A Guardians Angel (5 page)

“That is unfair,” she fired back, stung by his words. “You know nothing of me.”

“And I find I have no wish to learn more. I bid you good day, Miss Needham, and goodbye.” He nodded toward her before leaving her to stare after him in astonishment once more.

Four

“Now we both are in trouble,” grumbled Thomas as he slipped out of the gate once more to stand in the middle of the road.

Justin Harrington wanted to agree wholeheartedly. It was trouble he was calling upon himself. When he had seen that pretty Angela Needham was heading toward Oslington Court, he should have steered both himself and young Thomas far from her and her broken-down coach. Instead, while Thomas had been skulking closer to the road to find out what had happened to the carriage, Justin had let himself be drawn to her by how the light played on her tawny hair and how her eyes shone like the deep blue of a shadowed pool.

Her name might be Angela, but there seemed to be little that was angelic about the strength of will in Miss Needham’s eyes, and she certainly had the devil’s own way of making a man think of things he should not. He had intended to do no more than plead for her to understand how Thomas needed to leave the doldrums of Oslington Court and his grief behind. Instead, the conversation had gone in directions he had not planned because he could not keep from admiring her lush curls and even lusher curves that were accented by the single flower on her bodice.

“She will go straightaway to Rodney,” Thomas continued. He kicked a pebble along the road.

“Mayhap so, mayhap not.”

Thomas looked up, his eyes wide. “How can you say that? She wants to impress my guardian.”

“I suspect she already has.”

“How?”

Justin smiled and ruffled Thomas’s hair. He was not going to share with the boy thoughts of how Miss Angela Needham had intrigued him so much that he had anticipated the chance of seeing her today more than he had collecting butterflies. She had been in a near pelter over Thomas’s antics, but she had not swooned away as many a woman would have upon finding herself captured by a butterfly net and dependent upon a stranger to help her escape.

“Don’t fret about Miss Needham,” Justin said. “I doubt if she will last much longer than any of the others your guardian has tried to hire. There are not many young women who are willing to hide away in that mausoleum while Oslington decides what he wants to do with the rest of his life.”

When Thomas frowned, puzzled, Justin knew he had said too much. Egad! After all this time, he should have learned to guard his words. He knew Oslington believed that Justin had struck up a friendship with Thomas simply to create trouble for the duke and his household. Nothing could be further from the truth, but Oslington never changed his mind once it was made up. No matter how many facts might come his way.

“Miss Needham is not like the others.” Thomas drew a circle in the dirt with his toe. “She does not get angry and yell or look as if she is going to cry like Mrs. Meyer does when I disagree with her.”

“I suspect Miss Needham is not at all like your governess.”

“She is prettier.”

Justin laughed at Thomas’s clearly reluctant words. Clapping the boy on the shoulder, he said, “You should return to the house.”

“But I thought we were going to—”

“You will not help yourself in your guardian’s eyes if you linger here where you have been told twice over, if Miss Needham is to be believed, you should not be.”

Thomas grumbled again, but went back through the gate at a run.

Moving so he could view the front of the grand house, Justin watched the boy disappear among the trees. How many years had it been since Justin had raced among those trees? They had seemed as high as the walls then, but the trunks had grown even thicker with the passing of the years. He chased those thoughts from his mind. Memories of Oslington Court were tainted now, and he wanted nothing to do with them. If he had half the wit of a goose, he would confine his search for butterflies to the fields on the other side of Harrington Grange and avoid this place.

A rapping cut into Angela’s sleep. She forced her eyes open, but saw only darkness. At first, she could not recall where she was, for the shadows were different from the ones in her bedroom in her mother’s home and the ones in her brother’s attic. Then, seeing the reflection of the moonlight in her dressing table mirror, she realized she was in her chamber at Oslington Court.

Who was knocking in the middle of the night?

Images of a dozen catastrophes burst through Angela’s mind as she groped for her wrapper. Flinging it around her shoulders, she hurried to the door.

Darkness shrouded the corridor, for only a single sconce lit the expanse. Angela saw no one. A shiver sent frosted fingers down her back as she imagined a ghostly caller that walked endlessly through these old corridors.

