Almost an Angel (20 page)

"I. . .” She took a deep breath, the air suddenly too cold on her skin. "I. . .”

"Croak!"
From somewhere deep in her pocket, the toad chose to raise its own objections.

Both Carolly and James jumped, startled by the sound.

The noise had been God-sent. Carolly was sure of it. She was supposed to become an angel. She could not afford to be swept away by the tides of passion. It simply wasn't what angels did.

Yet when she looked at the dazed hunger in James's eyes, her breath echoed the ragged edge she heard in his groan. "Inside," he urged.

She wanted to make love to him. Lord, she wanted nothing more than to do as he bade her, to open herself to him in every way a woman could. But then they might have children. Even if she did not leave as she always did, their union would only cause them both pain. He would not marry her, and she could not be happy as his mistress. And if their passion produced children . . .

"Think of the children," she whispered. "We can't. Oh God, James, I want to, but . . ." She tugged at her gown, trying to cover herself, and he looked down in surprise.

"Oh." He pulled back, and she gasped. He meant to catch her up again, but she stopped him, drawing quickly away before he could touch her.

"Carolly . . ." His word was strangled, and she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They were like dark windows to a tormented soul.

Yet there was nothing she could do. There was no way to ease either of their pain. So she turned away, pulling on her gown as well as she could, fumbling with the buttons, her fingers shaking. He reached out to help her, but she stepped away, stopping him without touching him.

"I . . . I think you ought to return this poor creature to his pond." Before he could object, she lifted the toad from her pocket and placed it in his hand.

"Carolly." It seemed to be the only word he could say, and it pulled at her, tempting her to return to the madness of only a few moments ago.

"Please, James. This cannot help either of us." She didn't stay to speak with him. Her senses were still too inflamed, her will too fragile to withstand more. She slipped away, moving quickly along the ledge until she ducked into her bedroom window, closing it firmly behind her.

***

James watched Carolly leave and felt a sense of loss greater than anything he had ever before experienced. She'd left him. And worse, he'd let her go.

She had been warm and giving in his arms. Making love to her was as perfect a feeling as he had ever known. And yet, he had stopped. Yes, the location was indecent. But it would have been the work of a moment to carry her into the empty bedchamber where they had first kissed so many nights ago. He could have done it. Even with his injured leg, he could have brought her to the bed and shared ecstasy with her.

But he'd stopped. He'd withdrawn his hands and let her compose herself. Then she'd dashed away as if Satan himself pursued her.

And perhaps that was true. He was supposed to be her friend, yet he encouraged her madness. He didn't know whether he wanted the sane, sedate Caroline or the mad, vibrantly alive Carolly. He'd brought her to the ledge, forcing her to grab hold of her fantasies just after she'd recovered some sense of reality. 

That was not the work of God, but of the Devil.

And when she'd meant to thank him, he'd taken advantage of her, using her body against her, reminding her of the pleasure that flesh alone could give. Her mind was aimed toward Heaven, and he'd forcibly brought her back to the flesh.

He looked over to her window, shut fast against him. His body still ached for her, eagerly urging him to go to her, to find some way into her bedroom. But he would not.

He was not her friend. The sooner she left his home, the better for her.

Yet the thought of spending the rest of his life without her was too painful to contemplate. He tightened his fists, hating himself for his sins, for his hunger for a madwoman.

"Croak!"

Startled, he looked down at the hapless toad struggling in his hand, and he abruptly eased his grip. What in Heaven's name induced him to bring this poor thing along?

God, he decided. God had planted the idea. Because without its hapless interruption, he and Carolly would now be wrapped in each other's arms. The thought was so believable, he nearly tossed the toad away and let it plummet to its death, but something stayed his hand.

After their lovemaking, there surely would have come a morning of recriminations, confusion, and heartbreak. He would feel obliged to marry her, and he would spend the rest of his life doubting her, questioning her, wondering about her sanity. She would be a countess with responsibilities and a place in society. What would he do if she spoke publicly about being a "pre-angel?” The local families would never accept her, the members of the
ton
would ostracize her, and her husband would be ashamed of her.

