The Impossible Ward

by Dorothy Mack

  “No, I thank you. My head still aches a trifle’ from yesterday’s accident. I shall be pleased to spend a quiet day indoors.”

  Offering up mental thanks for small blessings, Marianne made her escape from the room before her trustee could carry his solicitous concern for his beautiful guest’s comfort to the extent of perhaps requesting his ward to forego her ride in order to bear the former company.

  However nothing of that nature intervened to spoil her outing with Lord Andrew. The weather had stayed brisk and brilliant and Marianne returned to the Hall in better spirits. At lunch she accepted his invitation to receive some fencing instruction, and in mid-afternoon joined him in the fascinating room set aside for the display of the magnificent collection of old weapons the Raymond family had amassed through the years. The walls were hung with battle axes and lances and gorgeously decorated swords. Tall, glass-fronted cabinets contained numerous examples of firearms from muskets to handsomely detailed dueling pistols, including some fine modern specimens by Joseph Manton. Marianne enjoyed coming in here and wandering around to examine the marvelously worked sword hilts and scabbards, some of them richly encrusted with jewels. She enjoyed her fencing lessons too, but the sport demanded intense concentration and today’s lesson went badly at first. Whatever her mental state, her riding could not be faulted because it was so much a part of her, but the lowness of spirits oppressing her since witnessing that fond embrace in the conservatory robbed her of the concentration necessary for a creditable performance with her foil against Lord Andrew. Time and again he popped in a hit over or under her guard, calling out criticisms as the session progressed.

  “You are too slow to disengage! Don’t drop your point after that parry. Be prepared for another thrust in the same position.”

  Finally he stopped dead in disgust and glared at his erstwhile promising pupil. “Your mind is elsewhere today. I could have slain you a dozen times. Are you tired? Do you wish to stop?”

  Marianne shook her head, stung by his criticism.

  “No, no, let us continue. I shall do better.” And her defense did improve, but Lord Andrew was still not satisfied.

  “Where is your attack today? Do not forget the best defense is a good offense. Press me! Lunge! Pretend I’m my Aunt Aurelie.”

  This outrageous remark shocked a small choke of laughter from Marianne, but she resolutely remained silent and raised her foil menacingly.

  “Ah, that’s better. Press your advantage now. Very good. Be ready to spring back immediately when I parry and advance. Watch for an opening.”

  They were advancing and retreating about the large room. If there was still less skill than enthusiasm in Marianne’s attack, it failed to diminish her pleasure in the exercise.

  “Stop!”

  Startled at the sharp command, Marianne obeyed instantly, but she was in mid-thrust. In righting her balance, her foil made accidental contact with Lord Andrew’s chin and she was horrified to see a slight red line appear.

  “Andrew! I have hurt you but I scarcely understand how.” She dropped her foil precipitously and pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her gown which she pressed to his face for an instant.

  “Calm yourself, it is the merest nothing. I saw your button had worked loose. That’s why I shouted. It stings a bit but I don’t think it is bleeding.” He examined the handkerchief and showed her that it was almost unmarked.

  “Thank heavens,” she breathed in heartfelt relief. “I do most sincerely beg your pardon, Andrew.”

  “You have little science as yet, but there is no denying you are a dangerous wench,” he said lightly, retrieving her foil from the floor and replacing the button securely.

  “Ah, but I can take away the pain I inflict,” she declared mischievously and placing her hand on his shoulder, she pressed her lips fleetingly to the scratch.

  He grinned at her. “As I said, a dangerous wench.”

  “I take it congratulations are in order?”

  The smiling couple turned toward the doorway from which the voice had issued. The marquess closed the door behind him with a deliberate air and advanced slowly into the room, his face inscrutable.

  “Oh no,” Marianne protested. “I do not deserve to be congratulated for that hit. Andrew was off guard and it was purely an accident.”

  At his brother’s incredulous expression Lord Andrew burst into laughter. “He does not mean the hit, you pea goose. He’s referring to the balm you so generously applied to my wound.”

  Marianne looked puzzled. “Congratulations?”

  “I realize your social experience has been limited, but even in Yorkshire it is customary for a young lady to announce her betrothal after being discovered in an embrace.” Instantly he wished the hateful words unsaid, as he watched the almost forgotten stillness come over her face, but before he might begin to frame an apology, she was answering quietly:

  “Then for the sake of her reputation, I suggest you lose no time in repairing with Lady Mauraugh to the nearest church.”

  It was a magnificent Parthian arrow, he conceded, but he had no slightest intention of allowing her to get away with it. As she made to slip past him with her head held high, he detained her with a none too gentle hand on her elbow. After one pointed glance at the hand holding her arm, she stood quite still, facing him calmly. Neither was aware that Lord Andrew’s initial amazement at the events of the last minute had turned to intense speculation as he studied the two cold faces before him.

  “I think you will concede the necessity of explaining that remark before you leave this room.” The marquess’ voice was silkily smooth but his eyes were not.