Hearing a whimper, Angela pushed aside her superstitions. She knelt by the crumpled form and put her hand on the child’s back. It quivered as if with a fever. Her breath caught, but Miss Esther’s skin above her thin nightdress was not heated with fever.

“Miss Esther?” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

Her only answer was a half-swallowed sob. Putting her arm around the trembling child’s shoulders, she drew Miss Esther into her room to sit next to her on the chaise longue.

Softly Angela chided, “You should not be out of the nursery at this hour. Did you have a nightmare?”

Gulping, Miss Esther nodded.

“Why didn’t you go to Mrs. Meyer?”

“She will not listen. She just sends me to bed, and the dream could come back.”

“What about your sister or brother?”

“Thomas sleeps so deeply, it takes forever to wake him. Leonia …” She began to sob again.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Angela hid her surprise that Miss Esther had sought her out when the child believed no one else would help her. She silenced the momentary thought that this was another of the child’s pranks. The tears on the little girl’s face were real.

Miss Esther shook her head, then murmured, “It was horrible, Miss Needham.”

“Mayhap not talking about it is best.”

A motion caught Angela’s eye, and she gasped when she noticed, by the door, a little boy bouncing from one foot to the other. Since she had arrived here almost a week ago, no one had mentioned to her that there was a fourth Sutton child, but she could not doubt this youngster, who could claim no more than six years, was a sibling to the other Sutton children. He had the same round cheeks and freckles and blue eyes and ruddy hair.

“And who are you?” Angela asked.

“That is Seth.” Miss Esther frowned at him. “Why did you follow me here?”

“You were bawling like a ewe.” He came forward in his long nightshirt. “I thought you were sick. I thought you might toss up your dinner and—”

“Enough,” Angela said, glad that they could not see her roll her eyes as she stood. These children would challenge the patience of a saint. Going to her bed, she took a pair of pillows and a blanket. “Do you want to stay here with me tonight?”

As she started to spread the blanket on the chaise longue, Miss Esther whispered, “Can I sleep
with
you?”

“Of course. Master Seth, you can sleep on the chaise longue.”

With a cheer, he jumped onto it and curled up beneath the blanket.

Shaking her head in amazement, Angela held out her hand. Miss Esther put her fingers on it and smiled weakly. Angela smiled back. She was unsure if Miss Esther would be any more accepting of her when the sun rose, but she dared to believe it was a beginning of easier times to come.

Morning brought the return of Miss Esther’s easy grin and mischievous laugh. When Angela sent her to the nursery, she left only after obtaining a promise from Angela that they would go for a walk with Master Seth that morning before her lesson with Leonia.

Miss Esther had chuckled when Angela agreed, so Angela was uncertain what to expect when, after a quick breakfast tray, she met the children in the foyer. Angela kept her blue silk parasol over the flowered brim of her poke bonnet. Walking in the grass beside the road beyond the wall, she protected her satin slippers from the dust raised by the children’s exuberance. The lazy sunshine urged her to sit on a low wall and enjoy the day, but she must not let the children out of her sight. Devilment was clearly a part of Miss Esther, and Angela was resolved the little girl would have no chance to exult in her naughty behavior.

When she heard hoofs on the road, Angela called, “Miss Esther! Master Seth! Here by me.”

Master Seth ran to her, but Miss Esther hesitated. As the rider came over the rise in the road, the little girl scampered to join them. Angela was about to chide her for her recklessness when she heard the horse slow.

“Good morning, Miss Needham. May I say that the country seems to be agreeing with you?”

At Lord Harrington’s voice, Angela looked up to see his eyes crinkled in amusement. He dismounted with the ease of a man accustomed to the saddle. He greeted the children.

“I am not supposed to talk to you,” Master Seth announced with the disdain of a king speaking to his lowliest subject.

“Me neither!” Miss Esther boldly stared at the viscount. “Rodney says you are bad for us.”

“Miss Esther!” Angela scolded.

