“In other words, they all lived long lives and died in bed? Or were they too dissolute for that?” Wendy asked.
“Oh, most lived long enough, and a few were even respectable. But there were three who made rather disastrous choices.” He paused. “After dinner I’ll show you the portraits and tell you about them. It will be easier to appreciate the history of my family if you see the men involved. And women.”
Wendy nodded, not asking how the stairs were to be managed. It was the first time Lord Richard had indicated a willingness to talk about his family history, and Wendy was definitely curious. Charles called them to dinner then, even before Lord Richard had thought to offer her sherry. She did not mind. As Wendy preceded him to the dining room, Richard noted, with approval, the velvet dress. It was his favorite of the three. He also approved of the faint scent of perfume that lingered behind her. Charles was pleased to see the Earl smile; he was much too serious of late.
Over coffee, Lord Richard remembered his promise. He glanced at Wendy, who was smiling gently over some unspoken thought. He sighed, no longer so eager to show her the portraits. She glanced up quickly at the sound and Lord Richard forced himself to smile. “Shall we go upstairs?” he asked.
Wendy nodded and reached for her crutches. Lord Richard waited a moment, then strode ahead. He reached the stairs well before her and flicked the switch that lighted the stairway. Then he turned and waited with barely concealed impatience.
Wendy reached his side and stared past him to the stairs which were steeper than she had remembered. She swallowed slowly, delaying the moment she must try them. Richard’s eyes followed her gaze to the stairs and back again. He looked at her wryly. “There’s nothing for it, but to carry you, I see,” he said with mild annoyance. “Look to your crutches!”
Wendy tried to refuse, but he gave her no time. In a moment, he had placed one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders and swept her off her feet. He paused briefly to gauge his burden, then began the ascent. Her face crimson, Wendy could only hold her crutches and try to keep them from hindering the Earl. She was very conscious of the feel of his arms and their evident strength. And his face was close enough to hers that their cheeks would have brushed had she not carefully turned away. Wendy was furious with herself for reacting like a schoolgirl.
At last Lord Richard set her down, holding her steady until she had the crutches in position. Then he walked ahead and touched another light switch. He waited for her in the first doorway to the portrait gallery. “In general,” he said, with maddening coolness, “the Earls of Loftsbury have never bothered with paintings, except portraits.”
He paused as she entered the room, then began again. “Here we have the first Earl of Loftsbury. Legend has it that he received the title as compensation for Henry VIII taking his wife as mistress. That, of course, is absurd. She would have been much too old. It was probably one of the Earl’s daughters. Though, if so, it must have been a short affair since history makes no mention of her.
“This is the second Earl. He spent several years in the Tower of London and finally lost his head for guessing wrong when Edward VI died. He didn’t want to support Jane Grey and he wasn’t a Catholic, So he backed Elizabeth-a few years too soon. Here is his wife. She and her children spent several years in poverty and disgrace until Elizabeth took the throne and restored their land and the title. Needless to say, the third Earl was very loyal to her and spent much time at court. He was married, however, and this is a rather small castle, so she never paid a visit here. Much to the relief, I imagine, of the third Earl’s wife.
“The next Earl lived quietly and, as you can see, had many children. He was the third Earl’s nephew, as that fellow spent little enough time at home and his only son died of the plague. Now the next three Earls are more interesting. The fifth backed Charles I and consequently was killed in battle. His brother, the sixth Earl, who had changed sides frequently, managed to be favoring Cromwell at the crucial moment. He died very mysteriously and his son took the title. By this time Charles II was here, and lo and behold, it appeared the family had been royalist the entire time. I told you they knew how to preserve themselves. The family then began to live very quietly until the Hanovers came to the throne.”
Lord Richard moved rapidly to the other side of the hall and pointed to a picture of an Earl dressed in clothes of the pre-Regency period. “He is noted for two things. One is installing hallways in this castle, the other is that he died in France while on a secret diplomatic mission to Napoleon Bonaparte. It has never been determined which side arranged for his death. He was not the first Earl of Loftsbury to be involved in such things, but he was the last. The next three Earls devoted themselves to parliament. Of these, the last was my namesake, Richard Pellen.”
