Trondelaine Castle (10 page)

After a while, Roger began to talk about some of his
other patients. Almost invariably, Lord Richard would
recognize the name and add a comment. Wendy found
herself marveling more than once at Roger’s easy
humor. He was companionable, she decided. She was
sorry when, immediately after tea, he announced it was
time for him to leave.

As usual, Lord Richard walked him to his car. Suddenly unable to face the Earl without the presence
of a genial third person, Wendy hurried to her room.
She’d already done a full day’s work and needn’t feel
guilty about stopping.

Later, entering the James Room quietly, Wendy had
a moment to observe Lord Richard before he noticed
her. He was standing by the fireplace, deep in thought.
Effortlessly, she could picture him dressed in rich
brocade and the clothes of the Regency era, or in the
austere clothes of a Puritan under Cromwell. Actually,
she felt the Earl of Loftsbury would better be suited to
still another era, the aristocratic era of Charles II. At
that moment, he turned and saw her.

He flushed and demanded, “How long have you
been there?”

She flushed also. “Only a minute or so. I’m sorry. I
didn’t want to disturb your thinking.” He relaxed and
she added impulsively, “Besides, I was thinking how
much you looked like an earl and picturing you in
another time.”

He laughed. “A romantic figure, then?” She nodded
reluctantly, and he went on, “Actually, most of the
earls were rather unromantic chaps. They were
concerned about one thing and just that-selfpreservation. The first earl gained this land by
performing a few judicious assassinations for Henry
VII. And, of course, under Henry VIII he knew enough
to turn against the church quick enough.”

“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 replied
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.”