The Impossible Ward Read Free Page A

opportunity.
    Inexpressibly cheered by all he saw about him, he hitched the bay to the wrought iron rail and proceeded to bang the shining knocker. He had written to Perry’s father-in-law immediately after the funeral, apprising him of his son-in-law’s death and his own planned visit to discuss Lady Marianne’s immediate future. The household should certainly be anticipating his arrival, but not knowing their circumstances, he had left his chaise and postilions at the Rose and Crown at the village crossroads, and ridden the short distance to Crestview Farm on Mountain, his favorite mount.
    The marquess was idly admiring the remains of what must have been a lovely flowering border in summer when he finally heard a heavy, slow tread approaching. He straightened and smiled at the old woman who opened the door and stood regarding him with an unflattering lack of interest.
    “Good afternoon, I am Lord Lunswick. I believe Mr. O’Doyle is expecting me.”
    The woman’s flat-featured countenance did not lose one iota of its impassivity at this pronouncement.
    “T’ master’s asleep in his study. Miss Marianne says Ah mun not disturb him when he drops off like that, not for nowt.” She declaimed the words as though a formula learned by rote.
    “No, of course not,” Justin agreed hastily. “In that case may I see Lady Marianne?”
    His smile had. been declared an unfair weapon by more than one London miss, but his second effort had no more effect on the implacable servant than the first attempt.
    “Miss be down at t’barn,” she declared, shutting the door firmly on the words.
    For an instant the marquess simply stood there staring at the paneled door, natural irritation struggling with a mounting sense of unreality. His first stubborn impulse was to persist in his efforts to gain admittance, but his hand was stayed in mid-air from rapping more forcefully on the door by an equally strong disinclination to tangle again with an undoubtedly half-witted old crone.
    Shrugging aside his annoyance, he retreated around the right side of the house toward the cluster of farm buildings. There were no signs of human activity at the large hen house or in the dairy, but as he approached the barn he noticed a shadow from a lamp within playing over the door frame. Entering the dim interior he stood quietly for a moment adjusting his eyes after the glare of late afternoon sunshine. He was immediately aware of the contented movements of several animals, but as he moved further inside he saw no one save a black-clad female farm worker bent over a milking stool, too intent on her task to realize his presence. He passed her and headed slowly down the length of the barn, glancing quickly left and right as he passed two workhorses and more cows. The only lantern was placed to aid the milker near the entrance, which convinced him that Lady Marianne could not be here. He turned to retrace his steps with the intention of interrogating the farm woman and met the incredulous stare of the latter, who had risen carrying a pail in each hand and was standing there quite motionless with a look almost of wonder on her face. His disinterested gaze flicked across her person, dismissing her as an object of interest as he continued to approach at an unhurried pace.
    All expression died out of the girl’s face as he diminished the distance between them. She remained silent, and he who had rarely felt ill at ease in the presence of a female, found himself resenting her silence and constrained to break it.
    “Can you tell me where I may find Lady Marianne?”
    Realizing he had spoken rather abruptly, he smiled at her to soften the force of the words but noted with a mental shrug that this young woman was as immune to any charm of manner he might possess as the old crone who had shut the door in his face earlier. He wondered idly if this might perhaps be her granddaughter. He could not know that to the silent girl standing in the flickering light of the