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harbor the ambition to become a veterinarian.
It might relieve you to know that they had intended to be wed, he said, breaking into her thoughts. A
misunderstanding came between them, but later they rectified the error. My brothers are quite legitimate.
We were all raised identically.
Your parents are both still alive?
And well. He smiled with such affection that Cordelia knew he truly adored his family.
I m glad. Her throat constricted on emotions she dared not examine. Did you live with your mother
before their reunion?
Boreas planted his hooves and stopped in mid stride. Donal stared at a point between the stallion s ears,
and after a few moments the horse began to walk again.
I was given away at birth, without the knowledge of my mother, Donal said. I was fostered in Ireland,
among people who were interested only in the money they received from the man who had arranged the
adoption.
No expression of dismay seemed adequate to address the rigid dispassion with which Donal spoke those
words. They were cruel to you, Cordelia said.
He shrugged. They were poor and ignorant. One old man was kind to me when I was very young, and
taught me my letters. He died when I was five, and after that I was left to do whatever I pleased.
That is no way for a child to live, she said.
I had friends among the animals, he said, his voice losing some of its harshness. They understood me,
and I them. When my mother found me and brought me home to Hartsmere, I was given everything I had
lacked. My father soon joined her, and I was happy.
Cordelia knew that there must be far more he left unsaid, but she comprehended how difficult it had been
for him to reveal so much. He was not by nature a man much given to confidences in others, and yet
when he did speak it was with complete honesty.
Now I understand why you took Ivy from the streets, she said.
It was purest chance that I found her.
Pray do not belittle your generosity. She smiled at him warmly. Yet I see why you chose to heal
animals. They must have seemed far more worthy than the people you had known.
I was blessed with a natural gift, he said. It would have been wrong not to use it. As it would be
wrong for Ivy not to make use of the natural talents she possesses.
Cordelia s smile faltered. I intend to cultivate her intelligence and spirit, each within its proper
boundaries.
And if she rejects those boundaries?
I see no reason why she should, if we both encourage her to accept the benefits of self-control by
setting our own examples.
Self-control is more difficult when one is afraid of abandonment.
Abandonment? I would never
Of course you would not, but Ivy must be feeling insecure about her place here after last night s
revelations.
I can assure you that I did not choose to bring Ivy to Edgecott because of my late sister.
Tell me about Lydia.
She closed her eyes, dreading the power of her reawakened memories. It was so easy to go back to that
terrible day& .
She is very ill, the doctor said, rising from his chair beside Lydia s bed. She suffers from a severe
infection in the scratches on her hand and arm. I have done what I can, but her body is extremely weak.
Papa sat down heavily, his face pale with shock. What are her chances?
The doctor shook his head and glanced from Cordelia to the bed. It would be best if we continued this
discussion outside.
Papa followed the doctor out of the bungalow, leaving Cordelia alone with the smell of sickness and guilt.
She fetched a clean cloth, wet it at the wash stand and gently draped the cloth over Lydia s hot brow.
There was nothing of beauty left in Lydia s face now; her eyes were deeply sunken, her lips cracked, her
hair soaked with perspiration.
Cordelia dropped her head into her hands, wondering why the tears would not come. She should be
weeping. She should be tearing her hair and beating her breast, knowing that she alone was responsible
for Lydia s illness.
It had been such a small and common thing, their quarrel: Lydia complaining once again of her hatred for
their life of wandering, her desire to return to a normal existence in England& Cordelia impatient with her
sister s incessant lamentations.
Why will Papa not take us home? Lydia had demanded. The longer we remain away from England,
the greater chance that we shall be ruined for good society. She dragged her brush through the wealth of
her honey-blond hair and examined the strands caught in the bristles. Papa cares nothing for the
proprieties. Everyone at home will think we have become complete savages!
Cordelia was in no mood to indulge her sister s self-pity. I have no desire to go back, she said coolly.
That is because it s already too late for you, Lydia said. You re eighteen. You ll never be a real lady.
She smirked. You like being a savage, running about in the forest and villages. I ve seen you sneak
away at night, dressed in men s clothing. Where do you go, Delia? Do you have a lover?
Lydia!
You think you can have everything you want, while I have nothing. It won t be that way forever. I
despise this place
Then why don t you leave?
Lydia had flounced away, her face pale with anger. But Cordelia hadn t believed that Lydia would ever
take her scornful advice& .
Papa burst into the room, his hair mussed and his face drawn with grief.
What have you done? he cried.
Cordelia rose, her legs trembling beneath her. Papa&
I left Lydia in your care. She is only fifteen!
Cordelia stared at the floor. He was right, of course. Lydia was her responsibility, but she had chosen to
go out that night, out to the native town where she could be free for a little while, where no one knew her
for anything but a local boy in loose and slightly dirty clothing. She had gone to forget how much she
dreaded the prospect of returning to England, where there would be no more freedom ever again.
She had failed to anticipate that Lydia, who so disdained everything that wasn t proper and civilized and
English, would defy her own convictions and flee to the market& that a savage wild animal would escape
its captors at the worst possible moment& .
She may die, Papa said, because you abandoned your duty.
I am sorry, Papa&
You can t be trusted. You re selfish and wild, just like He broke off, his body seeming to shrink
before Cordelia s eyes. I should never have taken you from England.
No, Papa. It wasn t
But he fell into a chair and refused to speak again. Cordelia put him to bed and spent the rest of the night
by Lydia s side.
Two nights later Lydia was dead.
Cordelia opened her eyes. Donal was gazing at her face, his lips slightly parted.
I am deeply sorry for your loss, he said.
She worked her hands on the reins, unsure of how much she had said while she sojourned in the past.
Evidently it had been enough.
Thank you, she said.
They rode for several minutes in silence. You said that Lydia s injuries were caused by an animal?
Donal asked.
Yes.
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