No, she deserved someone who could accept her—madness and all. Who loved her without reservation, and who would adore their children without fear of some taint.

Carolly was right. He could not marry her. Not because she was socially beneath him, but because she deserved a man, not a coward.

With a heavy heart, James crossed the last bit of ledge to the empty bedroom next to the nursery, maneuvering himself inside. Minutes later he was down beside the pond, releasing the toad back to its lily pad.

He stood by the water a long time, his thoughts a whirling sea of self-recrimination. Then, finally, he lifted his eyes to Heaven, praying for the first time in many long years of lonely isolation.

"Please God," he whispered, "make me worthy of her."

Chapter Fifteen

"Are you sure you want to go? And with Miss Margaret? I'd be happy to go for you."

Carolly smiled at Mrs. Potherby and tried to find the words to reassure the woman. Especially since she wasn't feeling all that confident herself.

But it had to be done. There were a thousand things yet to be purchased for tomorrow's festival, and now was the time to do it. Hopefully, spending all that money in the village would diffuse some of the anger still simmering there.

Thank God James had given her free rein when it came to expenses. She carried a purse loaded with coins and bills. If she couldn't spend all of it by this evening, then she wasn't worthy of her gender.

Carolly patted the housekeeper's arm. "At least I've learned how to drive a gig. We won't get ditched this time."

"Let me have Bob drive you—"

"No, truly, Mrs. Potherby. We will be fine." Then she leaned forward, whispering into the good woman's ear: "I shall be a model of propriety, no matter what happens. I'm even wearing a corset."

The older woman frowned. "It is not
your
manners I worry about."

Carolly smiled and turned away, refusing to be cowed. She would meet the villagers on their own ground. And then she'd spend her last crown trying to bribe them into better humor. Or rather, Margaret would. All Carolly would do was smile and look motherly.

Mags met Carolly at the front door. She wore a pretty frock of bright yellow, and matching ribbons peeked through her dark curls. But even that gay ensemble could not disguise the nervous way she pleated and repleated her skirt.

"Carolly, you cannot truly wish to go back there."

"Hush. Do you want to be a prisoner all your life? We must face them."

"But must it be today? And alone? I am sure Uncle would not like it."

Carolly felt her misgivings sour her stomach. "He would only want to come along, Margaret, but this is something we must do without him. Do you understand that?"

The girl pushed out her lower lip. "But you promised him you would not go without speaking to him."

"And I have." Just not explicitly. She'd told him that provisions still needed to be brought up from the village today. She hadn't mentioned a thing about who would get them. "Besides, Mrs. Potherby knows where we are headed. If you don't want to come along, so be it. But I am going." So saying, she stepped firmly out the door, her face lifted toward the sun, her heart in her throat for fear the girl would call her bluff.

Fortunately, Margaret wasn't one to refuse a challenge. Not anymore. Very soon, Carolly heard the girl's angry stomp behind her. Ten minutes later, they were in the gig and tooling down the lane at a slow, steady pace.

"Could we please go faster?” the girl complained.

Carolly twisted slightly, unable to resist teasing her. "A few moments ago you acted like you'd rather die than go. Now you complain I'm driving too slow."

"Since I am to die, I want to do it quickly and get it over with." The girl sounded truly nervous.

Carolly reined in the horses, stopping them cold in the middle of the road. "Do you really think they will kill us?"

Mags folded her arms and pouted. "They tried to last time, didn't they?" she said.

"Well, sort of." Carolly tried a different tack. "Do you understand why the villagers are so angry?”

"Because Uncle James will not hire them in the mines."

"Yes. Sort of. It is because they are starving. Do you think they would be so upset about losing their jobs if they had other ones to go to? Other ways to make money?"

Margaret chewed on her bottom lip. "I guess not." Then she looked up, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "But why do they hate me? None of this is my fault."

Carolly sighed. "I know. That's why I wanted you to come along."

"But—"

"Just listen to me. They hate you because you're a lot easier to hate than James. After all, he still supports most of their jobs. They also don't know anything about you. So we're going to let them get to know how generous and sweet and totally innocent you are."

Margaret tugged at her hair, her face puckered in a worried frown. "But how will we do that?"

