The Impossible Ward by Dorothy Mack

this very fitting punishment for his attitude when she had questioned the necessity of a chaperon. For a short time she did actually impose the stillness of complete relaxation on her features, but presently she decided she must intervene to prevent the marquess from giving the garrulous Miss Twistleton a stinging set-down. She was basically a kind-hearted girl and though no more content with this enforced companionship than the marquess seemed to be, she strongly suspected Miss Twistleton’s mindless meanderings stemmed from a nervous awe at finding herself in his intimidating presence, and from a real dread of a prolonged silence. Clearly it behooved her to alter the pattern and quickly. It may have gone against the grain to rescue the detestable marquess, but she shuddered to contemplate the scene should an ill-considered masculine action cause Miss Twistleton’s sense of inferiority to erupt in a crise de nerfs. The taut little woman obviously prided herself on her sensibility, and her suffering would be in proportion to the fancied delicacy of her nerves.
    Consequently Marianne entered the conversation with well-feigned affability, and with the marquess’ skillful connivance succeeded fairly well in keeping to impersonal topics until they reached the posting house where he planned to stop for a change of horses and some refreshments for the ladies. They found the ordinary bill of fare quite tolerable and sincerely welcomed the opportunity to stretch their legs, especially Marianne, who was not only completely unused to the rigors of traveling but also to physical confinement of any sort. She had told no more than the simple truth when informing the marquess that she ran her grandfather’s farm, to which her calloused hands and sunburned skin gave mute testimony. The sight of the marquess taking advantage of a lull in the rain to have Mountain saddled gave fresh impetus to her seething resentment as she stared fixedly at the chaise with distaste before entering it. In all fairness she could not but sympathize with the marquess’ desire to ride, but an uncharitable emotion she had no difficulty in recognizing as envy caused her to take a jaundiced view of his action. Not that she had so far experienced the slightest desire for his company, but now she would bear the full brunt of their companion’s excessive civility for the seemingly eternal afternoon. Never had an indifferent countryside been more thoroughly discussed. Except for Jack Richmond the two women had no acquaintance in common, and here all Miss Twistleton’s sly questions and hints of a closer bond than friendship between Jack and Marianne were met with a blank stare from the latter which, had Miss Twistleton been better acquainted with Marianne’s upbringing and lifestyle, she would have known reflected genuine surprise. As it was she felt rebuffed and became stiffly correct and formal in her manner, but since this was not accompanied by a corresponding lessening in the volume of her chatter, Marianne could not be said to have benefitted by the change. Indeed by the time they reached the posting house where they would put up for the night, Marianne was so surfeited with a steady diet of “your ladyship” this and “your ladyship” that that she must needs clamp her teeth tightly together to prevent a scream of sheer frustration at this hateful form of address. When at long last the marquess assisted her to descend the steps of the chaise in the inn yard, she fixed him with such a fulminating eye that he looked momentarily taken aback. By the time the trio had entered the large reception hall, however, he had grasped the situation and was wearing a faintly amused expression that did nothing to mitigate Marianne’s sense of ill usage.
    Later, in the private dining parlor he had hired, their host exerted his not inconsiderable charm to entertain the ladies at dinner, but his efforts met with indifferent success. To be sure, Miss Twistleton was all