The Wild Child Read Free Page B

of the coffee pot reflected the colors in rich, strange distortions.
    Mrs. Rector continued, “Long ago, Lord Maxwell’s father and your father planned for the two of you to marry, and your uncle Amworth thinks it a good idea. Remember how your uncle mentioned that to you after Maxwell left?” She sighed. “No, of course you don’t remember.”
    Yellow and blue always looked their best together, so she’d picked dandelions. They contrasted strongly with the speedwell, sparking both to vibrant life.
    “Lord Maxwell is coming to stay for several weeks, to further his acquaintance with you.” Mrs. Rector studied the worktable. “Oh, dear, the Germain coffee pot. Of course, you own it, so I suppose if you want to stick in weeds, you can.”
    Something lacy was needed to moderate between the honeysuckle branches and the flowers. Fennel would be best, but it was too early for fennel, so she would have to make do with stitchwort. She slid the gangly stems carefully into the pot, rearranging them until they pleased her.
    “As I was saying, Lord Maxwell will arrive on Monday. Your uncle has promised me that the marriage will not take place unless you are comfortable with his lordship.”
    She turned the pot on the bench, careful to avoid smudging the bright silver with her fingers. Move this bit of honeysuckle so. A slight rearrangement of the dandelions, more speedwell there.
    “I don’t see how any good can come of this!” Mrs. Rector burst out. “An innocent like you to wed a worldly man like Lord Maxwell. I swear, I’ve seen icicles warmer than that man’s eyes.”
    Meriel picked up the arrangement, regarded the effect for a moment, then turned on her stool and placed the coffee pot in Mrs. Rector’s hands. The older woman blinked, startled, then smiled. “Why, thank you, my dear. That’s so kind of you. It really is rather pretty, isn’t it? I shall put it on the dinner table.”
    She brushed a light kiss on top of Meriel’s head. “I shan’t let that man hurt you, Meriel, I swear it!” she said in a voice suddenly intense. “I will send a message to Lord Grahame if necessary.”
    Meriel stood and reached up for the cylindrical pottery jar. The surface was rough, in shades of brown and bronze. It needed lots of dandelions, and yarrow.
    Her momentary fierceness gone, Mrs. Rector said uncertainly, “But perhaps Lord Amworth is right. A husband might be just the thing for you. And perhaps a baby.” Longing sounded in her voice. More dandelions were needed. Without a backward glance at her companion, she slid from the stool and went outside to pick them.
    Kyle let himself into the small, elegant town house with his own key. The physician, gray haired and tired eyed, was just leaving. He inclined his head. “My lord.”
    “Sir George.” Kyle set his hat on a side table, which allowed him to hide his expression. “How is she?”
    The older man shrugged. “Resting. The laudanum helps with the pain.”
    In other words, nothing had changed. Not that Kyle expected any miracles. “How long does she have?”
    The physician hesitated. “That’s always hard to say, but if I had to guess, I’d say perhaps a fortnight.”
    God willing, that would be long enough. He hoped so with every fiber of his being. “May I see her now?”
    “She’s awake, though weak. Try not to tire her.” The doctor sighed. “Though I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Good day, my lord.”
    After the physician left, Kyle went upstairs, the carpeted steps quiet beneath his feet. How many times had he climbed this staircase? Beyond counting. The moment he first stepped into the little jewel box of a house, he’d known it was perfect for her. She had pronounced herself enchanted, saying that she never wanted to leave. And she hadn’t, until these last painful months, when her thoughts had turned elsewhere. He tapped on the door to warn her before entering. Constancia reclined in a nest of pillows on the sofa, sunshine pouring over