great hall, waiting.

  He would be bored, but handsome for all that, and impatient. The guide, accustomed to this sort of thing, would soon be herding his group through the rooms, anxious not to miss dinner at the inn later. Was it only a week ago that she, too, had been trouping through the castle for the first time? Was the guide still angry at her? Had Kevin actually sent the suitcase?

  She waited, listening for the sound of footsteps, unable to read. After a time, she heard a babble of voices that heralded the tourists’ presence at the stairs near the library. Then there was the sound of many pairs of feet ascending stairs. A few moments later, there was a knock at her door. The door opened and a young male servant Wendy had not seen before entered. “Your valise, Miss,” he said.

  “Please set it there,” she said, pointing to a spot near the wardrobe. “And thank you.”

  “Yes, Miss.” He grinned, then disappeared.

  Mentally, Wendy followed the progress of the group. Now they must be seeing the tapestry or weaving room. She hobbled over to the suitcase and opened it. Thank heavens she was not in the habit of locking it when it stood empty at home! As per instructions, Kevin had enclosed the usual necessities as well as a better pair of shoes, a few separates, two dresses, and a well-tailored pants suit.

  Her dictionaries were there with the needlepoint and some costume jewelry which Wendy instinctively knew she would not wear at Trondelaine. Wendy wondered why Kevin had included it and decided he was trying to be helpful. There was little else in the suitcase, and definitely no letters. She tried not to feel disappointed. Not very much, was there? And yet it was a larger valise than most that would be carried on the tour.

  She smiled as she thought of the guide’s probable reaction when he first saw it. Poor man. He must really dislike her by now!

  Gwen, ever the efficient servant, interrupted her thoughts. “I’ve come to unpack for you,” she began, then halted as she saw the empty valise. “Oh! I’d have done it for you, Miss Pratt.”

  Wendy grinned. “I know. But I thought you probably would be tired after today. Besides,” she added mischievously, imitating Lord Richard’s voice, “I am not to annoy the servants with special requests!”

  Gwen giggled, then nodded. “Oh, he’s in a rare mood today. But don’t mind that, Miss. He’ll be himself again tomorrow.”

  And is that any better? Wendy wondered silently. But she only smiled and said, “I hope so.”

  “He will. Do you need anything else, Miss? If not, I’ll bid you good night.”

  “Good night, Gwen.”

  Meanwhile, the nineteenth Earl of Loftsbury was enjoying a snifter of brandy in the James Room and trying to puzzle out the enigma of his guest. He was also wondering what he ought to do about Lady Sylvia.

  Saturday morning, the Earl received a report that did nothing to ease his irritation. The report concerned Wendy and seemed to confirm the answers she had given about her background. Except, that is, on the matter of Kevin Lisle. The investigator was quite certain no engagement existed, although Miss Pratt was often seen in the young man’s company. Well, that came as no surprise. It was the one subject on which Miss Pratt lied poorly, and might have been a last-minute improvisation. Naturally, the investigation would continue, as per instructions.

  Lord Richard set down the report with the feeling he was dealing with a very clever young woman. He turned and studied her as she sat at her desk, working. In spite of his reasonably broad experience with women, he sometimes found himself at a loss with Wendy. All too often, she responded in a totally unexpected manner or, worse, seemed to take no notice of him at all. And that was not natural. With a determined effort, he shook off the matter for the moment and turned back to more important concerns. There was a report he had promised to finish by Tuesday.

  Concerned about his work, Richard returned to the library in the afternoon. As usual, Wendy seemed to ignore him. It was almost teatime when a familiar voice in the hall distracted him. He greeted Roger with a smile.

  Roger was in excellent spirits. “Hello! How are you, Richard? How is my patient? And what, in heaven’s name, are you doing cooped up inside on such a lovely day?” With these last words, Roger gave a tug to one of Wendy’s curls.

  She grinned good-naturedly at him. “I suppose you’ve come for tea?” she teased.

  “Of course!”

  “Shall we have tea in the garden?” Richard suggested to the doctor.

  Roger nodded and turned to Wendy as though debating whether or not to carry her.

  “Don’t!” Richard forestalled him, observing dryly, “No doubt she needs the exercise. One wouldn’t want her to grow fat.”

