Susan Krinard - Lord of the Beasts

“She cannot remain with you at Stenwater Farm,” Mrs. Hardcastle interrupted. “Surely you understand that an unattached and unchaperoned young woman cannot share residence with a bachelor unless she is prepared to sacrifice her reputation.”

Donal flinched. “I am aware that your society is unforgiving of the smallest breach of its nonsensical rules,” he said, “but surely Ivy has already put herself beyond the pale …”

“Not at all.” Mrs. Hardcastle maneuvered herself so that Donal could not avoid her eyes. “The only people who might recognize her from London are you, myself, my cousin and Viscount Inglesham. When she is decently clothed and in an appropriate environment …” She took a deep breath. “Dr. Fleming, what Ivy requires above all else is loving care that includes firm discipline and thorough instruction in the skills and comportment that will secure her future. I believe that I can provide that care.”

Donal heard her words with dawning comprehension and bitter realization. “You?” he said. “You wish to take Ivy into your home?”

“Yes.” She clasped her hands at her waist almost like a supplicant, but Donal wasn’t fooled. “I have the resources to give her what she needs at Edgecott. She will have more than adequate chaperonage there, as well as congenial surroundings and pleasant country society.”

Donal strode out of the byre, scarcely waiting to see if Mrs. Hardcastle followed. “Has Ivy agreed to this … proposal?” he asked.

“I have not told her,” she said behind him. “I knew I must speak with you first.”

He turned on her, nearly treading on the toes of her sensible half-boots. “So my opinion is still of some value, madame?”

“Naturally, since it was you who saved her.”

“But I am not fit to keep her.”

Her nostrils flared with annoyance. “Dr. Fleming, I think you would find your free bachelor’s life, as well as Ivy’s reputation, much compromised if she were to stay.”

“But your life will not in the least be affected.”

“I can provide you with any number of references, Doctor, if you require them. I do not believe you will find any cause to object. I have had considerable experience in seeing to the welfare of the people of our village. I am accustomed to having dependents—”

“Perhaps you consider Ivy another addition to your menagerie.”

She flushed, and her eyes struck his like hammers on an anvil. “You may regard animals as people, but I most assuredly do not subscribe to the reverse view.”

“Humans would be far better off if they recognized their kinship to animals,” he retorted. “What if Ivy does not agree to your scheme?”

“I am confident that Ivy and I have established a certain rapport,” she said stiffly. “If you place no obstacles in her path … if you encourage her to recognize the benefits she will enjoy at Edgecott, I am sure she will be reasonable.”

Reasonable . Donal clenched his jaw. “And what benefits do you gain by this, madame? What payment do you expect for your selfless generosity?” Before she could reply, he rushed on. “Is this all a convenient ploy to acquire my services for your private zoological gardens?”

“What?”

“Your interest in Ivy is most timely,” he said, refusing to relent before the shock in her eyes. “You must know that she finds it difficult to trust anyone, and she’ll never go with you unless I accompany her.”

Mrs. Hardcastle’s small fist clenched, and Donal entertained the absurd image of the woman raising that fist to strike him in the jaw. She was certainly angry enough to attempt it; her usual air of cool self-possession had deserted her, and a tigress crouched behind her outraged stare.

“How poorly you must think of your fellow men and women if you ascribe such motives to me,” she said. “I require nothing of you but your permission to help a young person in need.”

For all his previous certainty of her ulterior motives, Donal was the first to look away. His breath came quickly, but not out of anger; his senses had turned traitor, making him painfully aware of the woman’s body beneath the stout cage of Mrs. Hardcastle’s corset. He could almost taste her scent, a subtle blending of soap, lavender and warm skin. And the blaze of her temper only ignited the long-banked fire he had worked so hard to extinguish.

She brought out the worst in him, the very strength and stubbornness of her character provoking his passions as no other human had done in many years. He should not find her in the least attractive, yet he did. And it was all because of the tigress in her eyes.

God knew that he should do anything but allow himself to be drawn more deeply into Mrs. Hardcastle’s sphere of comfortable, self-satisfied English society. But she had spoken no less than the truth where Ivy was concerned. And if he were honest with himself, he would admit that the lady had offered him a reasonable alternative to surrendering his dreams.

All he need do was spend a few weeks in Gloucestershire to see Ivy well established in her new home. And then, once he had completed the arrangements for Stenwater Farm—and made Tod understand why he must leave England—he would book his passage from Liverpool and be on his way.

He eased the tension from his shoulders and essayed a smile. “What is your name?” he asked.

Mrs. Hardcastle had clearly expected another round of sparring, and his mild question took her aback. “I … beg your pardon?” she stammered.

“Your given name. Your Christian name.”

She perched on the edge of indignation, but she must have recognized that such a minor breach of etiquette was a small enough price to pay for peace between them.

“Cordelia,” she said.

“Cordelia,” he repeated. “King Lear’s loyal daughter.”

“You know your Shakespeare, Dr. Fleming.”

“Donal,” he said. “My name is Donal.”

“Irish, I believe?”

“I spent my early childhood in Ireland.”

The wariness in her eyes gave way to curiosity. “Is Fleming also Irish?”

“English,” he said. “My parents live in Westmorland.”

“I have heard the Lakes are very beautiful.”

“Yes.” He glanced over her head toward the road, searching for a change of subject. “Where is your cousin? She might wish to join us for luncheon, if simple fare meets with your approval.”

Cordelia touched her lips. “Oh, dear. I did not intend to leave Theodora alone in the carriage so long. I shall go at once and fetch her …”

“That will not be necessary.” Donal closed his eyes, picked out the carriage horses’ minds from among the other equines in the vicinity, and sent them a brief message. “I believe they are already on their way.”

“But how could you know that?”

“Any good doctor—even an animal doctor—must rely on instinct as well as science,” he said. He whistled, and his dogs came to him, prancing with delight at the newfound goodwill they sensed between him and his visitor. Cordelia gamely patted a few bobbing heads, but Donal discouraged them from licking her hands or leaping up on her full skirts, and they raced off again to find Ivy.

“I expect Benjamin to arrive any moment with fresh bread and cheese,” Donal said. “When Ivy returns, allow me to speak to her alone.”

“Then you no longer have any objections to my proposal?” Cordelia asked.

“Not if Ivy is willing to try.”

Cordelia quickly looked away, and once more Donal caught a glimpse of the vulnerability he had seen after she had spoken with Ivy. “Thank you, Dr. Fleming,” she said, her voice not entirely steady. “You shall not regret it.”

“IT WILL ONLY BE for a few weeks, Tod,” Donal said, crouching beside him in the loft of the byre. “Mrs. Hardcastle—the lady I met in London—wishes to give Ivy a permanent home. I know you’ve never had the opportunity to know her, but this may be her best opportunity for happiness.”