A Guardians Angel (12 page)

“Certainly. They will be simple, for she has yet to have her coming-out.” She smiled and rested her elbow on the arm of the chair. “I suspect that she will do little more than leave her card to announce her call.”

With a low chuckle, he crossed one leg over the knee of his pale breeches. “Pray do not suggest that I set up a weekly at-home to welcome Leonia’s callers here.”

“She must learn how—”

“Spare me the intimate details, Miss Needham. I have weathered a Season or two, so you need not try to teach me what I already know. If you deem it a necessity, Leonia may have an at-home once a month here for any of the gentry in the shire.”

Angela hesitated, knowing she chanced destroying the small gains she had won, but she asked, “Any of the gentry?”

The duke’s smile vanished, as she had feared. “You know who is welcome and who is not.”

“Does that mean that you do not wish the children to call at Harrington Grange as you offered?” She hoped once more that her face did not reveal the truth. She could not let the duke view her dejection at the thought of not seeing Justin tomorrow.

“Quite to the contrary, Miss Needham.” He set himself on his feet. “As I told you, I have given this matter much thought. ’Tis my opinion that if I allow the children to call on Harrington, they will soon grow bored with visiting him. I recall from my own youth that, for a child, what is prohibited becomes enticing.”

“That is true.” Wishing he did not stand in front of her, his hands folded behind his back, as if she were a raw recruit under inspection, she said, “You have told me you wish the children to have a normal English childhood. Part of that is learning to get along with their neighbors.”

“
Other
neighbors are more appropriate to be receiving my wards.” He frowned. “Mayhap I am wrong in thinking they will grow bored with visiting
him.
”

“May I ask what the source of the enmity is between you?”

“I will not bother you with all the dreary details. Suffice it to say that he has proven too many times that he is not a man of honor. That he has persuaded Thomas to break his word is another example of how cheap he considers any vow.”

Angela tried to grasp for any words to reply. She should say something. Anything. But she could not agree with the duke, for she had learned today of the agreement for Thomas to teach Delicia Harrington to draw. Thomas would have considered that offer an obligation he could not ignore. Defending Justin would be silly. So many questions pelted her lips, but she did not speak one. The duke’s comments suggested that he had no interest in answering them. She should concentrate instead on the other issue—the children calling at Harrington Grange.

“Your Grace, I believe, if you do not make an issue of this,” she said before the duke could persuade himself to change his mind, “you soon shall discover visiting Harrington Grange is no longer a point of contention between you and Thomas. He is eager to gain your respect, and he would very much like to show off his art for you. It would mean so much to him.” She took a deep breath. “More than showing it off to Lord Harrington, for the boy admires you greatly.”

His face lost its hard edge as he sighed and walked toward the window. “You seem to have much more insight into a child’s mind than I do. However, you know less about a man’s.”

“I know you would be forcing the children to violate your rules by putting a treat in front of them and then denying them the chance to sample it.” This time, she did not lower her gaze from his scowl. “As you felt when you were kept in garrison while other units had the chance to defend the East India Company’s interests.”

“I apparently was wrong, Miss Needham,” he said. Pinning her in place with his ebony gaze, he smiled. “You do know the state of a man’s mind. Very well. You may tell the children—including Leonia—that they may call on any of our neighbors, as I previously agreed, each Thursday afternoon for two hours, but only under your direct supervision.”

“Mine? Your Grace, I—”

“Yours, Miss Needham.” His smile grew taut. “You know, as I do, Mrs. Meyer is a blithering cabbage-head who is overmastered by the children. I can trust her to govern the nursery, but I am sure that she will make a jumble of a matter as delicate as this. I do not want Leonia making a bad first impression on those she will encounter again in London. Do you accept my terms?”

Sure that she was being manipulated, but having no idea how to convince him to change his mind about Mrs. Meyer taking the younger children on their calls, Angela said, “You leave me little choice.”

“I leave you many choices. You may disagree with my terms and keep the children away from Harrington Grange as I requested in the first place.”