  Roger raised his eyebrows but stood still as Wendy busied herself with her crutches. She would not dignify the Earl’s sneer with a reply. In fact, she wished she could pretend he did not exist. Roger held the various doors for her as Richard went off to give the necessary orders about tea.

  She paused once to protest, “I think perhaps it would be better if I left the two of you alone.”

  Roger looked at her quizzically. “Why, Wendy? Are you afraid of Richard, or something? You shouldn’t be. Oh, I know he’s behaving rather badly at the moment, but it will all come round in the end. Once he gets over these silly suspicions of his. Then you’ll find he can be perfectly charming.”

  Wendy wrinkled her nose. “Oh, yes, I imagine he can be quite charming. Anything to avoid being himself. I think I prefer people who react naturally to things.”

  “Like me?” Roger asked mockingly.

  “Yes, like you.” Her voice was firm.

  By the time Lord Richard joined them, Roger had Wendy laughing over some story about one of his patients. He smiled, but a trifle oddly. “I see why you are so successful, Doctor. At least with your female patients. You have such a diverting bedside manner.”

  Roger answered in the same vein, “Oh, but of course I concentrate on the women! After all, they are the ones who usually decide when to call the doctor for someone in the family.”

  The Earl smiled, noting the slight frown on Wendy’s face. He was amused though, as usual, somewhat puzzled at her expression. Then, serious again, he asked, “How is Keith Barton?”

  Roger frowned. “Medically, he’s doing very well. Everything is healing nicely. But emotionally? Frankly, I’m concerned. He won’t consider a prosthetic device.”

  “Why?” Richard demanded. “Money?”

  Roger shrugged. “He says so, but that’s nonsense. I told him you would pay for it and he refused.”

  “Pride?” Richard suggested. “Doesn’t want to accept someone else’s money?”

  Dr. Witler shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s it. I think he’s just given up. Thinks he couldn’t be a real man, not with an artificial hand. He’s afraid he won’t be able to keep his farm going-or find a wife. You know, he was seeing Jenny Winslow. Well, she hasn’t come to visit him once since he’s been back from the hospital.”

  “Why no
t?” Richard’s voice was shocked.

  “I don’t know.” Roger sounded tired. “She won’t talk to me about it. And I think she’s the main reason Keith is so depressed.”

  Richard nodded slowly. Wendy watched, unable to say anything, yet feeling a strong empathy with the man they discussed. Not pity, empathy. She knew very well the feeling of being inadequate and having that feeling reinforced by someone you loved. All three were relieved by the appearance of the tea tray. It broke the tenseness. Yet, as Wendy poured, she noted the thoughtful expression on Lord Richard’s face. Well, it was one problem he and his money couldn’t solve, she thought.

  After a while, Roger began to talk about some of his other patients. Almost invariably, Lord Richard would recognize the name and add a comment. Wendy found herself marveling more than once at Roger’s easy humor. He was companionable, she decided. She was sorry when, immediately after tea, he announced it was time for him to leave.

  As usual, Lord Richard walked him to his car. Suddenly unable to face the Earl without the presence of a genial third person, Wendy hurried to her room. She’d already done a full day’s work and needn’t feel guilty about stopping.

  Later, entering the James Room quietly, Wendy had a moment to observe Lord Richard before he noticed her. He was standing by the fireplace, deep in thought. Effortlessly, she could picture him dressed in rich brocade and the clothes of the Regency era, or in the austere clothes of a Puritan under Cromwell. Actually, she felt the Earl of Loftsbury would better be suited to still another era, the aristocratic era of Charles II. At that moment, he turned and saw her.

  He flushed and demanded, “How long have you been there?”

  She flushed also. “Only a minute or so. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb your thinking.” He relaxed and she added impulsively, “Besides, I was thinking how much you looked like an earl and picturing you in another time.”

  He laughed. “A romantic figure, then?” She nodded reluctantly, and he went on, “Actually, most of the earls were rather unromantic chaps. They were concerned about one thing and just that-selfpreservation. The first earl gained this land by performing a few judicious assassinations for Henry VII. And, of course, under Henry VIII he knew enough to turn against the church quick enough.”