The Impossible Ward

by Dorothy Mack

  “Hello, dearest, you made excellent time, despite the wretched weather.”

  Marianne stood still with a startled expression, surely the first real emotion she had displayed during the journey, the marquess decided as he led his mother up to her guest with an arm lightly around her waist.

  “May I present Lady Marianne Carstairs, Mama?”

  The marchioness extended both hands smilingly as Marianne rose from an awkward curtsy. “I am delighted to welcome you, my dear child. I was very fond of your father and I shall call you Marianne if you do not object?”

  “No, no, of course not, Ma’am,” stammered Marianne with wide eyes, “but can you really be his lordship’s mother? You seem far too young.”

  The marchioness gave a delightful crow of laughter. “Well, I assure you I am not too young, but I thank you for the compliment, deserved or not.”

  A faint color rose in the young girl’s cheeks as she answered, “It was most sincerely meant, I assure you, Ma’am.”

  “Bless you, child, I know it was. Your face gave you away,” said the marchioness, squeezing her hands lightly before dropping them and turning expectantly to Miss Twistleton.

  It was a lesson in the social graces to watch the marquess’ vivacious mother welcome the governess and thank her for her offices on the journey, then persuade her to join the family for refreshments while the marquess had fresh horses hitched to the carriage for the remaining few miles to Bath. In no time their hostess had organized a tea party in a charming blue and gold saloon, and was easily eliciting a review of the events of the trip just completed. Marianne could only marvel at her ability to draw and keep all present in the discussion. By the time Miss Twistleton had been speeded on her way she had relaxed enough to abandon the expressionless pose she maintained in the marquess’ daunting presence and was animatedly describing her first reaction to the beauty of the house when the butler announced the earl of Melford and Miss Carstairs.

  There was a split second of silence before the marchioness rose from a gold brocade chair and crossed the floor, smiling a welcome to the young couple who were just entering the softly lit room.

  “What a delightful surprise, my lord, and how nice to see Miss Carstairs again. Do come in and meet our guest.”

  Her voice held just the correct amount of warmth appropriate to greeting pleasant acquaintances, and Marianne decided she must have imagined that a fleeting flicker of annoyance had crossed her hostess’ exquisite countenance, but she could not so easily dismiss the quick tightening of the marquess’ mouth before he seconded his mother’s welcome. However, she was too much interested in the charming picture presented by her newfound cousins to dwell on her host’s reactions at the moment.

  And indeed nature had been most benevolent when bestowing gifts upon this favored pair. Her cousin Aubrey, though not above medium height, was startlingly handsome with dark wavy hair worn in a fashionable Brutus, and had classically perfect features. She had not thought a man could be better looking than the marquess, but now admitted with newly discovered family pride that her cousin’s long-lashed gray eyes and finely modeled lips above a well-shaped chin gave him a slight edge, though he had not the aggressively masculine aura that was so much a part of the marquess’ attraction.

  His sister was his feminine counterpart, a remarkably pretty girl with an enchanting smile, being directed at the moment to the marquess. Her soft ringlets beneath a ravishing creation of pink silk trimmed with darker pink velvet and adorned with a single black ostrich plume, showed the ruddy glow of chestnut rather than the crisp brown of her brother’s hair, but they shared the same dark-lashed gray eyes and perfect features. As far as Marianne could tell, her figure was delicately made and quite as perfect as the rest of her. She tore her fascinated gaze from her lovely cousin as her hostess made her male cousin known to her. His bow was a miracle of grace and he flashed her a winning smile.

  “What luck to find you here, Cousin. Claire and I just dropped in for a moment on our way home from a drive to learn if there was news of your impending arrival, and here you are, whisked from the north posthaste by your very efficient trustee.” He executed a sketchy bow in the direction of the marquess who was watching the meeting with half his attention while listening to a laughing remark by Miss Carstairs.