“I find that choice even less acceptable, for I know it will create more problems for this household.”

“So?”

“I will oversee the children when they call on your neighbors.”

“Save for Leonia, who may make her calls as you see fit, the children may make their calls only on Thursday afternoons for no more than two hours.”

Knowing she had to be grateful that she was being given this duty instead of being sent from Oslington Court, she whispered, “Yes, Your Grace, save for Leonia, the calls will be only on Thursday afternoons for no more than two hours.”

When he smiled, she wondered if this was what he had intended all along. If so, especially in the wake of the icy words in the garden this afternoon, she did not understand why.

Nine

The room Angela chose for Leonia’s new bedchamber was cramped with furniture that waited to find its rightful place between the one long window and the smaller one with its stained glass throwing a pattern of light across the rolled-up rug. As Angela worked with Mrs. Burkhardt to supervise the arranging of the bed, the tables, chairs, and dressing table, Leonia whirled about the room like a feckless windstorm, getting in the servants’ way and asking dozens of questions Angela had no time to answer.

“Leonia, why don’t you get some flowers from the garden to brighten your room?” Angela suggested. “Some daisies. They will look lovely with your yellow rug.”

“But, Angela, I want to watch!”

With a laugh, she tugged Leonia toward the door. “You must trust Mrs. Burkhardt. You have given her your instructions. Now allow her to see the servants fulfill them.” Linking her arm with the girl’s, Angela smiled. “While you are in the garden, I shall check with Shelby and see if she has arranged to have your clothes brought here.”

Leonia smiled at the mention of her newly appointed abigail’s name. Angela was sure Leonia would be happy with the bubbling sprite Mrs. Burkhardt had recommended. Although Angela had hoped for a more mature woman to guide Leonia, she had agreed that the two young women would do well with each other as they learned together under Mrs. Burkhardt’s watchful eyes.

Satisfied that Leonia would be kept busy collecting flowers from the garden, Angela hurried up another set of stairs. Her light spirits plummeted when she saw a man standing at the end of a dusky corridor. He did not move, but continued to stare. Not that she blamed him, for she was acting the muttonhead to halt in the middle of the passage and gape at him.

“May I help you?” she asked uneasily.

He gave her no answer.

A twinge of fear clamped around her. The man’s faded clothes were not the color the staff wore. Since Justin’s visit, the duke had made it clear that no one uninvited was to be granted admittance to the house. This man who remained in the shadows seemed to want to avoid being seen. She did not want to insult a guest by sounding the alarm.

“Sir, if you are lost,” Angela said in the calmest voice she could manage, “I would be glad to help you.”

Again he was silent.

Her disquiet became suspicion. The man had not moved his arms, nor had his gaze shifted from hers. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward him and laughed when she realized she had locked eyes with a life-size portrait. Not a painting, but needlework created with the tiniest stitches she had ever seen. A plank propped him against the wall. Although she had never seen one, she had heard of how these figures were used in country houses to add some “life” to the long corridors.

Hearing laughter behind her, she whirled to see a child’s lacy skirt flit around a corner. She considered giving chase after Esther—for it must have been the little girl—but she could spend hours searching without ever finding the child. Smiling, she shook her head. Esther was a high-spirited child who needed to have her energies focused on something positive.

Continuing along the corridor at an unseemly pace, Angela halted when she saw another tall form in the doorway of Leonia’s new room. This silhouette was unmistakable, for the duke’s brown hair was the perfect foil for the navy coat he wore over casual, gray pantaloons. He carried a finely bound book. When he turned to face Angela, his face was as stern as always.

“Miss Needham, you are making quite a few changes in my house,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

Silencing her first impulse to apologize, Angela tilted her chin so she could meet his eyes. “A change, Your Grace, which was long overdue.”

“How so?”

“Leonia is not a child any longer.”

“No?”

When he looked past her, Angela glanced over her shoulder to see Leonia, who rushed into a door on the other side of the room with a bowl of flowers. She laughed softly. “Mayhap I should have said, she is nearly an adult. To become what she must be, she must sample a woman’s life and responsibilities.”

