The Prodigal Daughter Read online

  He had not even thought about scars. His face drained of color, dizziness again assaulting him.

  “Put your head down,” she ordered, pushing it toward his knees. “I should not have mentioned it. You’ve had enough shocks for one night.”

  “You must be a witch. How did you drag me into this?”

  “You dragged yourself in, your grace. It is good for even the highest to reduce themselves to being human once in a while. And don’t feel guilty over your reaction. It is nearly universal the first time.”

  The traumatic events of the evening had left him floating in a dream – the mad sort where people said and did mad things, and events raced illogically from crisis to crisis. Or was it a dream? The witch had said something about being human.

  “Is that why you coerced me into helping with this?” he asked as she smeared salve on his cuts. “Were you trying to bring the aristocrat to his knees?”

  “Not really,” she lied. “We needed the help, you needed something to occupy your time until Dr. Matthews could set your arm, and my other patients needed to be spared a temper tantrum.”

  “You make me sound like an infant,” he growled.

  “Think about it, your grace,” she suggested. “I’ve got work to do.”

  “Poor Fitch,” he murmured again as she disappeared, leaving him in a blood-stained stall with only a mangled leg for company.

  * * * *

  Amanda thought about the Duke of Norwood as she assisted Matthews. It was the only way she could keep other memories from crowding too close. If her nightmare had cracked the door leading to the past, the surgery and Matthews’s presence threatened to burst it wide open.

  There was something about the duke that piqued her curiosity. Despite the hauteur that must be expected from so lofty a lord, she sensed a softness underneath, a vulnerability that she had not expected to find there. Had she misjudged him? Perhaps his initial tirade had been a reaction to the fire rather than his usual demeanor. She really should not have pushed him to help. The sight was bad enough for anyone unprepared, but he had already suffered other shocks while escaping the blaze. That he had coped as well as he had indicated a strong character. She owed him an apology.

  In retrospect, her own behavior had been unconscionable, reverting to the deliberate perversity she thought she had shed along with her childhood. Now she knew that nothing had changed. The trigger had merely been missing – that icy arrogance she so heartily despised. The realization did not bode well for her errand.

  Dawn finally broke across the eastern sky. The worst injuries had been treated. Those still fighting the waning blaze bore only minor burns.

  A yard of tin sounded as another London-bound mail coach approached this busiest of coaching inns. Several stages and private carriages were already being harnessed for departure. Horses whinnied. Shouts arose as people scrambled for possessions.

  Taking leave of the doctor, Amanda picked up her valise and boarded her stage.

  Chapter Two

  Amanda jumped down from the wagon and thanked Mr. Wilson for the ride. Nervous terror almost paralyzed her. Somehow, her imagination had left off at this moment, never considering the actual confrontation with her father. And she had to admit to cowardice. Jack would have been disappointed, but there it was.

  Sighing, she turned down the oak-shaded lane that led to the dower house. If anyone would welcome her back, it would be her grandmother.

  Tears stung her eyes at the familiar sights and sounds. The double-arched stone bridge that carried the main drive across the stream was beautifully framed by a pair of trees, the ancient willow still shading its far end. Old Gordy whistled his dog into action, the sound immediately followed by bleating as a brown blur chased dots of white over a distant hillside. The creak of the wheel wove through the musical trickle of water as she neared the ancient mill, precariously perched on the banks of the stream. Even the heights that marked the moor brought a lump to her throat. Oh, how often she had dreamed of escaping that sight, wishing for adventure, for excitement, for the least glimpse of something beyond this valley. And she had found it. Her life had not been dull since she left. Nor had she suffered any regrets. Not once had she wished to return. So why was she suddenly overwhelmed by this feeling of coming home? Thornridge Court had never been home.

  Angrily, she repressed her thoughts, afraid of becoming maudlin. The last thing she needed was to face her grandmother while thinking of the past. Both marriage and age now left her free. The family could control her life only if she allowed it. Pigs would fly first. This was no sentimental journey, but a business trip. She would say her piece, listen to her father’s response, and then leave. But she must remain calm. Anger would defeat her purpose.

  The lane topped a rise, and she could see the dower house. It was in perfect condition, of course. Every landowner had a duty to maintain his possessions, and if there was one thing all Sternes understood, it was duty. Only Amanda had failed to learn that lesson.

  She shook away the memories. Details of the house became clear as she moved closer. The freshly pointed stone was bare of ivy, though new vines already poked up near the foundation. Blinking at this first sign of change, she looked around for others. Instead of the familiar flower beds with their rigidly geometric blocks of color, the herbaceous border now enclosed a riotous collection of miscellaneous blooms. The topiary animals that had gazed across the stream for a century were gone, as was the ancient yew that had always marked the gate. The house suddenly appeared alien, the home of a stranger. Nine years was a long time.

  Forcing her feet to continue, Amanda drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a controlled sigh as she tried to relax. There was no reason to be afraid. The worst that could happen was being turned away, and that would leave her situation unchanged. She would survive. If she could not face this least fearsome of her relatives, she might as well retreat to town.

