The Impossible Ward

by Dorothy Mack

  His thoughtful gaze left the lovely redhead and dwelt in some perplexity on the dreamy-eyed brunette sitting at the pianoforte totally wrapped up in the music she was softly playing and singing. With the exception of her eyes which were the most beautiful he had ever beheld, feature by feature Marianne was quite eclipsed by Aurelie. Although her mouth had a lovely curve it was too large by modern standards, her nose was just a nose, and the arresting, high-cheeked, heart shaped face appeared uneasily exotic next to Aurelie’s classic oval. Both had perfect complexions, but again, the camelia and peach would excite less admiration than the fairer milk and rose. He found her abundant black hair quite to his taste, in fact the memory of that satin curtain released from its customary smooth style, rose up before his eyes with increasing regularity, but there was no denying either that Aurelie’s luxuriant red-gold tresses contributed greatly to her amazing beauty. The small hands playing competently over the keys, though obviously softer and whiter than when he first encountered them, would always appear more capable than elegant, and suffered greatly in comparison with the slender-fingered grace of the countess. But were decidedly more ... endearing perhaps?

  Now how had that absurd notion risen to the top of his mind? He had been aware of the strength and capability of those hands from the first moment of their acquaintance when she had gripped those ridiculous milk pails almost defensively. And there was another ridiculous notion—that she needed defenses against himself. Had she not shown from the instant of their meeting a complete and unvarying indifference to his reaction to herself? And had she ever exhibited the slightest uneasiness when indulging in frequent actions guaranteed to arouse the ire of any guardian? Though posed in a rhetorical spirit, from his observation the answer must be a decided no.

  Then why was he sitting here in this damnably uncomfortable chair, clumsily repulsing overtures from the most beautiful and desirable woman of his wide acquaintance while indulging in dreams of arousing the romantic interest of a demonstrably indifferent female, possessing no more than tolerable good looks and no accomplishments to speak of, besides coming from a different background and owning an independent nature that totally unfitted her to conform to the typical pattern of behavior expected of a woman who marries into the aristocracy? Did he belong then to that class of men who were only interested in the thrill of the chase and who found no value in the object in possession? Had Marianne’s indifference piqued his vanity, while Aurelie’s current eagerness cooled his former ardor? His thoughts raced on to the lilting accompaniment of the old song sung just as delightfully as he had once predicted Marianne would sing.

  In justice to himself he felt entitled to deny the accuracy of this most exaggerated stating of the case.

  With regard to Aurelie, it was certainly true that he had been wildly in love with her once and that she had not changed a jot in the intervening five years. But two other things of surpassing importance were also true. Firstly, that he had never known, therefore never loved, the real Aurelie. She had seemed the physical embodiment of a young man’s dreams of the woman he might love, but in his state of bemusement he had credited her also with all the virtues and character a man, perhaps unconsciously, expects to find in the woman who will be his wife. Time had proved Aurelie too selfish and narcissistic to ever wish to conform to any but her own self-estimate. She used her beauty, accomplishments, and undoubted charm entirely to attain her own ends. While he was not prepared to condemn her for choosing to use her attributes thusly, since meeting Marianne he had slowly arrived at the inescapable conclusion that he himself had changed. A young man’s dream of the ideal woman was now too shallow and one-dimensional to satisfy him. He could no longer be content with discreet behavior and the appearance of loyalty; he demanded absolute fidelity. No longer would a decorative wife, complete with the admired worldly accomplishments, be the pinnacle of his desires. Now he wished for a woman willing and eager to share every aspect of his existence and remain at his side as his chosen life’s companion.

  Naturally he was expected to marry and produce an heir, and he had not been unaware that his mother eagerly awaited this event, but until Marianne entered his life he had drifted along with no thought to becoming a tenant for life. In fact, after his experience with Aurelie, he had shied away from forming any but the most casual attachments with any eligible young lady. His title and wealth assured that all he had to do was cast the handkerchief and, practically without exception, any unmarried female of his acquaintance would accept his offer, regardless of her personal feelings about him. It was not particularly gratifying to know that were he doddering with age, of limited mentality, physically repulsive, or morally corrupt, the result would be the same. His worldly possessions would serve to annul almost all defects of person or character.