  Marianne assumed an air of perplexity. “As you wish, sir, though I confess I cannot see the necessity of detailing on which particular occasion you were observed.” She allowed her voice to trail off.

  Despite his anger and chagrin, the marquess’ lips twitched at this readiness to offer battle. “You little shrew! You know quite well there was only one occasion...”

  “I know no such thing!” The hot rejoinder belied her earlier cool calm and she bitterly regretted the lapse as his smile widened, but he was continuing thoughtfully: “So you were in the conservatory last night. Were you alone?”

  “The conservatory, was it? Is that why you wished that hen-witted Evans girl on me as I was heading for a breath of air? So you and my aunt might dally in the conservatory?”

  The marquess’ lips tightened but he ignored his brother’s attempts to exacerbate the situation. His eyes never left his ward’s face.

  “Were you alone?” he repeated.

  “Lady Lunswick was with me.”

  “So that accounts for Mama’s strange behavior today. Damnation!”

  Marianne displayed ostentatious outrage and made to remove herself from the room, ignoring the fact that she had experienced a strong desire to utter a few oaths herself in the last twenty-four hours. If it was war he wanted, war he should have.

  “Don’t be missish,” he barked impatiently. “We must think what is to be done. I shall need your help.”

  “To attend the bride at your nuptials?” Marianne had paused near the door and she met his eyes steadily.

  “Is it legal for my Aunt Aurelie to become my sister Aurelie?” inquired Lord Andrew pensively. “It sounds vaguely incestuous to me.”

  “Andrew! If you cannot refrain from such tasteless attempts at humor, then leave us.” The marquess turned his back on his brother and walked slowly toward the waiting girl. He said quietly, “There is no question of my marrying Lady Mauraugh.”

  Her heart started racing at his words and the look in his eyes, but she ignored her heart.

  “Then allow me to tell you, my lord, that I find your behavior last night utterly incomprehensible, and also your behavior on entering this room today.”

  He sighed in frustration. “I know how it must appear to you, but can you understand there are some things a gentleman does not do? When a beautiful woman invites an embrace he do
es not spurn her, but neither is he compelled to marry her.”

  “Not even if the embrace is witnessed, and the lady’s reputation is at stake? That is not what you implied ten minutes ago.”

  “You may count on me to do the correct thing, Marianne,” offered Lord Andrew generously.

  Marianne smiled at him perfunctorily, but her attention returned to the marquess, who ignored the interruption.

  “The cases are completely dissimilar. You are a young, innocent girl. Conduct that might be dismissed in a more experienced female would brand you as fast, and ruin your chances of marriage.”

  “I see. Then you would advise me to accept Andrew’s obliging offer?”

  He glowered at her though his anger was directed mainly at himself for failing to note the trap.

  “Of course not! Very well. I apologize for my actions on entering this room; they were totally uncalled for. Are we now quits, you little spitfire?”

  “We are, but if I were Lady Mauraugh I should be in the hourly expectation of receiving an offer from you.”

  “On the contrary, if you were Lady Mauraugh, you would know that you could not compel an offer by throwing yourself at a man’s head unless he wished to make the offer in the first place.”

  “And you do not?”

  “I do not.”

  Recalling that impassioned embrace, she looked faintly troubled and exclaimed bitterly, “Men have reserved every advantage to themselves in this life!” She turned on her heel and headed for the door for the third time. At least Lady Lunswick’s mind might be set at rest. Again she was detained.

  “Stay, Marianne! As I said, though I am in no way compelled to offer for Lady Mauraugh there is no denying the situation is a bit awkward while she remains my mother’s guest.”

  “That is scarcely my affair.”

  “What you need, Justin, is another female in tow, to draw fire as it were.”

  For the first time the marquess looked with approval on his brother. Marianne’s eyes narrowed but she remained silent.

  “An excellent suggestion,” agreed the marquess. ‘If I were seen to be paying court to another, Aurelie would soon realize that I have no intention of resuming—” He broke off, furious with himself for the slip.

  “Of resuming your former affaire?” The faint hope that Marianne was still in ignorance of his earlier relationship with the widow was dashed by her quick interruption. “Why not? Obviously she wants to marry you. You offered for her once and she is no less beautiful now. Are you intent on punishing her a little before you accept her?”

  “No! I offered once, but not twice. I am no longer young and impressionable. However I would spare us both the embarrassment of a direct confrontation. Aurelie is not slow to size up a situation; she will not require that it be spelled out for her.”

  Lord Andrew agreed heartily. “Now it only remains to choose someone to be the object of your gallantry.”

  “Well, Claire would be the obvious choice,” offered Marianne. “You pay her a great deal of flattering attention, and I have seen Lady Mauraugh observing you together.”

  Lord Andrew looked horrified. “Good grief, girl, do you not see that that would be tantamount to jumping from the frying pan into the fire? Don’t be so idiotish!”

  “Well, she should have to be told, of course, but I am persuaded she would cooperate enthusiastically,” Marianne persisted.

  Now the marquess intervened. “Not Miss Carstairs. In consideration for Lady Mauraugh, the fewer people who know about this the better.” He was looking expectantly at Marianne whose color had risen slightly.