  I need some of your courage, Jack, she mouthed silently. And it was there.

  Buck up, my dear. You know that courage mounteth with the occasion, his voice whispered in her ear. Remember Badajoz....

  Her back stiffened.

  The butler was new. For a moment she panicked, terrified that the house was now occupied by strangers, or worse. But that was impossible, she reminded herself as she clutched at her fraying composure. She would have heard of her father’s demise. And Englewood had spent the Season in town.

  “Is Lady Thorne at home?” she asked.

  “I will see..” The butler’s eyes flicked disparagingly over her nondescript black gown.

  “Tell her that Lady Amanda would like a few words with her,” she ordered in a voice she had never before employed, even when living at the Court.

  He motioned her to a chair in the foyer and left. She bit her lip, pushing the snub aside. It was no more than she deserved. At the very least her father would have disowned her. Seeking her grandmother’s home first was a deliberate ploy to circumvent whatever standing orders he would have issued regarding her. Why had she come? Surely her situation was not so bad that she must grovel at the one place she had sworn to never again visit.

  Questions chased themselves around her head, but the answers were as elusive as ever. If only Jack had not died. If only she had been able to support herself. If only Jessie had not decided to remarry. If only, if only, if only.... Had she been wrong to try to establish herself in London? Perhaps some other town would have been better. Bath? York? Birmingham? Any one of them would have required less money to live decently. She would not have had to work as hard to scrape out her share of the expenses. But would she have found as many students in those places? Could she have charged the same fees? The questions never ceased. The answers were unavailable. She had made her choices. It was too late to repine.

  The butler returned, his face as impassive as before, but his eyes seemed slightly warmer. It gave her hope.

  “Follow me, my lady,” he intoned.

  The drawing room was exactly
as she remembered it. French furniture dating to the middle of the last century was arranged on a beautifully worked Axminster carpet. Rich red silk adorned the walls. Gold and scarlet draperies had already been closed as the sun dipped below the horizon.

  The lady sitting regally on the settee had not changed either. Her height was hard to judge, but Amanda knew she was tall, taller even than herself. Not a flicker of emotion showed on Lady Thorne’s face or warmed her pale blue eyes. Snowy hair peeped from under a lacy cap, but the effect was icy. Her spare frame was as straight as ever. As usual, she held a piece of exquisite needlework in her lap. As a child, Amanda had often wondered how someone so cold could produce such beauty. It still seemed incongruous.

  “Amanda..” She spoke the single word without inflection.

  “Grandmama..” Amanda returned the greeting the same way.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I must speak with Father and wondered what reception to expect.”

  “A needless question, as you must know.”

  “I presume he disowned me..” Amanda still stood just inside the door of the drawing room. There had been no invitation to sit. But her demeanor in no way hinted that she was poised for flight. She returned her grandmother’s stare unflinchingly.

  “Of course. And repudiated all connection. Few people even remember your existence.”

  Amanda suppressed a shudder. She had expected no better. “But he remains a slave to duty,” she commented as if mentioning that the sun rose in the east.

  Lady Thorne nodded.

  “Then I will see him..” She turned to leave.

  “Sit down, Amanda,” commanded her ladyship.

  Amanda raised her brows in question.

  “I believe the shock has receded enough that I can actually take in the fact that you are here. I have prayed for you every day since you left, my dear. Thank God you are safe..” Her voice broke.

  Tears were suddenly streaming down Amanda’s face. She stumbled forward to join her grandmother on the settee. For the first time in her life, Lady Thorne pulled her into her arms and wept.

  * * * *

  “You are in mourning?” her ladyship asked at last, noting the nondescript black gown, the thin figure, and the signs of hardship around Amanda’s eyes.

  “Jack died at Waterloo..” Her voice cracked on the name. The unexpected outburst of emotion had penetrated some of the armor that normally protected her heart from pain.

  “You loved him, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “You look poorly, and that dress is hardly worthy of a servant.”

  “True, it is not one of my better gowns..” But it had served its purpose. Traveling on the stage, she had not wished to draw attention, though if she were honest, none of her blacks were much better.

  “Are you ailing? You seem thin.”

  “Do not upset yourself, Grandmama. I suffered a rather nasty chill last winter, but I am completely recovered.”

  “What is that on your skirt?”

  Amanda looked down. She had forgotten, not that she could have done anything about it. “Blood.”

  “What?”

  “The inn I stayed at last night burned down. I was helping the injured. One of them needed to have his leg removed..” She shrugged.

  Lady Thorne blanched. “Why was a well-bred young lady dabbling with such things?”

  Amanda almost laughed. “Grandmama, I am no longer young. I was married for eight years and followed the drum the entire time. There is little I have not seen. I often worked with the surgeons, especially after Waterloo.”

  “Lady Amanda should be above such things..” Hauteur filled her voice.

  “I have not used that title from the time I left home until speaking to your butler just now. It has no place in the life I have chosen. I am Mrs. Morrison, widow of a soldier.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Do not think that I have come back to stay, Grandmama,” warned Amanda. “I need to speak with my father. Then I will return to London. It is useless to push me into a mold I cannot fit. Besides, unless he has changed beyond all recognition, the Marquess of Thorne will never allow Lady Amanda to enter society.”

