Wizards Daughter

quickly, perhaps more surprised that I did not speak with you first, sir. I apologize for that, but when a man is faced with his mate, the passage of time seems irrelevant. I wished to wait to speak to you, sir, to allow you more time to get to know me, to perhaps judge me as acceptable, but Rosalind has changed the game.

'I fear I must say it-she isn't being noble, she is being a knot-head, as a recent acquaintance of mine remarked. There is no one at this table who believes she is not worthy of me, that is, not worthy to be a peer's wife. Otherwise, I daresay Mr. Ryder Sherbrooke would not have made her his legai ward and brought her to London for her season. Am I correct, sir?'

Ryder was betwixt and between. He had to hand it to Nicholas Vail, he'd pinned him very nicely. He nodded, nothing else to do, his eyes never leaving Rosalind 's face, now flushed because-why? Because Nicholas hadn't folded his tent, but rather addressed the matter head on and with a great deal of skill? Ryder said slowly, unconsciously mangling a dinner roll in his hand, 'Yes, we firmly believe she is wellborn. Actually, we have had no doubts from the time she finally opened her mouth and spoke, six months after I found her. However, Nicholas, we have been unable to locate her parents, or any relatives, for that matter. And we gave up because, honestly, someone had indeed tried to murder a child, and we feared if we found her parents, she would still be in danger.

'Even today, ten years later, who is to say the motives for this deed aren't still valid in this person's mind? No, we have kept quiet and we will continue to keep all our inquiries to ourselves. She will continue to be Rosalind de La Fontaine until she regains her memory, something our physician doubts will happen, given that she's remembered nothing at all over the years.'

Douglas focused his dark eyes on Nicholas Vail's face. 'Understand, my lord, we are her family now and we will keep her safe.'

'As will I,' Nicholas said. 'I swear it to all of you. No one will harm her in my care.'

Rosalind leaned toward Nicholas. 'Listen to me, Nicholas Vail. I am no more real than Shakespeare's Rosalind. I found my name in As You Like It, but I had preferred Ganymede-you remember, Rosalind disguised herself as a shepherd and called herself Ganymede-since I was living a sort of disguise myself, but Uncle Ryder and Aunt Sophie felt the name was perhaps a bit too unconventional. You must realize I could be the descendant of Attila the Hun or Ivan the Terrible, an alarming thought, don't you agree?'

Sophie ignored her. 'When you began speaking, Rosalind, your English was clearly that of a well-bred young English girl and we knew that you were wellborn. Your Italian was equally good, perhaps the result of an Italian nanny or an Italian parent.

'It was obvious there were evil persons in your background, evil persons who saw you as some sort of threat and acted on it. That is all we know for sure. Please don't embroider yourself into the Devil's spawn, else I must consider boxing your ears.'

Ryder said, 'My love, remember some of the pranks Rosalind pulled the children into in her younger years?'

Sophie nodded. 'Yes, you're right. Upon reflection, perhaps the Devil's spawn might apply.'

There was a spot of laughter, but not much. Ryder continued, 'And your singing voice, my dear girl-the voice teacher we brought in to instruct you said you had received excellent instruction for at least the previous two years. To be honest here, I do not wish to know who you really are because I would fear for you. I want you safe. Naturally we discussed fully the chance we were taking with your safety bringing you to London for a season. Who's to say someone wouldn't recognize you? I will admit that sometimes I feel a certain foreboding about it, but no matter. Now, unless you remember someday, you will remain Rosalind. We are your family and we love you.'

16

After dinner, Nicholas steered Rosalind to the music room, hoping for a bit of privacy. She eyed him a moment before saying, 'I used to spin stories about who my parents were- the Czar and Czarina of Russia or dashing pirates in the Ca-ribbean. In each scenario there was a wicked witch who was afraid of my precocious self and yet jealous of my immense fairness of form and face.'

'Excuse me a moment, Rosalind. You say your mother Was also a pirate?'

'Oh, yes, and she would wield her cutlass and wear a white shirt with flowing sleeves. Boots to her knees, of course. She and my father were the terror of the Caribbean. Yes, yes, I realize the odds of my speaking wonderful English are slim given that particular set of parents.'

'No Italian counts in your scenarios?'

She frowned. 'No, I've always shied away from anything Italian. Now that I think of it, that's odd, isn't it?'

Nicholas opened his mouth to reply, but closed it when he heard the countess's voice coming toward them. The private conversation he'd hoped for was not to be.

'Ah, dearest,' Alexandra said, beaming a bright smile on the two of them, 'how perfect to find you here in the music room. We have all decided to beg you to sing for us.' The rest of the party followed her in.

Rosalind wanted to grab Nicholas and haul him away to some nice private nook or cranny in this immense house. At the same time she also wanted to kick him out the front door. She wanted to smack him for handling her family with such finesse and kiss him stupid that he'd so neatly cornered her.

'That would be quite nice,' Nicholas said. 'Do sit down at the pianoforte and sing me a love song. Perhaps one of the love songs sung by the Dragons of the Sallas Pond.'

'Dragons of what?' Sophie asked.

Nicholas said calmly, 'It's the name of beings in the Rules of the Pale, the book Grayson bought at the fair in Hyde Park.'

Rosalind saw questions were ready to burst out of Aunt Sophie's mouth, questions she didn't want to address, so she quickly ran her fingers over the keys. She had intended to sing something Scottish and amusing, for her Scottish accent was quite decent, but what came out of her mouth was the song that had lived deep within her for as long as she could remember, never distant from her thoughts, a song she didn't understand, a song that made her feel both tranquil and unsettled at the same time. Of course she didn't remember how she had come to learn this particular song, but she knew it was from before. It was odd, but it felt as if it were drawn out of her, no choice for her at all. She sang:

I dream of beauty and sightless night

I dream of strength and fevered might

I dream I'm not alone again

But I know of his death and her grievous sin.

Sophie said quietly, 'Every time I hear you sing that song, Rosalind, it makes me want to weep. Nicholas, if you did not know, those were the first words Rosalind spoke when she finally opened her mouth six months after Ryder found her.'

'She didn't exactly say them,' Ryder said, 'she rather hummed them, not quite a song, but almost.'

Nicholas said, 'You have no memories from before you were eight years old, but this song was inside you. The words are curious. His death-whose death? And her -who is she? And what was her grievous sin? It seems to me the four lines are filled with clues about who and what you were, Rosalind.'

Douglas nodded to the young man. 'Yes, that is what we have all thought, but Rosalind has no memory at all of what the words could mean.'

Rosalind shied away from thinking about the strange words. She began playing a Scottish reel, a clever tale about a bonnie lass who loved to dance for the prince of the faeries. Everyone tapped their toes on the pale blue and cream Aubus- son carpet

When Rosalind walked Nicholas to the front door after a lovely tea an hour later, Willicombe clearing his throat discreetly not six feet behind them, she said, 'You know Uncle Ryder is standing not twelve feet away, back by the drawing room door, ever vigilant. I believe Willicombe is his forward guard.'

He looked down into those blue, blue eyes of hers. 'I don't doubt I'll be doing the same thing when our daughter is your age.'