Free Lord Satan by Judith Laik Page A

gazing up at his callers reinforced
the impression of vitality held in check. He wore a dressing robe of deep
burgundy Chinese brocade, and a quilt covered him from chest down. Libbetty
tilted her head to better appreciate the romantic picture he presented—the
wounded hero.
    Lord Neil’s resonant voice came from behind the girls.
“These are the two angels of mercy I told you about, Trevor, come to relieve
your tedium.”
    The marquess flushed. “Dash it all, Uncle Neil, I didn’t
mean to complain.”
    In a gentler tone, the older man replied, “I know you did
not, halfling. If you were complaining, I would not be obliged to succor you.
May I present Miss Bishop, the vicar’s daughter, and Miss Hogwood, the daughter
of Squire Hogwood and his lady.”
    Lord Cauldreigh grinned, engagingly boyish. “This is
famous. You don’t know what a dead bore it is lying in bed day after day for
weeks.” He glanced up, half-apologetic, at his uncle, and went on, “Won’t you
stay awhile and talk to me?” He stared at the chairs, and Lord Neil, with an
exaggerated sigh, pulled them closer.
    Edwina sat down without further prompting. Libbetty watched
with misgiving the expression on her friend’s shining face. The older girl
already seemed halfway to an infatuation with the marquess.
    “I’ll leave you young folks to become acquainted. I’ll send
someone in with refreshments.” With a bow, Lord Neil left.
    The withdrawal of his magnetic presence left a void in the
room. Libbetty resented his dismissive tone. He as much as said, “I’ll leave
you children to play.”
    An awkward silence fell. Now that Edwina had attained her
object of meeting the marquess, she had nothing to say. She gazed at Lord
Cauldreigh, who looked at each girl in turn, as if he would fall in love with
both.
    Since the others seemed unlikely to take a hand in easing
the awkwardness, Libbetty said, “You appear much improved in health since we
saw you a few weeks ago, Lord Cauldreigh.”
    “Yes, I was in bad case then. But now my cursed—er, I mean,
my leg has almost healed, and my fever has entirely gone. That fever hung on
all through the fall last year, kept me from being at full strength through the
campaign. Nearly did me in during the retreat to Corunna.
    “Then I took the bullet in the leg in the battle. Nearly
crushed my thighbone. I was lucky not to lose the leg. Doctors still say I
may have a limp for the rest of my life, but I won’t, you may be sure. I must
go back to the Peninsula.
    “After I was wounded the fever took such a hold on me, they
thought for sure I was done for. I fooled them all, though. It’s been
confoundedly hard, I’ll tell you, for someone who’s used to activity.”
    “Oh, yes, I can imagine. But now that you may have callers,
perhaps the time may pass more pleasantly.” Libbetty paused to allow Edwina a
chance. She still seemed tongue-tied, however.
    Libbetty went on, “Once you have fully recovered, you may
inspect your estate and see to matters here. Your properties have been much
neglected in your absence.”
    “Surely not. Reynolds is an excellent steward.”
    “In no way do I mean to disparage him, your lordship. But
the owner of a property rather than his agent must make some decisions, and Mr.
Reynolds has a fear of spending your money for repairs.” She stopped,
remembering the accident the marquess had suffered because of the dilapidated
state of The Castle, and afraid she had offended him by seeming to refer to it.
    However a bored expression crossed his face. “Uncle Neil
has all that in hand. I’ve no intention of wasting my time on business while
I’m on leave.”
    Libbetty was surprised at the marquess’s casual attitude
toward his properties, but on sure ground, since she had witnessed the decay in
her surroundings firsthand, and also the neglect was a topic that had caused
her father to frequently rail about aristocratic disdain for the common man.
    She didn’t care now about giving