  Lady Thorne pursed her lips in thought. “I never approved of the Sterne character,” she finally admitted. “But I was powerless to change it. Very well. But at least promise me that you will keep in touch. I wish you had done so earlier.”

  “I dared not,” admitted Amanda. “Father could have caused trouble for Jack with his superiors. I hoped that he would either bid me good riddance or be unable to trace us. That is why I was so vague.”

  “I do not know how hard he pursued you,” said her grandmother. “But there were so many young men who left to join the military at that time that he let it go in the end.”

  Amanda smiled. “Good. Jack was not one of them, though I implied such in my note.”

  Lady Thorne widened her eyes in surprise, but Amanda was not disposed to discuss her marriage further.

  “May I change into something better than this old gown before I go to see my father?”

  “It would be inadvisable to call tonight,” warned Lady Thorne. “He is hosting a house party and is doubtless at dinner. The gentlemen are riding early tomorrow. Perhaps you can see him when he returns.”

  Amanda sighed. “Very well. Is Hudgens still there?” The butler was one of the few servants who had supported her, though never openly.

  “He retired two years ago, shortly before Lady Thorne died.”

  Her head shot up at that news. “So he is alone again?”

  “And will remain so. Everyone is home just now except Englewood, who went to Brighton for the summer.”

  A frown creased Amanda’s brow. Turning the topic, she asked, “What is the house party?”

  “Emily made her bows this spring, attracting a great deal of attention, as was inevitable. Her breeding and dowry were unmatched, and her looks are beyond passable. Her most eligible suitor is due to arrive today. Thorne expects an offer for her hand.”

  “I see. So the house is full of young men and women. He will not keep me waiting for an answer then. It would never do to expose his guests to my undutiful influence.”

  “Just so.”

  Amanda accepted her grandmother’s offer of room for the night but would not commit herself beyond the morrow. They dined in style, something Amanda had not done since Brussels. But she did not mention it. In fact, she spoke little of her marriage or her life since leaving home, and not at all of her errand.

  * * * *

  The Thornridge Court butler glanced at the note she carried and frowned. It was from Lady Thorne.

  “Follow me, ma’am,” he ordered, a hint of reluctance in his wooden voice.

  Amanda tried to ignore her surroundings as they traced their way to the library. Little had changed in nine years. The Court had always been an austere showcase rather than a home. Suits of armor lined the marble hall; the main drawing room was expensively ornate, but cold; the formal dining room remained as dark and forbidding as always. Even the morning room they had just passed felt cheerless. Thorne’s unyielding character had imprinted so firmly on the house that she doubted anyone would ever be happy there.

  But the library.... She almost quavered when the butler showed her in and closed the door. The room was empty of all living creatures save herself, but ghosts pressed around her, leaving the air hot with anger and hatred and rebellion. All hers, of course. Thorne considered any show of emotion to be beneath his dignity. Time rolled back to the last time she had seen this room....

  She had obeyed his summons. One did not defy the Marquess of Thorne no matter how much one wanted to. At least not to his face. What had she done now? she wondered as she approached the library. It was his favorite room and the one in which he always meted out discipline. That nearly all punishment landed on her was too old a truth to even register. Was it her latest visit to Granny Gossich? The woman was the area healer. She had also
been Amanda’s only friend for many years, and her teacher. Much of her knowledge of herbs had been learned from Granny. And it was through Granny that she had met Jack.

  The older Amanda shook her head, trying to dislodge the memories. Her position would be weakened if she succumbed to the anger of their last confrontation. But the library was too oppressive, her nine-year-old fury too intense. She could not stop the images from parading before her eyes or the voices from echoing mockingly in her ears.

  “It is time you wed,” Thorne had announced once the door closed.

  The seventeen-year-old Amanda tingled with anticipation. Was she really to go to London at last? She had never traveled farther than Middleford, the market town only a few miles from the Court, but she longed to see more of the world, to meet ladies and gentlemen of her own station. But of course, Thorne did not have that in mind. She should have known better than to hope. His next words shattered the dream.

  “I cannot chance you mocking your breeding by misbehaving in town,” he announced coldly. That had been a continuing complaint since her birth. Her conduct was inconsistent with her exalted position in society – lacking dignity, lacking propriety, and above all, lacking the condescending devotion to duty that formed the mainstay of Thorne’s life. “You will wed Mr. Anthony Fontbury next week. The settlements are already signed.”

  “No!” Her scream of anguish reverberated from the walls. She knew better than to counter him, of course, but this was too much. “You cannot do this to me! Even you cannot be that cruel. He is hateful! I won’t do it. I won’t!”

  “Stop this!” A hard hand smashed across her face, bringing her back to the reality of the library. “I have had enough of your intransigence. You are a disgrace to the family. God knows I have tried hard enough to teach you proper conduct, but you refuse to learn. You are a child of the devil, right enough. Fontbury has the sense to keep you from embarrassing us all in public.”