Carolly pulled her large purse out of her pocket and dropped it in the girl's lap. "You're going to spend that."

"All of it?" Margaret asked, her eyes wide as she hefted the heavy bag.

"All of it. You're not going to give it away, mind you. You will buy things. Lots of things. We will get presents for all the staff, and we're going to tip little boys and girls to carry out packages to the gig. We're going to admire the craftsmanship of everything and everyone, and we're going to be cheerful and happy and gay."

Margaret appeared to mull that over. "But what if they start saying awful things?”

"Then you will smile like you haven't a brain in your head and stare at them vacantly."

"But—"

"You're a little kid, remember? Young. Innocent. You don't understand how nasty they're being."

Margaret puckered her face, clearly uncomfortable with the characterization. "But I do understand."

Carolly sighed. Truly, the girl had lived with James too long. She was simply too honest. "They don't have to know that, do they?"

"You want me to pretend I'm stupid?" Margaret's frown turned into clear outrage.

"I want you to show them how wonderful you can be."

Margaret shook her head, still not willing to act stupid, even for safety's sake.

Carolly bit her lip, trying to come up with other options. "All right. How about when they say something mean, you smile indulgently at them? As if you had a great secret no one else understands."

"But—"

"Mags, the trick is to meet their hostility with mystery or innocence. Or compliments—those are always good. Just so long as it isn't anger or the sulks." She leaned forward, trying to get Margaret to see. "Pick an attitude. Make it part of you and use it whenever someone tries to hurt you. If you can react differently than they expect, you've won half the battle because you've kept control." She reached for the girl's hand and squeezed it tight. "Do you understand any of this?"

Margaret nodded, but the movement was slow and slightly forced. "So, what should I do?"

"What do you want to do?"

She was quiet a long time, but when she spoke it was with conviction. "I think I'll tell them about my mother. Show them how happy I am to be the daughter of a commoner. That's what Uncle James said to do, and it will be easy for me because I really am glad she was my mother."

"Well," said Carolly, her insides melting with love, “I think your Uncle James is a very smart man. And I think if your mother were here, she'd be very proud of you. I know I am."

Margaret looked up, her eyes filled with a cautious uncertainty. "Do you really think so? That she would be proud of me?”

"Most definitely."

Then the two grinned at each other, suddenly very much in accord.

"Okay, Mags," Carolly teased, "are you ready to spend an unseemly amount of money?"

Margaret nodded, her eyes shining bright in the morning sunlight.

"Then let's get to it!" Carolly flicked the reins, and they were off again, tooling down the lane in high spirits.

Twenty minutes later they strolled into the general store. It wasn't easy. There were some gasps and stares and a lot of grumbling. But all that negativity quickly ended with the flash of gold.

Carolly started out simply, paying for the things they ordered while Margaret tipped generously wherever they went. It didn't take long for Carolly to realize that power shopping was the same whatever the century, and soon she and Mags were having a marvelous time.

It wasn't until the fat woman from the inn came into the bookstore that their first truly awkward moment occurred. The two of them had been giggling over some scandalous political cartoons when the woman entered and gasped in horror.

"Whatever were you thinking, Silvia?" the woman exclaimed to the shopkeeper's wife, "to allow
her
within your doors?” She looked down her nose at Margaret as if the girl were some sort of disgusting bug.

It was on the tip of Carolly's tongue to tell the woman exactly what she could do with her high, pointy nose, but this wasn't her battle. All she could do was nod encouragingly at Mags and keep her mouth shut.

The girl stepped forward, her face open and sweet. "My mother had hair like yours," she said, her tone openly admiring. "I used to watch her dye it. It would make her arms all brown, but you must come by yours naturally."

The woman gasped. "What contemptible taradiddle! Comparing me to that strumpet."

Margaret only smiled. "But my mother was the most beautiful woman alive. Except she didn't have your hair, so she had to dye it. And that made her arms dark. That's why she wore gloves all the time."

The woman stood there gaping while Margaret sailed sweetly past. Carolly followed quietly behind, trying desperately not to laugh. She settled for a fond grin, knowing that Mags would be fine. Even if Carolly left tomorrow, the girl had discovered a confidence that would carry her through life beautifully.