  Right from their initial confrontation Marianne had struck him as different from the commonality of women but at the beginning of their acquaintance he had refused to admit the attraction of her honesty and genuineness, preferring to censure her for not conforming to the pattern of her contemporaries, though even then he had dimly recognized his reaction as being partially motivated by bruised vanity. His own behavior had begun to strike him as ambiguous in the extreme. On the one hand, he stood back and made invidious comparisons with other young women of her age, but when Claire Carstairs had attempted to set Marianne at a disadvantage his instincts were strongly protective of his impossible ward. She, meanwhile, remained cool and aloof in his company, never showing him a glimpse of the warm friendliness she displayed toward his mother. At this point he had made her business affairs an excuse to depart for London where, in the increased activity and social contact, he planned to erase the image of an annoyingly disturbing female. Though convinced of the soundness of this tactical maneuver, he found the results somewhat other he expected. For one thing, an image of a black-haired, quiet-faced girl popped into his mind and intruded when he was in company with other women. And now the comparisons were not always unfavorable. A certain blonde beauty, whose cool fairness had won her an admiring following, suddenly appeared pallid and uninteresting compared with a combination of rich coloring and jet black hair. Another young woman, known in his circle for her liveliness and wit, was unexpectedly revealed to have a shallow understanding and a mere facility with words. He had never questioned the propriety of young women remaining aloof from the more unpleasant facts of contemporary economic and political life, but now it struck him as the height of unwisdom to raise girls to be merely decorative. A vision of Marianne earnestly discussing the problems of the factory workers with Mr. Huntingdon rose up before his mind’s eye, rendering the usual run of debutantes sadly deficient in understanding, no matter how accomplished.

  He had come home at last, half eager, half reluctant to pursue his acquaintance with his disturbing ward to find—here his gaze which had been dwelling inward though politely fixed on the performer, sharpened and focused anew on her face. He had entered his house and the first sight to greet him had been a vision of loveliness, superbly gowned in flowing blue velvet. The awkwardness of manner was gone, the gypsy tan had faded to this creamy satin, her former coldness replaced by a glowing warmth and vitality. And he had stood spellbound with the sudden knowledge that he had passed the point of denying the loss of his heart. And for an enchanted moment she had gazed back at him with a welcome that shut out the rest of the world and enclosed the two of them in a private haven. He shifted his feet and his eyes sought the figure on the blue sofa listening to the music with an air of polite boredom. The presence of Martin Archer had caused the enchantment to disperse slightly, but it had taken the shock of finding Aurelie in his mother’s saloon to shatter the mood completely. Since then his duties as host had prevented him from pursuing a single-minded courtship, but until the unfortunate scene with Aurelie in the conservatory he had been reasonably content with his progress in gaining friendship with Marianne at least. Occasional quiet interludes spent in private conversation with her had satisfied him wh
ile the house was full of guests. Until this afternoon.

  With the aggressive encounter in the armory their relationship had taken a new turn. He had seized on Andrew’s suggestion of a mock courtship as a lifeline by which he might regain the ground he had lost and even begin to push his pursuit of her in earnest. Naturally he had not let her guess that this was a reason, indeed, the sole reason behind their uneasy alliance since he had no need of subterfuge in dealing with Aurelie. In her innocence Marianne had accepted the necessity for the pretense, and it was now up to him to win her confidence and love. Since this afternoon he had already been of a dozen contradictory minds about his chances for achieving his goal in the light of recent developments. But one thing was certain. Sitting back and regretting what had happened would not serve to advance his cause one inch. He was now committed to action.