He paused in front of a portrait of two young men. Wendy noted the same eyes and hair graced the Earl of a century ago. He stood with a careless ease and haughty gaze. She glanced at the present Lord Richard and noticed his frown.
After a moment, he spoke. “With this Earl, the family was almost bankrupt. The family fortune had been disappearing for some time, and he did not slow the process. As I said once before, his only accomplishment was to have had the grace to die without heirs so the estate could pass to his brother’s line. This brother, William, decided to go into business, to his father’s horror. He was quite successful at various things, and bought and furnished a London house. He filled it with paintings, carpets, plate and crystal, and lived quite happily. He died before Richard and the title passed to William’s son, Charles.
“Charles was not pleased. He saw no reason to waste money on a castle he rarely had time to visit and all the paintings have remained in the London house. Matters continued to go well for the family until this century and the Great Depression. Then the family was again in danger of being bankrupt. During World War II, however, my father, the eighteenth Earl, was involved in arms and later real estate. We are again solvent.”
He turned to Wendy, the tour over. “And the next Earl?” she asked. “If you don’t have children?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea. I was an only child. I’m not even aware of any cousins.”
She smiled “Don’t you feel any pressure to reproduce? To secure the succession?”
His eyes flared and his tone was carefully even. “Do you honestly suggest I marry for such an appalling reason as that?” His voice began to rise. “Frankly, I don’t give a damn who the next Earl is, or even if there is one. So you needn’t try to catch me that way!”
Lord Richard turned and strode away. In the distance, Wendy heard his shoes loud on the stairs. Appalled, she stared after him. A few minutes later, as she stood there still, a male servant appeared. Impersonally, he said, “The stairs?”
Wendy nodded and waited patiently as he came over and gently, efficiently, lifted her. At the foot of the stairs she said quickly, “I can manage now. Thank you very much.”
He set her down. “Very well, Miss.”
Slowly, Wendy returned to her room, trying to shrug off her gaffe. How was she to have known he would misinterpret her words?
Sunday, shortly after lunch, Wendy was bending over her work in the library when she heard a sharp intake of breath nearby. She turned to see a woman standing near her shoulder. Wendy only had time to note the Givenchy dress and guess at a probable age of thirty before the woman spoke.
“My dear, I never meant to disturb you! You must be Richard’s new secretary. Where is the darling? And what is he working on now?”
Without waiting for permission, she bent toward the desk and picked up a sheet of the work Wendy was translating. Her forehead puckered and she said in a plaintive voice, “Spanish? What on earth is he interested in this for?”
“I’m not!” came Richard’s familiar voice.
Both women turned to face the doorway. The woman smiled. “Then why, darling, is your secretary translating it?”
“She is not my secretary,” Lord Richard r
eplied easily. “And what are you doing here, Sylvia?”
She pouted. “Oh, Tony drove me up. I was becoming concerned about you, darling. All alone here in this castle you hate! Of course, that was before I knew you had company.” She flashed a look at Wendy. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, darling?”
He had, by then, crossed the room and stood next to Wendy. Now he placed a warning hand on her shoulder. “Wendy, may I present Lady Sylvia Markwith? Sylvia, this is Wendy Pratt. She’s a translator for Beckworth and Brothers-the publishing company. At their request, I have placed my library at her disposal.” Noting Sylvia’s eyes on the crutches, he added, “She had an unfortunate accident the day she arrived.”
Wendy sat silently, marveling at Lord Richard’s adroit weaving of truths to arrive at a tale very different from reality. She also noted the relaxation of Lady Sylvia’s features as he said, “Naturally, I did not like the notion of a stranger prowling the castle in my absence.”
Just then, a young man of about twenty-five entered the room jauntily. He halted as he saw Wendy. “Hello! What have we here, Richard, old fellow?”
Richard introduced Tony to Wendy and repeated the tale he had told Sylvia. He ended with the question, “Why are you here?”