They moved on to other stores.

Everything went splendidly until the moment they saw Garrett on the road. He was surrounded by a circle of women and a few older men. Carolly wasn't sure why the sight bothered her, she only knew that it did. She paused, narrowing her eyes to pick out more detail.

As usual, Garrett cut a figure of distinction. His clothing was elegant, though understated; the cut fine, but dark. In fact, his short nose and freckles were the perfect touch, making him seem more approachable and honest than James with his austere features. And, as usual, Garrett was oozing charm.

"Stay here a minute, Mags," Carolly said softly. "I want to hear what he's saying."

Carolly walked slowly toward him. Garrett was speaking passionately to a couple of young women, and the others had simply stopped to overhear. In fact, Garrett seemed almost

uncomfortable with all the attention—not that that stopped him.

From the distance, Carolly couldn't hear what he said, could only pick out his mannerisms. He seemed compassionate and sincere, as a minister or politician might be. And whatever he was saying, he certainly had popular opinion on his side. Carolly heard more than a few mutters of "'E's right" and "Wish 'e weren't the nestle-bird," whatever that meant.

One old geezer shook his head at her and wandered off muttering something about "stubbing the nest." It made no sense to her, but Carolly didn't have time to learn more. She heard the pounding of a horse at full gallop coming fast up behind her.

She spun around, nearly tripping over Margaret who had followed despite Carolly's warning, only to have James and Shadow nearly run them both down.

"James!" she exclaimed, as he reined in his stallion. "What are you doing?”

"Are you all right?” She watched him scan the scene, his gaze taking in everything from her muddied hem to the shocked and disgruntled expressions of the people around them.

"We're fine," she said smoothly. "We were just picking up provisions for the festival."

Carolly stepped forward, pressing her hand against Shadow's sweat-streaked neck as she looked up into James's worried face. "Aren't you supposed to be at home greeting your guests?”

He frowned down at her, and when he spoke, the words were forced through his clenched teeth. "You promised you would not leave without speaking to me first."

"James," she began, but Garrett interrupted her.

"Come now, dear cousin. Caroline is not your prisoner," he said.

Carolly frowned at Garrett as he took her hand and began escorting her and Margaret back toward the gig. She would have thought him concerned only for her welfare, except that

he kept his voice loud. It carried easily to the people still milling about the street.

"Try not to be so cruel, James," Garrett continued. "She was only trying to spread a little good cheer."

The villagers nodded and muttered while Carolly beat her brain for some way to redeem the situation. All around them people sent her and Margaret looks filled with sympathy, saving their acid gazes for James. Somehow, in the space of a few moments, Garrett had managed to turn public hatred toward James while reserving the roles of helpless victim for herself and Mags. And by glaring right back at them, his posture defensive, James was playing right into Garrett's scenario.

"James," she began.

"Hush, Caroline," interrupted Garrett. "I know you have had a difficult day. Let us get home immediately so that you may rest."

"But—"

"Come along, Caroline. Margaret." That came from James, ordering them to fall in line in his most imperious manner.

Carolly sighed, knowing she wouldn't be able to fix things right now. James was too angry with her for disregarding her promise to him. He was staring daggers at everyone, herself included, which only reinforced his evil image. She'd have to try another day.

Giving in to the inevitable, Carolly allowed herself to be escorted back to the gig, now buried beneath their morning purchases. She had no choice but to sit demurely while Garrett drove them back to the manor, James and Shadow walking steadily beside them.

She might have sunk completely into the dismals if it hadn't been for Mags. Just before they started off toward the manor, the child sent her a look filled with commiseration.
Next time
, her expression seemed to say.
Between you and me, we'll set things right.

* * *

"You deliberately went back on your word!"

Carolly sighed and plopped down in the chair across from James in the library. "This is old territory, James. Read me the riot act and let's be done with it."

He frowned at her. "What has the Riot Act have to do with this?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Listen, James—"

"No, Carolly. It is time you listened. You gave me your solemn oath you would not leave the grounds without consulting me first."

"And I haven't!"

"You did today."