Trondelaine Castle (8 page)

Watching her, the Earl finally said, “I suppose you
will need a place to work.” He pushed a button and, a
few minutes later, Charles appeared. “Charles, in the
third guest room is a small desk. Please have it moved
into the library at once. At the far end of the room.”

“Very good, sir.”

As Charles left in search of the desk, Lord Richard
frowned. Then he moved among the bookcases.
Wendy, concentrating on the manuscript, seemed
oblivious to all this. She looked up with a start when
Lord Richard’s shadow fell across her. He was holding
a heavy book and frowning. “It’s a bit old,” he said,
“but the best I can manage.”

Wendy took the book he handed her. It was a
Spanish dictionary, circa 1900. She smiled. “Thank
you! I’m certain it will suffice.”

At that moment, Charles returned with another
servant. The two men were carrying an oak desk which
they put near the window farthest from Lord Richard’s
desk. Quietly, he took the book and papers from
Wendy and put them on the desk. Then, when Charles
returned with a chair, he said, “There you are, a place
to work. But please do so quietly.”

Wendy nodded and moved to the desk, the sound of
her crutches muffled by the thick carpet. Then there
was the clatter as the crutches slipped from her hands
and fell to the floor. Flushing, Wendy turned to see if
Lord Richard had noticed. He had and he looked
angry. He turned away as her sheepish glance met his
eyes.

Oh, lord! she thought. Now he thinks I’ve done it on
purpose. She turned back to the desk and tried to work
quietly. But never had paper rattled so loudly. Thank
heavens she used a silent felt-tipped pen. She was very
conscious of Lord Richard’s lack of concentration and,
as a consequence, was unable at first to settle down to
her own work. But at some point, they both became
absorbed in their respective concerns, for it came as a
surprise when Charles came in with a lunch tray.

In answer to his polite request, Wendy cleared off
space on her desk for the tray. Then Charles left. Wendy turned to ask Lord Richard a question and
discovered that he had disappeared. She smiled wryly.
Clearly he was telling her he did not want her company
and that he would not allow it to intrude more than
necessary. Well, that pleased her well enough. She
could work as she ate. This manuscript was important.

Some time later, Wendy looked up to discover that
the lunch tray had been removed. Lord Richard had
not returned, but then she recalled that he rarely
seemed to work in the afternoon. She turned back to
her own work. Really, Lord Richard’s Spanish
dictionary was excellent, better than her own, which
had been an expensive investment.

She wondered whether he had any very old
dictionaries. Some of the translating she was called
upon to do was of works a few centuries old and such a
dictionary would be of incomparable help. Well, even
if he had one, she told herself, he certainly wouldn’t let
you use it. Nor could she blame him.

Teatime came and Wendy was still at work. But she
broke off eagerly as she heard Dr. Witler’s voice in the
hallway. “No, don’t botherI can find my way.”

Roger’s grin matched hers as he entered the library.
His glance slid from her to her desk and back again. He
started laughing. “Don’t tell me the old boy has put you
to work!”

The laughter was infectious. “No, no. I’ve just gotten
a package from my publishers with work for me while
I’m here.”

Roger’s manner became brisk and professional.
“How is the foot today? Have you had any problems
with it?” After several minutes of examination, he
pronounced himself satisfied. “Just continue to keep
off it. You know, I didn’t really need to stop by, but it
was such an excellent excuse I couldn’t resist the opportunity. Particularly at teatime. The cook, Mrs.
Peters, is incomparable. Will you ring for a cup for
me?”

But there was no need. The ever efficient Gwen came
in then, with everything necessary for an extra guest.
Roger was clearly well liked here, for Gwen gave him a
wide smile. “Come for tea, have you, Dr. Witler? I told
Mrs. Peters, when I saw you, we’d be needing another
tray!”

He smiled affectionately in return. “You don’t think
I’d call at any other hour, do you? Thank you, Gwen.”