  “Do bring that graceless sister of mine over here to make our delightful cousin’s acquaintance, Lunswick,” he added, raising his voice a trifle and catching his sister’s eye.

  She blushed prettily and begged pardon in a light sweet voice before turning her dazzling smile in Marianne’s direction. “I am so happy to meet you, Lady Marianne. Oh dear, that sounds so absurdly formal when I hope we shall be the best of friends. If you do not object I shall call you Marianne, and I am Claire.”

  “Please do call me Marianne, both of you. I am quite unaccustomed to being called anything else, and quite detest ‘my lady.’ ”

  As his reserved ward suddenly smiled widely at her two cousins, revealing stunningly perfect teeth, Justin’s eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth pulled in. It had occurred forcibly to him that in the five days of their acquaintance she had not once smiled spontaneously in his presence. An impartial observer noting his reaction could not have said that he derived any pleasure from the attractive picture his ward presented as she talked with her new relatives, her very lovely eyes made a luminous sapphire blue by excitement at the unexpected meeting. Both cousins were studying her intently and his mother was looking on approvingly, pleased that her protégée was receiving such a warm welcome. Justin’s expression was thoughtful when a soft laugh at his side recalled his attention to Miss Carstairs, who was pouting prettily at what she termed his “going off in a trance.” He returned a laughing rejoinder that caused her to look self-conscious and satisfied. To Marianne, who knew as much about the art of flirtation as about the art of glassblowing, their conversation seemed completely pointless and she concentrated her attention upon her other cousin and her hostess. They had moved back into the room, but the newcomers refused all offers to stay for tea or dinner with a flattering show of regret, asserting that they had guests coming for dinner themselves and must return quickly. Before taking their leave however they accepted an invitation to dine en famille the following evening. Marianne noted for the first time that her cousin wore black gloves and wondered what would be expected of her. Her traveling dress was black but the only gown she possessed that would possibly be suitable for dinner in a manor house was the green velvet However she was too exhausted to care about anything at that point and gratefully accepted her hostess’ suggestion of a light meal in her room, followed immediately by a long night’s rest. She bade the marquess a polite good night and followed his mother thankfully from the room.

  The marchioness, having left her guest to the motherly ministrations of her own dresser, returned to the saloon a few minutes later to find her son awaiting her. He had been kicking idly at a log in the fireplace, but at the soft rustling sound of his mother’s dress, turned to face her with a rueful smile.

  “I feel I owe you an abject apology, Mama.” At her questioning look he explained, “I believe I once declared that no heiress was completely impossible.”

  As the meaning of this cryptic remark penetrated, the marchioness protested with a reproving tone in her soft voice.

  “Justin, how can you be so unfair? She is a delightful girl and will present a lovely appearance when we have refurbished her a bit.”

  It was her son’s turn to look pained. “I found her utterly impossible, cold to the point of rudeness, with no looks to speak of and no conversation at all.”

  “Nonsense!” declared the marchioness roundly. “I had no difficulty in drawing her into a conversation, and surely you must admit her voice is beautiful, low pitched, and musical with a fascinating little lilt—due to her Irish ancestry perhaps—and with none of that horrid north country brogue I feared we should have to break her of. She certainly has breeding, and if you had the
wit to see beneath the admittedly dowdy exterior, you would know that she is a handsome girl at least, perhaps even a beauty.” To her son’s speechless surprise his gentle mother continued in severe tones. “I have never known you to be so harsh in your judgment before, Justin. I know I am going to love having Marianne here, and you shall regret those unkind words when I have finished with her. Her complexion is very brown to be sure, but it is beautifully clear and when the effects of too much sun and wind have faded will be one of her strongest assets, I am persuaded. Her eyes are magnificent, her features good, and her smile simply lights up her face. I cannot quite tell about her figure yet, swathed as she was in that disguising dress, but the right clothes will make a difference.”

  Justin could have told his mother that there was nothing at all wrong with his ward’s figure, but prudently remained silent. Her next words aroused him however.

