Trondelaine Castle (9 page)

“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 the 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 not?” 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.