  As Marianne finished the rollicking country song with which she had met the urging of Sir Martin and Lady Lunswick for more music, she determinedly arose from the pianoforte and crossed the room to join her hostess on a small settee. Although she did not suffer from shyness in the ordinary way, her color was slightly higher than usual for she was a modest girl and found it slightly embarrassing to be the center of attention. This did her no disservice in the eyes of the gentlemen present, all of whom hastened to compliment her warmly on her performance.

  “Yes, indeed,” Lady Mauraugh added her compliments to the others, “that was quite a charming performance. If you had had the benefit of good masters when you were young I am persuaded you would have caused quite a sensation with your music amongst the salons of London.”

  “I shall be quite satisfied to play occasionally for my own amusement,” Marianne replied, while Lady Lunswick declared sweetly that she had formed the firm intention of requesting Marianne to sing at all her musical evenings in the future. “For you gave us all great pleasure, dear child.”

  The conversation turned to other matters and remained of a general nature until the tea tray arrived. Justin was prevented from having more than a word or two with his ward by the determined proximity to Marianne of Sir Martin Archer. It had not escaped his notice that his old friend had been displaying a deepening penchant for her society, or that Marianne seemed quite content in his company. She spent a good deal of time with Andrew too, but despite that affectionate gesture in the armory, he would be greatly astonished to discover that her feelings for his brother were other than sisterly. Marianne possessed no coquettish tricks, she reacted to people the way she felt about them, within the bounds of good manners. She was obviously deeply attached to his mother and extremely fond of all the Huntingdons. His close observation of the last fortnight had yielded the strong theory that she accepted the continuous presence of both her cousins with good-natured tolerance but little warmth. And it was with relief that he could hazard a guess that in Aubrey’s case at least, tolerance and civility were beginning to wear a bit thin. Marianne’s former lifestyle had not taught her any socially acceptable tricks to ward off bores. Nor had it equipped her to repulse the unwanted advances of would-be suitors. He hoped it would be his good fortune to be present (though invisible) when Aubrey finally pushed her good manners too far. The enjoyment produced by this possibility faded quickly enough as he bent a lambent gaze on Sir Martin while he engaged Marianne in what appeared to be a mutually absorbing conversation. Undoubtedly his ward had formed an immediate liking for his amiable friend, and admittedly he had no idea whether her feelings for Sir Martin went deeper or were likely to go deeper than pleasant friendship. As for Martin himself, unless he was greatly deceived, his friend was tottering on the brink of falling in love. He frowned in frustration and prepared to make another attempt to divert Marianne’s attention. Andrew was generously contributing to the situation by light-heartedly monopolizing his aunt’s interest. She had resisted his efforts initially, but Andrew could be devastatingly engaging when he chose, and Aurelie instinctively responded to all masculine attention. Thus bolstered, he made an inane attempt to interrupt the annoying twosome, and the knowledge of his own gaucherie was reflected in his wry expression. Despite her seeming absorption in Sir Martin’s conversation, Marianne had been well aware that Justin was trying to launch his mock courtship and was finding his good friend to be an uncharted obstacle in his path. She met her trustee’s frustrated glance with a sparkling look brimful of mischievous appreciation. He grinned ruefully and subsided for the moment, surprised and rather elated by this instant of perfect communication between himself and his reluctant beloved. Had the real object of the exercise been to convince the countess that his romantic interest lay elsewhere he would have been mildly gratified by the sudden tightening of her lips as her observant green glance witnessed the intimate look exchanged between Marianne and himself. However, in his concentration on Marianne he failed even to note Lady Mauraugh’s reaction.

  As for the other participant in this little drama, Marianne retired to bed that night convinced in her innocence that Justin had not yet had any opportunity to put his plan into operation beyond the momentary annoyance his fastening of her necklace must have caused the countess.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  To an unbiased onlooker the next two days would seem to have passed quite pleasantly and uneventfully with the tempo of life going on much as usual at the Hall. At lunch the following day the house party was augmented by the presence of the earl of Melford and his lively sister as well as the Huntingdons, and the family increased its covers to include several persons for dinner on the next evening.