  She did not pretend to misunderstand him. “I am sorry, my lord, but I have no talent for playacting, and in any case Lady Mauraugh is never going to believe you might actually prefer me to her.”

  “I shall do any play-acting required, and you are quite mistaken if you really feel Lady Mauraugh will experience the slightest difficulty in accepting such a situation.” At Marianne’s doubtful expression, he continued softly, “You may take my word for it that Aurelie watches you much more closely than she observes Miss Carstairs. Is this not so, Andrew?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” Andrew had no hesitation in corroborating his brother’s startling pronouncement. “Now, do not be a little marplot, Marianne. Simplicity is the key to a successful operation. All you have to do is refrain from giving Justin the cold shoulder and the thing is done.”

  For a palpitating moment Marianne stared from one brother to the other, her bottom lip gripped in her teeth, then she replied gravely, “I mislike the entire situation, but I shall not betray you.” And this time she whisked herself out of the room before either of her tormentors could prevent her removal.

  For a long instant there was no sound in the large room. The marquess’ silence was brooding and his brother’s expectant. Finally, the younger man broke it to say cheerfully:

  “Well, thanks entirely to my ingenious efforts you managed to brush through that without being completely rolled up, horse, foot, and guns.”

  “If you are in the expectation of receiving gratitude for some of your more infelicitous comments during this regrettable interlude, you’ll be sadly disappointed.”

  Undaunted by the censure in his brother’s tones, Lord Andrew persisted. “I had to do my utmost to keep the channels of communication open lest your conversation degenerate into a pure slanging match. Is it not just like a woman, though, to be always where she should not be, hearing and seeing what was never meant for her ears and eyes?” As his brother continued to stare at nothing identifiable, he went on reflectively. “Though I must say, for a man who denies he wishes to wed a woman, you have some odd notions of how best to convince her of this fact.”

  Justin held up his hand in a fencer’s gesture. “Touché! I was a fool to allow myself to be so neatly maneuvered but...” Here he paused before continuing with obvious difficulty, “I had a bad tumble over Aurelie once. Even last year when I went up to Northumberland for Uncle’s funeral, I was not quite sure how I felt about her. Last night, in the conservatory, well, it was an opportunity to discover if there was any lingering—” he stopped abruptly. “And there was not,” he finished briskly.

  “Naturally, I am delighted that you have convinced yourself there’s nothing deader than a dead love. I strongly doubt, however, that you have convinced Marianne of this, but perhaps it does not signify?” He paused suggestively and studied his brother intently.

  Justin’s mouth twisted in a wry grimace, and he said dryly:

  “A knowing one, aren’t you? Too quick by half.” With that he turned on his heel and strode swiftly from the room, leaving behind a singularly unabashed young man who whistled a popular march tune while he put the foils back in their proper places.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  With extreme reluctance Marianne closed her bedroom door behind her and headed down the corridor toward the stairway. She wished she’d had the sense to plead the headache so she might avoid going to dinner, however much it went against the grain with her to play the coward. The more she had dwelt on the way Andrew and her trustee had maneuvered her into taking part in this distasteful charade, the more resentful she had become. Heaven knew she held no brief for Lady Mauraugh, but it was quite odious to be scheming against the woman in this fashion. Not that this opinion was shared by Lady Lunswick. On the contrary, when Marianne had reported the conversation that had taken place in the armory to her hostess, the latter had all but danced for joy to learn her son did not wish to marry her sister-in-law. She brushed aside as excessively scrupulous Marianne’s reluctance to participate in the farce of courtship to deter the countess from her pursuit of Justin; in short, she applauded the scheme whole-heartedly. Marianne was rendered speechless as it was clearly impossible that she explain to her hostess that the scene in the armory, following the one she had witnessed in the conservatory, had brought rushing back all her initial dislike of her ladyship’s elder son. Since his return from London she had been liking the m
arquess all too well indeed, as witnessed by the distress she had experienced on seeing him and Lady Mauraugh in that embrace. But at least she could not have thought ill of him if he kissed the beautiful widow because he still wished to marry her. However, he had made it abundantly clear that he had no such intention, and in her eyes that put him smack in the ranks of the philanderers, a class of persons for whom she felt nothing save contempt. And it did not matter a bean to her if he labeled her a prudish provincial either, she thought defiantly.

  The marquess, waiting unobserved at the bottom of the stairs, saw the little toss of her head and the set expression that robbed her of all animation and speculated gloomily that she was thinking of him. At least she had donned the blue gown she had worn the evening he had returned home. He had waylaid her an hour ago on her way to her room to change, and had requested this, but with something less than confidence. Her polite little nod had chilled him to the marrow. He had not needed Andrew’s delicate hints to enlighten him as to how much that scene in the conservatory was likely to cost, but, he quoted mentally, “Let us mind, faint heart ne’er wan a lady fair.” Suddenly it struck him that with this old saw he had capped Andrew’s ridiculous performance this afternoon, and the thought tickled him momentarily.