Lord Harrington chuckled, but his laugh had a strained sound. “Do not fault the child for her guardian’s sins, Miss Needham. Have you been forbidden to speak to me as well?”

“Of course not.”

“Then, if I may have a few words with you … alone.”

Angela pointed to a nearby stile. “Miss Esther, Master Seth, why don’t you see what wildflowers you can find in the field? Some of them would brighten the table in the nursery.”

She smiled as they scrambled over the wall. When the viscount lashed his horse to the railing on the stile, she was not surprised when he lifted his butterfly net off his saddle with one hand and offered her his other arm. What astonished her was that he led her over the stile and followed the children at a slower pace.

“You have forged an attachment to these children very quickly,” Lord Harrington said.

“I enjoy them, their enthusiasm, and, yes, even Miss Esther’s teasing. She and I take walks together, usually in the gardens, but occasionally we go farther afield. Then she tells me about places she has seen, places I long to visit.”

Lord Harrington smiled. “You wish to suffer the heat of India? Or could it be that you yearn for a bit of
mal de mer
as you travel the conflicting currents of the seas?”

Angela faced him. “My lord, I do not understand why you are belittling my dreams.”

“No? Odd, for you have voiced your derogatory opinions of what brings me enjoyment.”

She flushed and was as vexed at her coloring as at Lord Harrington. Then she realized he had a right to chide her, for she
had
labeled his avocation an eccentricity.

“Forgive me,” Lord Harrington said when she did not reply. “I did not mean to put you to the blush. Before today, you seemed to be a person who appreciates plain words.”

“I do … except when they remind me of my own folly.” She smiled, pleased how easy it was when he grinned back. “In town, I grew tired of the words that meant less than their sound. That is one of the reasons I was happy to come here.”

“Just one of the reasons?” He paused near where the stone wall twisted back toward them. “You steal my romantic notions, Miss Needham. I had imagined that you were fleeing an amorous suitor who was determined to go to any lengths to have you as his wife.”

“That is no romantic notion. That is a fairy-tale.”

His eyes widened at her tone, which was sharper than she had intended. “I can understand your anxiety to escape Town and its accompanying circus. I enjoy my days at Harrington Grange.”

“But don’t you wish to see beyond your home and the moor?”

“To where? I vow, Miss Needham, that after years of being obligated to be away from my home, I am quite convinced that the Grange is the place in this whole world where I can be happiest.” He paused to peer into a bush by the wall. When a butterfly rose on the light breeze, he smiled. “A common sort,” he said, but adding, “I see no reason to wander beyond the shire. So many things wait here for me to discover them.”

Angela could not keep from blurting, “But, my lord, I would have thought you might be inclined to travel across the Channel or to Africa or even as far as the Spice Islands to find even more exotic butterflies to study.”

“You thought that, did you?” He strode along the wall toward where the children had found a patch of yellow flowers. She hurried to catch up, but his back was to her as he said, “Like you, I have my reasons for preferring the serenity of the country.” Turning toward her, he smiled. “Or I should say, I did prefer it. Since the arrival of the Sutton children—and you—things have been less serene.”

“How can the children bother you? I thought they were forbidden to call at Harrington Grange.”

“Even if they do not present themselves at my door, I hear their enthusiastic play from across the fields.”

Angela heard his odd wistfulness. Did he wish for children of his own? He had been more than kind to Miss Esther and Master Seth despite their rude words, and Master Thomas clearly doted on him and looked forward to any chance to join the viscount to watch an insect embroidering its bright colors across a summer sky.

Quietly she said, “If you wished to speak of an important matter without young ears overhearing, you should do so before we reach the children.”

“I do not wish to burden you with what bothers me.”

“You do not. I realize you are concerned about whether you will be able to continue your friendship with Master Thomas.”

“Do you?” He looked back at her and quickly away.

“Your interest in him is exemplary.”

He paused beneath the shade of an ancient tree reaching its branches from one field to the next. “I hate to see his interest wasted. If I did not think it would be futile, I would suggest that you speak to Oslington of Thomas’s interest in studying butterflies.”