Trondelaine Castle by April Lynn Kihlstrom Page A

things to attend to.”
    “Of course.” The reply was absentminded.
    With a wry smile, Wendy got to her feet. As quietly
as she could, she left the room. When she was gone,
Lord Richard closed the library doors and returned to
the chair by the chess table. He sipped his tea slowly,
thoughtfully.
    It was almost time to go to the sitting room. Wendy
stood before the mirror, feeling quite satisfied. Her hair
was tied back and up into cascading curls with a green velvet ribbon. As always, Wendy was thankful for hair
that curled by itself. The green velvet gown fitted her
figure closely until the waist where it began to flare as it
fell softly to her ankles. She bit her lip over the sandals,
but there was nothing to do about them. With a smile,
she turned and left her room.

    Lord Richard was seated when she entered the
James Room, but rose immediately. He did not
succeed in hiding his surprise. The dress gave Wendy a
new sense of poise.
    “Good evening, Lord Richard,” she said easily.
    “Good evening. A glass of sherry?”
    “Yes, please.” As he handed her the glass, Wendy
could not resist adding impishly, “I trust your digestion
will not suffer from my appearance this evening.”
    He sat on the couch beside her. “Of course not,” he
replied coolly. “The dress has always been one of my
favorites. Though my mother would have worn
emeralds with it.”
    “Hardly necessary, I should think,” she answered
sweetly.
    He shrugged with a smile. They both turned as
Charles came to announce dinner. The servant’s eyes,
as they rested on Wendy, registered distinct approval.
Wendy was amused.
    As she started forward, she indicated her crutches.
“Not very formal, I’m afriad.”
    Lord Richard resisted the impulse to tug one of her
curls. Instead, he followed quietly. Charles was
thoughtful. It was not so easy to classify the young
person, but he began to feel she might, after all, be a
young lady. One could not understand, however, Lord
Richard’s animosity toward her. But then, one was
only a servant and milord was not likely to share his
confidences with one. Quietly, Charles began to supervise the dinner. It was one of cook’s better efforts.
Cook was rather excited. It was rare for Lord Richard
to be home on a weekday.

    Later, as Wendy prepared for bed, she considered
the evening. It had been an unusually comfortable one.
To her surprise, Lord Richard had been very sparing of
his sarcasm. She wondered, not for the first time, what
he was really like. There had been only one awkward
moment. Lord Richard had been questioning her
about her British family.
    “I consider myself not to have any!” she had said.
And, reluctantly, when he raised his eyebrows, she had
explained, “My mother’s family was quite upset when
she married my father. Because he was an American
and a nobody, just out of college. Known in his field,
but without any sort of background. So they disowned
her.”
    Lord Richard had been silent for several moments.
Then he had said slowly, “Didn’t your mother ever try
again, later, to write to her family?”
    “In the first few years, yes. The letters were always
returned unopened.”
    “Her brothers? Sisters? Were they unyielding also?”
    “There was only one brother. He went to see my
father when the engagement was first announced.
Tried to buy off my father. When my father refused, he
said a lot of very nasty things. Oh, my mother’s family
was quite united!”
    When next he had spoken, Lord Richard had asked
her about something entirely different. But she had felt
he was still thinking about her mother.
    She shrugged now. After all, it didn’t matter. He was
British. One couldn’t expect him to sympathize with
her mother. He’d have felt much more on the family’s side. At least he had not said so aloud. And he had, for
the most part that evening, been quite pleasant. With a
sigh, she dismissed the matter and picked out a book