“I know nothing of what a young woman needs.” A slight smile pulled at his lips. “Ask me how to outfit any member of the company I once led, and I can give you a good answer. For this, I fear I am as naïve as Leonia herself.”

“You must think of Leonia’s firing-off much as you would any battle you might engage.”

Bafflement stripped the most austere edges from his face. “How so?” he asked again.

“She must be armed with knowledge of the
élite
. She must possess the proper uniform—in this case, dresses that are
à la modality
and the accessories which announce her standing as the ward of the Duke of Oslington. She must know the rules of the battlefield upon which she is about to engage her life. She must—”

He laughed, startling her, for she had never heard the sound, which was surprisingly lighthearted. “Well said, Miss Needham, although I own I have never heard the Season described so.”

Walking beside him toward a bench built beneath a tall window topped by a half-moon glass, Angela said, “A young woman is trained to be prepared for the Season and the life she will have beyond it. Leonia will do very well.”

“I suspect so.” He continued to smile as he gestured for her to sit. Holding the book behind his back, he regarded her with honest bemusement. “She has told me of your lessons. She assures me, as you have, that she is cognizant of the intricacies of making calls and what to say when she has her coming-out. One thing you have not changed—and I fear no one can—is her impatience.”

“She is young. Time passes more slowly for her.”

“Than for an ancient like yourself?” Again he laughed, but with a restraint that suggested he was determined to keep his emotions in check. “Miss Needham, although Leonia has pestered me as annoyingly as a mayfly in October to bring her out in the Little Season, I intend to delay until the spring.”

“That is wise.”

“It shall take a unique chap to see the charm beneath her exasperating ways.”

“Your Grace, Leonia will do well when she is fired-off. If you have any doubts, a small hop at Oslington Court would be a good idea. You could watch how she handles herself with young people from the shire. I believe that would quell many of your concerns.”

“A hop? Here?” He shook his head, his smile gone. “You forget, Miss Needham, that this house and these children are in mourning.”

“I never forget that, Your Grace. Nor do I forget your wish to have Leonia brought out in the spring. You must decide if the past or the future is more important to you.”

The duke did not answer, and Angela suspected that she had overstepped herself. The plainspoken habits of her own childhood should not have been allowed to loosen her tongue during this conversation. As she began to apologize, the duke waved her to silence.

“You are correct yet again, Miss Needham.” He bowed his head toward her. “How odd that you should choose words so strikingly similar to Colonel Sutton’s!”

“I consider that a compliment.”

“You should.” He looked out the window beyond her, and she guessed he was seeing a vista of distant India. “I never met a finer man than the colonel. It has been my greatest honor that he selected me to safeguard the future of his children.”

“And to see they are happy?” she ventured.

“If possible.”

“You have certainly done that for Thomas. He has been as chipper as a robin since you agreed for the children to—”

“Spare me any mention of that decision!” His voice was once more frigid. “Miss Needham, I have decided that I will allow this single visit. Then I will reappraise the situation.”

“Your change of plan will break Thomas’s heart. He—”

“Angela!” Leonia’s plaintive call resonated along the corridor. “Oh, Angela, do come and explain to this nod-cock what we planned with the dressing table!”

“Leonia needs you more than I, Miss Needham,” the duke said icily. “I trust you will help her sort out the mess you have created for
her.
”

Angela clenched her hands in frustration as he strode away. For a moment, she had seen the charming man Leonia had described, but he had vanished as soon as she broached the subject of Thomas and—although his name was never uttered—Justin. What was the true reason for the antipathy between the two men? She was resolved to discover what it might be.

When Angela sent for Leonia to come down to the foyer, she was not surprised to discover that Leonia was vexed at the idea of making a call at Harrington Grange. Leonia seemed to agree with everything her guardian said.

“Angela,” she retorted in a whining tone, “I wish to continue with the unpacking in my room. I have no interest in calling on that bothersome man.”