To Wendy’s prejudiced eyes, it seemed Gwen’s hips
swayed a little more than usual as she left the room.
And Roger seemed to appreciate the fact. With an
effort, she shrugged off her momentary irritation and
poured tea for herself and Roger.

“How has the dragon been treating you?” he asked.
Wendy was puzzled, so he added, “Richard. Hadn’t
you noticed the family crest contains a dragon? And he
seems to be acting like one with regard to you.”

Wendy grinned. “No, I hadn’t noticed, but the
description does suit him. Breathing fire upon
occasion, and at other times-well, I’ve always thought
dragons rather cute.”

“Cute?” Roger burst out laughing. “Lord! Don’t let
Richard hear you describe him that way!”

“What way?” came the familiar voice from the
doorway.

Guiltily, Wendy started. She didn’t dare turn and
look at him. Roger, on the other hand, merely grinned
and said, “Now, now, Richard. Weren’t you ever
taught not to eavesdrop? Care for some tea?”

Richard walked easily to a chair and sat down. “No,
thank you, Roger. Have you taken to giving young
women lessons on how to approach men?”

Roger shot a glance at Wendy before answering. She
looked rather uncomfortable and he altered what he
might otherwise have said. “Hardly. Especially since
this young lady would not be interested.”

Lord Richard glanced at Wendy mockingly. “I had
forgotten. There is a fiance-somewhere.”

Wendy, never very patient at best, lost her temper. “I
never believed, Lord Richard, that a title or money
gave one the right to be rude.”

“Oh, but it does. It does,” was the soft, mocking
reply.

“Stop it, Richard!” Roger’s tone was peremptory.
“You’re behaving like a jackass. Miss Pratt has given
you no cause for your suspicions and she doesn’t
deserve such treatment.”

Richard looked at the doctor with raised eyebrows.
“Has she made a conquest, then? What would your
wife think?” His voice turned angry and serious. “You
forget Wendy’s accident, Roger. She had been well
warned not to go near the tower. Nor is she so stupid as
to have been unable to guess at its dangers. I find it
difficult to believe the accident was not staged for my
benefit!”

“Blast it, Richard! She did hurt those tendons. I
know-I examined her,” the doctor retorted.

Wendy shrank deeper and deeper into her seat,
fighting the desperate desire to cry. The two men glared
at each other silently until her wavering voice said,
“Please, Roger, it doesn’t matter what he thinks. Don’t
fight about it. I suppose it-it does seem strange to
him.”

The tension eased perceptibly. “I don’t deny the
injury was real,” Richard said wearily. “But why were
you in the tower, Wendy?”

Both men stared at her expectantly. Roger gave her a slight, encouraging smile. But she could only sit there
staring back. She would not tell the Earl about the
children.

After several moments, Roger looked away and
Lord Richard sighed again. “Come, Roger, let’s go into
the garden for a game of chess.”

The doctor rose with alacrity. “Thank you, Richard,
but I must be going. Cheers, Wendy!”

She nodded, pained by the false note of gaiety in his
voice. Lord Richard walked him to the door and she
was left alone. With a sigh and a silent curse, Wendy
turned back to her work.

Shortly after breakfast next morning, Wendy
timidly proceeded to the library. Dinner, the evening
before, had been a strained affair and she half expected
to be ordered out of the library as soon as Lord
Richard saw her. But he was not yet at his desk and
Wendy decided to complete as much work as possible
before he arrived.

On her desk there was a letter. It was from Kevin and
she opened it eagerly, suddenly aware of how much she
missed him. Had anyone been watching, they would
have seen her smile fade and change to a frown, then
finally, to obvious dismay. At last, biting her lower lip,
Wendy slowly set down the letter and closed her eyes.

