The Impossible Ward Read Free Page B

lantern he had seemed for an instant to be the living embodiment of all the Norse legends, the hero of countless fairy tales. For perhaps two seconds while he had turned and come toward her she had felt irradiated with sheer joy as her eyes dwelt with pleasure on the handsomest man she had ever beheld. Then as his cool glance had flicked dismissingly over her with contemptuous indifference, she experienced a rare surge of intense dislike that swamped her initial reaction and left her slightly shaken. His curt words did nothing to lessen her dislike, but she answered politely enough.
    “I am afraid there is some mistake. My name is Marianne Carstairs, but I know of no Lady Marianne in this vicinity.”
    Initially the deeper implications of this speech failed to penetrate the dismay induced by the girl’s calm recital of her name. He closed his eyes for an agonized second. This dark gypsy of a female with skin burned brown by sun and weather, carrying two milk pails and wearing a none too clean apron over a shapeless black gown could not be Perry’s daughter! It would be utterly impossible to try to foist such a creature into the Ton. She was utterly impossible. For a moment he was speechless, as he ruefully recalled his laughing assurance to his mother that no heiress was entirely ineligible. How little he had known!
    The girl had stiffened at the expression of restrained disgust on his features, and dislike turned to active hatred, completely eradicating even the memory of that first fleeting approval. Swiftly she set down the milk while she extinguished the lantern. Before she could repossess herself of the pails, however, the stranger had picked them up and was standing politely aside for her to precede him from the barn. For an instant she seemed about to protest, then she shrugged and complied silently.
    The girl glanced warily at him from under her lashes as she passed outside, but he was preoccupied with some thoughts of his own which obviously gave him no pleasure, judging from his frown. After a few steps, however, he stopped and faced her determinedly.
    “As I explained to your grandfather I was a friend of your father’s, and it was his dying wish that I come here to see you.”
    He could not have said quite how he expected her to react to this news, not with tears, surely, since she had had time to get used to the fact of her father’s death, and since she had never even met him, could not be expected to grieve greatly. However he had not thought to see an expression of shocked amusement cross her face and he raised questioning brows.
    “I am persuaded your devotion to your friends is most selfless and highly to be commended, but do you generally take so long to carry out deathbed wishes?”
    He stared at her blankly. “The earl’s funeral services were held just a sennight ago. I set out almost on the heels of my letter.”
    It was the girl’s turn to look blank, but she recovered almost immediately. “Now I am certain there has been some error,” she declared lightly. “My father was not an earl, he was a sailor, and he died over twenty years ago in the Mediterranean from wounds suffered during a sea battle with the French.”
    The marquess carefully set down the brimming pails of foamy milk. His startled eyes never left the girl’s composed face as she paused of necessity and awaited his response with somewhat obvious patience. It was some time in coming for his brain was rioting with conjecture. An initial faint hope that he might indeed be mistaken in her identity was dismissed at birth. She had given her name as Marianne Carstairs. He had been directed in the village to the farm of one Sean O’Doyle whom Perry had identified as his father-in-law. Unless the girl were lying, and there was no earthly reason for such an action, she was in total ignorance of her father’s circumstances. He moved impatiently and the movement nearly upset one of the milk pails at his feet.
    “Take care,” the girl