My Unfair Lady (27 page)

   Her head spun from everything she'd learned of him today, and she just couldn't piece together this man and the one she'd come to know.

The next morning Summer followed a silent Bernard down an overgrown road, her pups in her pocket and India on her shoulder, loving the way the trees crowded over their path and how wild the woods grew.

   Bernard took her to the outskirts of the village, to a collection of buildings where some were still just frameworks. She listened in admiration while Bernard explained about sheep shearing, and wool carding, and old-fashioned loom weaving, convinced that Byron's plan had a good chance of succeeding, but that he needed much more money invested in it.

   He didn't have near enough sheep for the number of empty looms set up, and now that he'd decided to cancel their business arrangement, how was he going to get the capital he needed? Summer decided she'd wire Pa; he was always looking for a good investment. And it had nothing to do with the idea that if Byron and Pa were in business together, she'd be able to keep tabs on how the duke was doing when she returned to New York. What did she care, anyway, when she'd be so busy with a new marriage to Monte?

   After a picnic lunch under a giant oak tree, she asked Bernard to take her to the Wilder home, remembering Cook's orders for her to deliver the sweets she'd baked for the little ones. It seemed Mr. Wilder had taken off to parts unknown and that the poor mother had all she could do to take care of eleven children.

   Their home didn't look large enough to accom modate two children, much less the horde she saw grouped in a circle in front of the door, but Summer still felt a twinge of envy. Chatto had been the closest thing she'd had to a sibling until Maria, and the loneli ness of her childhood made her long to be a part of such a large family. Monte had said he only wanted a few children, that even with a governess and a nanny, they could be an awful nuisance, and Summer hadn't thought much about it. But seeing this curly-headed, dirty-faced crew, she wondered what it'd be like to have a large family after all.

   She'd expected the children to be as fascinated by her pets as the rest of the villagers had, but they only gave her and India a quick glance before returning their attention back to something in the center of their circle.

"What is it, Bernard?" she asked the much taller man.

   A tall, red-haired youth managed to bellow louder than the others, drowning out Bernard's reply. "I'm tellin' you, bastard boy, to put the cat outta its misery!"

   Summer wiggled through the group of children just in time to catch the other boy's reply. He stood over a mangled piece of fur, hands fisted at his sides, blond hair and pale face even dirtier than the other children. "He's mine, James Wilder. And you're going to have to get past me in order to touch him."

   James took a step forward. He stood a good head taller than the other boy and had the soft beard of a young man. "I beat you up before, and I don't mind doin' it again."

   Bernard hadn't said a word, as if he felt it best for children to work out their own problems and wasn't about to start interfering now.

   Summer disagreed and inched toward the blond boy, trying to get a look at the animal that he stood so protectively over. The children started murmuring, "Fight, fight," and she could see the boy take a deep breath and brace himself for a blow.

   "What's wrong with the critter?" asked Summer, pointing at the bundle of fur.

   Startled pairs of eyes fixed on her, as if stunned to find her in their midst, and the redhead, who stood taller than Summer herself, drew back his arm. "Where'd you come from?"

   Summer knew what the young man meant, for she'd fox-walked into the middle of their group, and they'd been so intent on their prey they hadn't noticed her. But she grinned at him and purposely misunderstood. "America."

   The blond blinked his light blue eyes at her. Now, why did they seem so familiar?

   She heard Bernard give a cough of laughter, and while the group of children digested that information, she bent down to examine the bundle, India hanging on to her collar and tilting his head with a whine of sympathy. A tomcat, a tough one at that, with half an ear already missing and bald spots from scars of previous battles. Mercifully, it looked unconscious. Summer sucked in her breath as she unwrapped the makeshift bandage around the cat's back end. Both of its hind legs had been crushed. She looked up at the animal's protector. "What's your name?"

   The boy twisted his lips in another familiar gesture. "Didn't you hear what James called me?"

   She stared at him and shifted where she crouched. "My name's Summer Wine Lee."

   He gave a bark of laughter. "Your name's almost as stupid as mine. Lionel Plunk, ma'am, at your service."

   
This was too loco
, thought Summer. The boy didn't talk like the others; he had a cultured accent with the same disdainful twist to his words that Byron always used. And what had the redhead called him… bastard boy? Well, she had no time to ponder it now. The cat's legs had been fully crushed, so there wasn't any further loss of blood, but they'd have to fix him up soon if he had any chance of surviving.

   "Well, Lionel. Carry him back to the castle for me, and I'll see what I can do for him."

   James, unfortunately, had found his voice again. "There's nothin' you can do for them legs, and if you fix him up, how can he even walk? Like I already told bast… uh, Plunk, my lady, it would be more merciful just to kill it now." Although his tone had changed from arrogant bully to one of cajolery, as if patronizing the sentimental feelings of the weaker sex, his eyes still glittered with the knowledge that he was the superior person. That only his way of thinking could be the right one, because he'd proven it time and again with the strength of his fists. Summer had seen it before in many men, young and old.

   Her dander went up. Did he think because she was a woman, he could scare her? Maybe it was time this young man was taught a lesson in underestimating people. With one move she had her knife in her hand, the blade flashing in the sunshine. "Tell me, James, if I hacked off both your legs right now, would you consider it a mercy if I went ahead and let you die too?"

   India hissed at him from her shoulder, and that was the final impetus the children needed. The yard cleared of everyone but James, who backed up slowly, as if facing a wild boar, and then turned to follow the cloud of dust left by the rest of the pounding bare feet.

   Bernard coughed again. "Wasn't that a bit… extreme, Miss?"