  “That awful cap must go of course, and we shall have to arrange for her to have a fashionable crop. I shall—”

  “No!” The single syllable was short, sharp, and quite definitive.

  The marchioness blinked. “But, dearest, she is too young for a cap, even a pretty one. It would set her amongst the spinsters, and long hair is unfashionable these days. Look at Caroline Lamb, not that I mean to hold her up as a model of feminine beauty, but you cannot deny that the shorter styles are a la mode at the moment.”

  “Her hair is her best feature. It is long and smooth and black as night. I won’t have it cut. Surely she does not have to conform to fashionable dictates in every last particular?”

  If her ladyship wondered how her son could so explicitly describe his ward’s hair when the girl apparently kept it constantly concealed, she did not allow her curiosity any vocal expression.

  “Well, perhaps we may devise some attractive style without cutting,” she temporized. “She will need a complete wardrobe of course. It is most unfortunate that she is in mourning; black is so unflattering to a fading suntan, but we shall contrive something.”

  “Black? Must she be garbed completely in black?” Justin looked both startled and displeased.

  “Well, she is in mourning, you are aware. If she wore colors it would set up people’s backs, and that would never do. She will be the cynosure of all eyes anyway, thanks to Perry’s ill-considered and selfish actions.”

  “You are correct of course, Mama. When she appears in public she must wear black for a time, but surely here in the house she may be permitted more latitude. In fact,” he continued with some reluctance, “she may prove difficult on this point. She told me she could not mourn a man she never knew existed. One must concede there is some merit in her stand, and less hypocrisy than to appear wrapped in black from head to toe.”

  His mother heaved a deep sigh. “I can see there might be some unexpected problems ahead of us, but,” she went on more optimistically, “I do believe Marianne will allow me to be her guide in matters of social custom.”

  Her son was staring at her with a rather enigmatic smile. “I wish you success, of course, Mama, but for my part, I have not found Lady Marianne to be at all biddable.”

  The marchioness permitted herself the tiniest of smiles before saying gently, “Yes, it has struck me that you two do rather rub each other the wrong way.” She fought back a giggle. “Like two strange cats meeting on neutral ground.”

  “It is always an object with me to provide you with entertainment, of course, Mama,” he said smoothly, and grinned engagingly when the giggle refused to be suppressed any longer. His mother was wearing her mischievous imp expression which had been completely absent for four years. For the first time he felt in his heart that there would be some benefit to having Perry’s daughter foisted on them. He could not prevent himself from indulging the strong sense of curiosity he had been feeling since noticing the instant rapport that had sprung up between these two women who were so unlike in all respects.

  “Lady Marianne seems to have made quite an impression on you.” The words were idle, but his sharpened gaze was not.

  “Yes,” she replied, “it must have been a pure maternal urge; that poor child was so apprehensive about her reception here that my heart went out to her. I cannot conceive what she expected me to be like, but the relief on her very expressive face almost overset me.”

  Her son’s not very expressive face was exhibiting stunned disbelief at this speech.

  “Mama, can it be that we are talking about the same person? I have been acquainted with Lady Marianne for five days now and quite frankly my observations would give credence to the theory that nothing intimidates her. She runs her grandfather’s farm, bosses the help, performs whatever physical labor is necessary, and according to her friend Jack Richmond, has assisted at the birth of lambs, calves, and one human infant—who incidentally is named for her—and has yet to encounter the horse she cannot handle. I myself have seen her rescue a child from drowning without turning a hair, and I am persuaded she is here today, not through any fear of whatever financial pressure I might bring to bear, but solely to please her grandfather, who is determined she should not turn her back on the life she is entitled to lead without first sampling it. As for what you inexplicably term “her very expressive face,” in five days of enforced proximity, I had not seen one real smile or show of interest until her arrival here, nothing, in fact, save cold disinterest,” he finished, unaware that the mounting irritation in his voice as he catalogued his ward’s traits was inducing a mood of great thoughtfulness in his mother.