She could almost hear Kevin’s voice starting with
puzzled amusement, then changing to suspicion, then anger and back again. He would send up her valise, of
course, but he couldn’t understand why she must stay
there. He teased her about the possibility of her chasing
the Earl of Loftsbury. But the teasing had a note of
pettishness and suspicion. Then he asked why she had
said he was not to consider coming to visit on the
weekend. If the Earl was so agreeable as to invite her to
stay at the castle until she had recovered, why should he
object to Kevin’s presence for a few hours? Or did he
have designs on Wendy? Ha ha. That was absurd, of
course.

Why absurd? Wendy wondered with irritation.
Perhaps Kevin would arrive incognito, with one of the
tours, to see her.

Wendy could easily picture him doing so. And if he
did, she would not be able to conceal the true situation,
or her own dismay. And Kevin was the sort to cause
trouble with Lord Richard. She was still sitting, staring
gloomily at the letter, when a nearby footstep startled
her.

“Anything wrong?” Lord Richard asked.

He stood, dressed as usual, in casual slacks and
pullover, both clearly expensive. His hands were in his
pockets and there was the familiar mocking smile on
his face. Wendy deliberately did not look at him.

“No, nothing is wrong,” she said lightly. “In fact, I’m
quite pleased. I just received a letter from Kevin. He’ll
have my things sent up on Friday with the tour. Poor
fellow, he’s quite concerned about me,” she added with
a false sigh. “People in love do worry, you know.”

A look of exasperation crossed Lord Richard’s face,
but only for a moment. “Of course,” he said casually, as
he walked over to his own desk.

Privately, however, he felt some satisfaction. He
knew Wendy had lied to him about the letter, but he was not sure why. He would catch her out yet! And
then, Miss Pratt, beware. With a secret smile, he
reached for the latest problem he had been sent. Wendy
forced herself to take up her work where she had left off
the day before. As usual, it proved good therapy and
she was soon lost in concentration.

As on the previous day, Lord Richard left as soon as
Gwen entered with Wendy’s lunch tray. Gwen’s eyes
rested with curiosity on the manuscript Wendy was
translating. The other servants would be quite
interested to know about this. Charles insisted Miss
Pratt was a young lady, but if so, why was she working?
Not that Miss Pratt ever gave one cause to complain of
a lack of breeding, but she was, after all, an American
and here under odd circumstances. Well, whatever,
Gwen liked Miss Pratt. And Lord Richard’s valet,
William, ought not to speak so about her.

All this ran through Gwen’s mind in the brief
moments as she set down the tray and Wendy thanked
her. As Wendy had no further requests, Gwen returned
to the kitchen. It was a relief to wait on someone who
was not always making demands. Still, it was a shame
the master wouldn’t consider Lady Sylvia more
seriously. She was so suitable in every way. And it was
time Lord Richard began thinking of an heir, wasn’t it?

Actually, Lord Richard was thinking of Sylvia at
that moment. He had just remembered a promise to
take her to the theater that evening. It was late to be
calling her to cancel their date, but it had to be done.
She would be angry, but that couldn’t be helped. Why
not drive to London at once? his conscience asked. You
could be there in time to change.

He shook his head. No, I won’t leave the castle with
her here. I just don’t trust her. Nonsense, his conscience
argued, Charles is an efficient protector of the castle. All right, he conceded, it’s a convenient excuse to
cancel the date with Sylvia. I just don’t want to go to
the theater tonight.

The mental argument resolved, Lord Richard went
upstairs to phone Lady Sylvia. Of the three phones in
the house, his would have the most privacy. The other
two were in the kitchen and the library, where he would
surely be overheard.

Sylvia answered immediately in her purring voice,
“Why, darling, how wonderful of you call! No one has
seen you for days, and Peter wagered you would beg off
for tonight. I shall be so pleased to prove him wrong.
But where have you been hiding yourself, darling?”

Lord Richard felt distinctly uncomfortable. “Actually, Sylvia, I’m calling to beg off. No, don’t be angry
with me, I simply can’t help it. Something important
has come up and I can’t leave my work. I’m dreadfully
sorry.”

“I see. Well, never mind, darling, I understand. But
where are you and when shall I see you?” she
demanded.