Tony shrugged. “Syl would have it you were pining away here and were overworked. Said it was my duty to drive her here to cheer you up.”
“It was your duty,” Lady Sylvia affirmed coolly, then turned to Richard. “Admit it, darling! You’re delighted to see us.” Richard smiled at her in reply and she said triumphantly, “You see, Tony?”
Tony smiled at her affectionately. “Well, of course I knew you would be welcome!”
Wendy, listening, began to comprehend. Sylvia was lovely and, though not the sort to get along well with her own sex, she would never lack male admirers.
“Well, now,” Tony said to Richard and Sylvia, “it’s off to the garden with the two of you. You’ve got rather a lot to say to each other, I imagine.”
Richard nodded. As he and Sylvia left the library, he called back to Wendy, mockingly, “Careful. He’s dangerous!”
Wendy laughed, but stopped as she noted the frown on Tony’s face. As the door closed and the footsteps slowly faded away, he turned to Wendy and folded his arms across his chest. “Now, luv,” he said quietly, “suppose you tell me the real reason you’re here.”
“You’re impertinent!” she snapped.
“I am,” he agreed. “But I want an answer.”
Wendy began to realize he was serious. She replied slowly, “Look, Lord Richard introduced us and I haven’t anything further to add, Mr. Wellscourt.”
He continued to stare at her and Wendy realized he must be at least six feet tall. Lord Richard had not wanted his guests to know the truth and she felt very reluctant to cross him in the matter. Especially as it would require her to mention the Earl’s embarrassing suspicions. She wondered aloud, “I don’t understand why you’re so sure you haven’t heard the truth.”
Tony’s mouth was grim. “Because, my dear, you blush very easily and you wouldn’t meet my eyes when Richard spun that silly tale. It’s none of my affair, of course, except that Sylvia is a friend of mine. So is Richard. And I want to be sure you won’t cause trouble between them.”
Wendy snorted. “Don’t you think that’s our affair? Who are you worried about? Richard? Sylvia? I’ve never seen a woman better able to take care of herself.”
His eyes flashed for a moment. “Syl is rather more vulnerable than she appears.” He paused. “You won’t tell me anything? Very well, it’s on your head!”
Tony turned and left the room, leaving Wendy drained and disturbed. She wondered if his last words had been intended as the threat they seemed to be. Unhappily, she turned back to her work, wondering if Lady Sylvia also doubted her story.
At teatime, Wendy paused, uncertain whether to remain in the library or seek out the others. As she was wondering, a footman rapped gently at the library door. “Tea will be served in the Regency Room, Miss,” he said in a discreetly lowered voice.
“Thank you,” she replied in the same tone.
As he withdrew, Wendy permitted herself a smile. How could she have doubted that Lord Richard’s ever efficient staff would take care of her? A few moments later, she entered the Regency Room and found Tony, Lady Sylvia, and Lord Richard already assembled. As though her arrival were a sign, Gwen appeared with the tea trolley. She left the cart next to Lady Sylvia and then Lord Richard’s voice dismissed her. “Thank you, Gwen. That will be all.”
Sylvia poured tea with a grace Wendy could not hope to equal. She carefully studied the woman as Tony and Lord Richard carried on a conversation calculated to exclude her. Sylvia stood about five foot five inches, and had a slender, though well-developed, figure. Her blonde hair was dressed beautifully and complemented the delicate features. She had long lashes over smoky eyes and a mouth whose only fault was a slight tendency to pout. The bearing was aristocratic and her clothes suggested wealth. The blue swirling color of the dress suited Sylvia perfectly. Yes, Wendy could easily understand why men would be drawn to her, particularly a man like Lord Richard.
Next she turned her attention to Tony. He was more of a puzzle. His presence here showed that he moved in the first circles. But his appearance was at odds with that. He wore clothes of impeccable cut, but he seemed unaware of what he wore.
