Page 29 of A Deal with the Earl (Necessary Arrangements 1)

Chapter 8

When Robert first saw Mary, he was speechless. Brainwashed by his grandmother’s speculations regarding her origins, he had expected to see an infant, not an adolescent girl. He didn’t know her age, but she looked at least twelve or thirteen. This would definitely exclude Julie’s parentage unless she gave birth to her when she was as young as eight years old. The second reaction was a more substantial, unbridled feeling. It was fury. The girl had obviously been mistreated. The clothes she wore, the way those two men were handling her, her dirty hair and thin physical appearance; he wouldn’t be surprised if she had been beaten and otherwise abused.

He saw the grief-stricken face of his wife and had an inexplicable urge to hug her and never let her go. The pain marring her features when the girl refused to go home with her, and her tear-stricken face of anguish would probably be etched into his brain forever.

Now, sitting across from him in the carriage, she was trying to coax her sister to talk to her to no avail. Mary theatrically looked anywhere but at her sister. Her chubby little hands, so at odds with her overall thin stature, were buried in her dirty gown, her nose in the air. Julie started talking to her in desperation, telling her how they’d traveled from London to get her, about the places they’d stopped, and the people they’d seen. Mary bent her head in curiosity once or twice, but she never once looked at her sister. Julie looked at him pleadingly, but Robert only spread his hands.

“Give her time,” he advised the only thing he could.

They traveled in silence the rest of the way to his estate. Mary had spoken only once or twice since leaving the asylum, mostly commenting on something outside the window. Now that she was sitting close to him, Robert took a better look at her. She had a rounded face, a small nose, and dry, cracked lips. Her eyes were set close together and had an interesting tilt to them. Overall, looking at her face, one could tell that something about her was different. When the girl spoke, she had a bite to her pronunciations to the point that some words were indecipherable. There was something different about her physical appearance, as if her arms were too long for her body but hands too small for her arms. She was not built the way her sister was, with her long-limbed grace and symmetrical features. He understood what Julie said when she had called her ‘different’ in Hampshire. Mary was definitely sound of mind, but she acted like a five-year-old rather than her actual age.

They arrived in Doncaster late that night. Mary was soundly dozing on his shoulder, snuggled up against his arm. Julie was looking out the dark window miserably, though he knew she couldn’t see anything. Robert hopped out of the carriage as they reached the Clydesdale estate and took Mary into his arms. She stirred, but didn’t rouse, and snuggled deeper into his chest. He let the groom help Julie out of the carriage, and they entered his country mansion.

He hadn’t been home for the entire season, and he’d missed the place immensely. Robert had grown up in Clydesdale Hall, although his father, bound by duty, spent most of his time tending to his dukedom in London. The memories of his lonely childhood overwhelmed him every time he stepped inside the house. He wished to have this place filled up with children and merry laughter, but looking at his wife, he wondered if that was indeed possible or if he’d end up here alone again.

The butler and housekeeper greeted them as they reached the staircase. Robert looked at Mrs. Post and nodded toward the sleeping child in his arms.

“We’d better prepare her a guest bedroom,” he said. “The room I asked to prepare will not do for her.”

“Right away, My Lord.” The woman curtsied and bounded up the stairs.

“What’s wrong with the other room?” his wife asked worriedly over his shoulder.

“It’s… smaller,” he said as he started up the stairs after the housekeeper. “I didn’t think to ask the age of the girl; somehow, I assumed she was much younger.”

“Why?” she asked in a thoughtful voice.

Robert shrugged noncommittally. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Let’s just get her to bed.”

“I think it’d be wiser if we wash her first,” Julie protested lightly.

“You are probably right, but she is so tired, I’d hate to wake her.”

They reached the guest room, and Robert put the child on the bed. He turned to walk away, but Julie stood looking at her sister’s sleeping frame.

“Shall I show you to your room?” he asked, looking back at her.

“Actually, I’d rather sleep close to her. I don’t want her to wake up alone.” Julie didn’t turn to look at him as she spoke, still staring at her sister.

“I’d say you need to rest as well, and you could also use a bath,” he added sardonically.

Julie turned to him at that, her brows raised. She saw his slight smile, and her features cleared.

“I don’t want her to wake up in a new place completely alone. But thank you.”

Robert nodded and started to walk away, but her next words stopped him in his tracks.

“No, Clydesdale, I mean it.”

He turned to her over his shoulder.

“Everything that happened today—” Her voice broke slightly before she continued. “I—thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He sent her a brief nod and walked away.

* * *

The next day began with a bang, or rather, with a scream. The soul-wrenching cry penetrated the walls of his suite. Robert shot up from the bed, hastily threw on his dressing robe, and ran in the direction of the sound. What he found was as comic as it was tragic. The door to Mary’s room was thrown open; inside stood the bath filled with hot water, but most of it was splashed around the room. Julie stood in the middle of it all, drenched as if she had been doused with a bucket. On the other hand, Mary was actively trying to wrench away from the housekeeper and the young maid who was assigned to Julie as her lady’s maid.

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