  If one of the aforesaid onlookers had questioned Lady Marianne Carstairs about her impression of life at the Hall during this period, however, he would have been vastly astonished at a quite different report. As Marianne confessed to her hostess on the morning following the dinner party:

  “On the surface everything is pleasant and very sociable, but I have the most unrestful sensation along my nerves as if everyone is watching me. It is quite horrid.” She shivered slightly.

  Lady Lunswick laughed softly. “Please do not think me unsympathetic, my dear, if I observe that, given the present titillating situation, it could scarcely be otherwise. Aurelie, of course, is watching you like a hawk. But cheer up. It is my belief that she will soon admit that she is beaten and find a graceful way to bring her visit to an end ... unless ...” She stared consideringly at the young girl who looked at her in faint puzzlement.

  “Unless what, Ma’am?”

  “Well, it will not have escaped Aurelie’s attention that Justin is not the only man courting you. Melford is making a positive fool of himself over you, and Sir Martin, too, is becoming most particular in his attentions.” Without seeming to, she was closely studying Marianne from under her lashes and noted the faint increase in color brought about by her words, but she continued her line of thought without commenting. “It occurs to me that Aurelie may be waiting to see which way you jump, to put it vulgarly, before she cashes in her chips and shakes the dust of this place from her shoes.”

  “To remain with the vulgar idiom,” murmured Marianne provocatively, and now Lady Lunswick chuckled irrepressively, though she protested:

  “But the Bible, Marianne. That must always be acceptable, surely.” If the girl had thought to drag a red herring across the trail, she had failed to take into account the tenacity of purpose of her hostess for, undeterred, she pursued her original thought.

  “Does Aurelie have any grounds for hoping you will accept either Melford or Sir Martin?”

  “Since neither has made me an offer, none at all, Ma’am.”

  The marchioness took note of the slight dryness in her guest’s tones, and she flashed her a smile full of apology and affection. “I know, my child, I am no better than a common busy head, but,” she persisted, “have you a tendre for either?”

  Now it was Marianne’s turn to fix a considering gaze on her hostess. “What would you say, Ma’am, if I admitted I cherished a deep affection for my cousin?”

  “No
thing, but I’d dose you with fever remedies until you came to your senses.”

  Marianne threw back her head and laughed in delighted appreciation at the look of unrestrained disgust on her companion’s lovely countenance.

  “You need not send for the doctor, Ma’am. I promise you I shall not encourage any suitor except Justin until Lady Mauraugh leaves.” She sobered abruptly. “I still do not like this masquerade, but I shall keep my promise.”

  With this the marchioness had to be content though she was well aware that her earlier query had been neatly evaded.

  “May I ask you a rather impertinent question?” Marianne said tentatively after a comfortable silence while each pursued her own thoughts.

  “You could not be impertinent, my dear child. Your company is a great delight to me. You must know I could not care more for a daughter of my own then I do for you.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” said Marianne, flushing with gratification. “I do know it and though I do not feel I have done anything to merit such great kindness, I am terribly grateful. The subject I wished to speak to you about is rather related to daughters, that is, daughters-in-law, I mean one daughter-in-law.” She floundered, then taking a determined breath, plunged: “Ma’am, do you know whether Andrew’s affections are engaged?”

  A shade of dismay flashed across Lady Lunswick’s countenance before she could bring her expression under control, but her voice was quite even.

  “Do you mean me to understand it is Andrew you love?”

  “Oh, no, Ma’am! Andrew is just like a brother to me, as is Jack Richmond, but I have been wondering if Sophia might have a tendre for him, and if that is why she is so silent when he is around—because she fears to betray herself. If this were true and if Andrew felt the same, would you dislike the match?” The huge violet eyes anxiously searched the older woman’s grave face.