   Summer sighed and slid her knife back in its sheath, while Lionel shivered beside her, apparently terrified by the madwoman but still refusing to abandon his pet. "I expect it was, but tarnation, he won't ever argue with me again now, will he?"

   "I rather expect not, Miss."

   The boy had picked up his cat and looked like he had every intention of following on the heels of the rest of the children.

   Summer spoke as fast as she could. "I have a three-legged dog named Lefty. Got his leg cut off by a cart's wheel, and he fixed up just fine." She grabbed the boy's ragged sleeve and began to tow him in the direction of the castle. "He hops around quite well; you'd never guess he wasn't born with three legs. Though he can't keep up with my other dog, Sweetie. But he's the size of a pony, and even I can't keep up with him half the time."

   She continued to talk all the way home, the boy listening with what appeared to be horrified fascination. "Had to leave them in New York, though, and only managed to bring Chi-chi along." She opened her pocket, and the dog's black nose peeked out, followed by the even-blacker one of the fox. "Oh, that one's not a dog. He's a fox that the duke helped me rescue."

   "The Duke… of Monchester?" asked Lionel.

   "Oh, none other."

   The boy's eyes flicked to the monkey on her shoulder.

   "Oh, he didn't come from America either. Maria and the duke rescued him in Paris."

   "My father helped to rescue a fox and a monkey?"

   Summer stumbled, something she rarely did, and looked up at Bernard for confirmation. No wonder the child had looked so familiar! Byron had a son. But why did he wear rags and run around without any supervision? Weren't children of the aristocracy supposed to be dressed in miniature adult clothes and learning lessons all day? That's what she'd heard, anyway. But it seemed that the child was allowed to run as wild as she had.

   They had reached the castle, and she scared Cook and Meg witless by charging into the kitchen and sweeping dishes from the table, motioning the boy to put the cat in the middle of the clean white cloth. She continued snapping out orders for boiling water, and clean bandages, and the tiniest, sharpest paring knife, along with needle and thread. Cook scurried about and did her bidding without a word.

   Bernard propped himself in a corner and folded his arms, his expression one of unsurprised admiration as he watched Summer and the boy bend over the animal on the table. Meg cowered beside him, content just to keep out of the way.

   "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Lionel asked as she thoroughly cleaned the animal's torso, then poured brandy on it for good measure.

   "Is there anyone else who can doctor the critter?"

   "There's a physician in Wallings, but even if I could get Hunter there, he won't doctor an animal."

   "Well, then, looks like you don't have any choice but to trust me, do you?"

   Lionel nodded and stared at the serrated knife in her hand. "I couldn't kill him, you know." His voice choked, and a grubby hand reached out to stroke the yellow-striped head of the cat. "He's my best friend."

   Summer's heart turned over in her chest, and her eyes met his, and they stared at each other for the longest time. She felt his kindred spirit. There'd been times when her only friends had been animals, when they were all that had stood between herself and loneliness.

   "Maybe it's better if you don't watch." As soon as she said the words, she knew he'd refuse, and quickly spoke again. "But then again, how will you help another critter unless you learn from what I do?"

   She started cutting with the knife, glanced at the boy when he cringed, shook himself, then set his lips in lines of determination. Summer copied his motions herself, for she'd learned what little she knew from Chatto, and then she and Maria had just done the best they could. It was true that they'd saved Lefty, but that dog's leg had already been severed from his body; they'd just stitched him up and prayed for the best.

   She'd never had to cut… She hoped she was doing the right thing.

   Sweat beaded on her forehead, and Cook wiped it away. She hadn't even been aware of the woman standing on the other side of her, and mumbled her thanks. She could hear Lionel swallow when she handed Cook the piece she'd cut away, and her fingers flew without thought as they cleaned and pinched and started to sew. Meg let out a stifled cry, holding on to her bandaged head as she flew out of the room.

   Summer could feel the boy jump beside her. "Tell me about Hunter," she ordered.

   The boy swallowed again. "He's the best mouser in the village, but still, when we met he was skinnier than a stick. Found him licking the fish bones I'd thrown away, and when I shared some of my catch with him, he started following me everywhere, helping me to flush birds and such."

   Summer started on the other leg. "Had me two coatis who learned to hunt with me too."

   "What are coatis?"

   "They're like dogs, but with long snouts and tails that stick straight up, like they're always surprised about something."

   "They don't have animals like that around here. Are you really from America?"

   Summer started to stitch again. "Haven't you met any Americans? There's plenty in London."

   "My father doesn't take me to the city. Is it true he helped you rescue animals?"

   "'Course it is. Why do you find that so hard to believe?"

   Cook quietly left the room to dispose of the pieces that Summer had handed her, and she silently thanked the woman for being so stoic. She hadn't expected it from the talkative woman and felt an even greater fondness for her. Bernard didn't say a word, actually seemed to be holding his breath while he listened to her and Lionel talk.

   The boy shrugged. "He doesn't like animals."

   Summer wrapped the cat's tiny stumps in clean strips of cloth and breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, all we can do is wait. Hunter's heartbeat is still strong, and if he makes it through the night, he should recover." She stepped over to the basin of water and washed her hands and face, trying to stop the tremor of reaction that started to take hold of her. Her words were said for the boy's benefit, for she didn't really think the poor critter would make it. The boy stood glued to his pet's side, and she knew he'd stay there the night.

   "Lionel."

   He looked at her with those startling blue eyes.

   "Your father only pretends to dislike animals. There is a difference, you know."

   He nodded, and she turned to leave the room, politely ignoring the tears that streaked down his freckled cheeks.