Tony had surprisingly dark eyes considering the blondness of his somewhat neglected hair. He was taller than Wendy had first thought: over six feet, with a rather slender build. But what made him seem an outsider to Sylvia and Richard’s world was the lack of that self-assurance normally stamped on members of Britain’s best families. He noticed Wendy’s stare and gave her a mocking smile. “We’ve been neglecting your-er-guest,” he said to Richard.
The Earl frowned in reply, while Sylvia said, “It must be difficult for Richard to find anything to discuss with her. I mean, they can’t have very much in common, can they?”
“We manage,” he said curtly.
“What would you suggest we discuss-Miss Pratt, is it?” Tony asked maliciously.
Wendy’s pride forced her to reply calmly. “The theater in London? The recent tennis matches at Wimbledon? Politics?”
“How droll!” Sylvia exclaimed. “But then, I should have guessed she was an intellectual. You work for a publishing company?”
Wendy was puzzled by the warning look Tony gave Lady Sylvia. But she ignored it. “Yes. I do translating. Russian and Spanish.”
“But surely you’re American,” Tony interrupted. “What are you doing in Britain?”
She forced herself to pause before answering airily, “Oh, my mother was British. One of the Hewitts, you know. She would never forgive me if I ignored England.”
“The Hewitts?” Sylvia asked softly, puzzled. “I don’t remember Margery ever mentioning any American cousins.”
“Oh, I don’t think she would have,” Wendy offered coolly. “I imagine her family found it rather disgraceful that she married an American. And only a university professor, at that.”
“One imagines Wendy rather disapproves of us aristocrats, don’t you think?” Lord Richard asked conversationally.
“Because they never do anything with their wealth except enjoy themselves?” Tony added.
Lady Sylvia laughed. “Well, then, she must approve of Richard, at least. Or, for that matter, Tony. He’s an accountant, my dear. Though one wouldn’t think it to look at him!”
“That’s right,” Tony affirmed. “Oh, I can lay a good claim for family respectability going back several generations. But we were never earls or barons. Nor have we been as wealthy as some families. Still, I’m rather the riffraff of our circle.”
Sylvia frowned now. “Tony, you become boring when you carry on like that.”
Wendy set down her teacup, feeling she had had enough of this. Still, she forced herself to say pleasantly, “If you will excuse me, I have work to return to.”
“On a weekend?” Tony asked.
“Yes, even on a weekend. I’m rather behind after my accident,” Wendy said calmly.
Then, with three pairs of eyes on her, she hobbled out of the room. No doubt Lady Sylvia would have done it more gracefully. Behind her, the conversation once again became animated with the talk of common friends.
Wendy dressed early that evening. She spent some time trying to decide what to wear and finally settled on the Indian plum dress. She knew that to dress more ambitiously would be to tacitly place herself in competition with Lady Sylvia. And she would inevitably lose.
Lord Richard was in the James Room when she arrived there. He glanced at her and smiled sympathetically. “Wise choice. Sherry?” He sat on the sofa beside her. “Thank you for not contradicting me earlier. I felt the version I gave better-for both of us.”
“I hope I’m not causing you more trouble, Lord Richard,” Wendy said sincerely.
He gave her an odd look. “Don’t overdo it, Wendy. I’m not that naive. How is your work progressing?”
She smiled. “Well enough. Though I am behind.”
Lord Richard was about to answer when they heard a cough. They had been talking quietly, with their heads near each other. Now they sprang apart.
Tony was leaning against the doorjamb. “Am I intruding?”
“Of course not!” Richard said impatiently. “The usual?”
Tony nodded and strolled to sit beside Wendy. As Richard poured the drink, Tony said softly to her, “What a charming tete-a-tete. You are fortunate it was me and not Sylvia.”
She replied sweetly and softly, “What makes you think that would have bothered me?”
Tony gave her a black look but could say nothing more as Richard joined them. Wendy felt a momentary pang of guilt for baiting Tony, then shrugged it off. He deserved a put-down. Sylvia entered then. She halted as soon as she saw Wendy. Her eyes grew wide, then quickly narrowed before she turned to Lord Richard, who immediately looked away, saying, “I’ll get you a drink.”
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