  However, although she looked searchingly at him for a long moment, her voice was casual as she answered: “Everything you have said is probably quite true, dearest, but do you not see, none of it prepares a girl to go into Society. Although her manners reflect good training, I should be quite astonished to find Marianne possessed of any of the usual accomplishments deemed necessary to a girl making her debut—indeed how could she be, with no woman to influence her? No doubt her understanding is quick enough to appreciate this fact, and it is making her apprehensive of her future here with us.”

  The arrested look that had come over her son’s features during this speech suddenly dissolved into laughter.

  “I fear there is yet another handicap to overcome, Mama. She is not merely quick of understanding, but intelligent too, even blue, if the book of Latin poetry she was reading in the carriage is any indication.”

  His mother laughed at the mock horror in his voice.

  “In short, our Marianne is not just in the common style. We shall simply have to present her as an original.” She sobered abruptly. “How very stupid Perry was, to be sure. This girl might have changed his life.”

  To this uncharacteristically severe judgment on the part of his normally charitable parent, the marquess returned no answer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A stray beam of sunlight on her face woke Marianne from her first restful sleep in almost a week. Blinking drowsily, she sat up and stared blankly around at unfamiliar surroundings before the realization dawned that she had actually arrived at her destination. This, then, was where she would be spending at least the next few weeks—she refused to consider any prospects beyond a reasonable visit.

  She looked around her with considerable interest, liking what she saw of her sunny bedchamber. She had actually seen very little of the Hall on her arrival the previous day. Not only had she been much more concerned with the people she was meeting but so extremely travel weary as to have difficulty registering any save the barest impressions of her physical surroundings. She clearly remembered being escorted by her hostess first into a small sitting room and then into this pleasant chamber, but after being introduced to a smiling, capable woman with gray-streaked red hair, she had none but the haziest recollections of being assisted to undress (her meager baggage had already been unpacked, she had noted with surprise) and being helped into a nightdress and urged to bed. There she had made a pretense of drinking some soup so as not to seem disobliging in the face of such kind att
entions, but sleep had overcome her almost instantly.

  Now the morning sunshine glinted off highly polished furniture and emphasized the deep blue color of the sheer silk hangings at the bedposts. She stretched lazy arms over her head, enjoying the sensation of the sun’s warmth on her neck like a pampered cat. Her eyes fell upon the unadorned sleeve of her severely utilitarian nightdress and she grimaced ruefully. It was decidedly out of place in this beautiful room. Her glance roamed from the high chest to a delicately shaped dressing table, appreciating the graceful curving lines of the pieces and the dark gleam of the wood, showing reddish in the sunlight Above the chair rail the walls were white, and below they were covered with a thicker fabric in the same deep blue as the bed and window curtains. On the polished floor were two large rugs patterned in shades of blue on a white background. White velvet draperies tied back with deep blue cords enriched the effect at the two windows.

  She jumped out of bed to take a closer admiring look at the gorgeous silver frame of the mirror over the dressing table, and stopped short at sight of herself in the glass. Her thick black hair, tousled from the bed, tumbled over one shoulder of the white flannel gown. As she stared at her image she recollected the shining ringlets of her lovely cousin, stylishly arranged beneath a hat that had succeeded in arousing a covetous urge in her breast for the first time, and she wondered somewhat bleakly if she were as out of place in this marvelous room as her nightdress obviously was.

  Just then a light tap sounded at the door to the hall, and upon her bidding the caller to enter, the door opened to admit her smiling hostess, charmingly gowned in olive green silk.

  “Good morning, my dear.” The marchioness stopped on spotting Marianne, and put her head on one side like an inquisitive bird. “You look about twelve-years-old in that costume with your hair loose,” she declared mischievously. “Now I see what Justin meant, though, about your hair.”