Angelina (17 page)

“If you tell anyone of this I’ll kill you. Understand?”

 The girl’s tongue flicked pinkly over her lips. “Make it worth my while, sir.”

“So I shall.” Crossing to the dresser he fetched a gold coin, holding it up against the light so she could see it. His hand closed gently around her throat, he smiled. “You have the instincts of a whore, Ellen. Come to my room at midnight and the gold coin will be yours. Wear something...nice.”

She knew exactly what he was getting at. Her glance flicked from the coin back to him, speculative and knowing. Giving a slyly satisfied smile, she nodded.

* * * *

Used to her own company, the presence of another proved tiresome to Angelina, especially someone as restless as her sister.

Her sister distracted her from her embroidery today as she paced up and down, prattling incessantly about the coming ball.

“I’ll spurn all suitors except for Rafe,” Rosabelle declared, stopping to preen herself in front of the looking glass. Sucking in her waist, she pulled herself straight and thrust out her bosom. “When he sets eyes on me in my ball gown he’ll find me irresistible.”

Angelina sighed, hoping Rafe would have more sense. “I thought you didn’t care for your ball-gown.”

Rosabelle’s smile was secretive smile as her glance shifted to the window. “I’ve decided I like it after all. What’s your gown like?”

“It’s pink and yellow - “

“What can you be thinking of,” Rosabelle said with a theatrical shudder. “Pink will clash horribly with your colouring.” Striding to the dressing room she threw open the door, demanding imperiously. “Show it to me.”

She was about to tell her the gown was still packed to prevent soilage when Rosabelle threw the dust cover from her rack of gowns and began to rifle through them.

   “Please do not crease my gowns,” Angelina cried. “Clara has just finished hanging them up.”

“That’s what maids are paid to do.” Dragging a delicate yellow gown from the rack Rosabelle gazed at its flounced petticoat with critical eyes. The bodice was laced, and decorated with pink rosebuds that matched those at the hem. It was one of her favourites.

As Rosabelle held it up and whirled around her heel caught in the flounce. She appeared not to hear the ripping sound as she untangled her foot. She smiled gaily as she hung it back on the rack. “You should wear another colour, something less insipid.”

Angelina frowned, almost sure the damage to her gown had been deliberate. “I’m quite capable of deciding for myself what I shall wear.”

“Well, don’t blame me if no one asks you to dance.”

“As I’ve already been promised dances by, James, William, my father and Rafe, that’s hardly likely to happen.” Asperity filled her voice when Rosabelle wandered to her dressing table and removed the stopper from the perfume her mother had bought her. “Can’t you find something useful to occupy your time, Rosabelle?”

“You sound just like mama.” She choked out a mocking laugh. “Poor, mama. She does not attract affection from those around her.” 

“I find her a most warm and loving person.”

Rosabelle didn’t answer. She’d wandered to the window, her attention focussed on a figure on horseback coming along the carriageway.

“It’s Rafe Daventry.” Her eyes shone with excitement when she turned. “Let’s go down and greet him.”

  Angelina joined her sister at the window. “If the purpose of his visit is our company, we will be sent for.”

Rosabelle made a face at her. “If we’re accidentally in the hall when he enters he cannot fail to notice, and will be obliged to pass the time of day.”

“You must do as you think fit.” Longing to see Rafe again herself, and seething inside that Rosabelle should make herself so obvious, she returned to her seat and applied herself to her embroidery. She expelled a deep, frustrated breath when Rosabelle left in a flurry of skirts, and abandoning her needlework crossed to the window again.

Rafe chose that moment to glance up. Her heart began to race as he reined in his horse and gave her his slow, beautiful smile. “Greetings, Angel.”

“My Lord.” He wore an elegant new suit of sober black with a stand up collar. She couldn’t resist giving him a mischievous grin when she spotted the glimpse of a striped grey waistcoat, and the touch of lace at his cuffs and throat. His dark hair had been drawn back and neatly fashioned into a black bow. “You are looking quite the dandy this morning.”

“A well brought up girl should not comment on a gentleman’s attire.” He laughed when she made a face at him. “If you were not safely out of my reach I would -” His voice faltered and his glance went beyond her. “Is that you, Lady Elizabeth, or is it Angelina’s image in a looking glass?”

Angelina whirled round when from behind her, her mother gave a soft laugh. “Fine words, Lord Lynnbury, but I’m more interested in what you were about to say to Angelina.”

“He was about to threaten me with violence, I believe.” Gaily, she kissed her mother’s cheek. “He cannot scale the walls so I’m quite safe.”

“But you’re not safe from me, young lady.” She pulled her from the window and gave her a severe look. “I’ll not countenance you hanging out of the window like some tavern wench, and Lord Daventry should know better than encourage such familiarity.”

Angelina gasped with mortification when she heard Rafe move off. He could not have failed to overhear the chastisement. Her face began to burn. To be likened to a tavern wench was condemnation indeed. “I’m sorry, mama. I had no intention of being forward.”

“It’s a pity you were not introduced into society earlier, you have so much to learn.” Elizabeth sighed. “Come, do not look so crestfallen. We must be thankful it was Lord Lynnbury. He’s a man of good sense and discretion. From now on you must think before you engage a man in conversation.”

 Angelina considered her remark unfair. “Rafe isn’t just any man.” 

 “Oh?” Elizabeth’s eyebrow rose a trifle. “Pray explain that statement.”

 “He is more like a brother.”

“Since you lack the experience of growing up with brothers you cannot possibly know that.”

Turned towards the light, her face still crestfallen from her scolding, Angelina kept her chin tilted at a stubborn angle. “I did not grow up with a mother either, yet when I was alone and needed a mother’s guidance, I sensed her presence and imagined she watched over me with love. She would not have used cruel words.”

Elizabeth’s eyes softened. “Were you very lonely?”

“At times.” Her eyes centred somewhere in the past, it all seemed so very long ago. “Aunt Alexandra did not believe in idle hands. Every moment of my day was accounted for. Besides my book lessons, music, and embroidery, I was taught to run the household. I was also expected to visit the sick families of the estate workers.”

“She encouraged you to expose yourself to disease?” Her mother sounded horrified.

 Angelina gave her a level look. “No, mama, Lady Alexandra would never have allowed me to do that. Those suspected of carrying infection were kept in isolation. I was merely encouraged to show compassion to those less fortunate than myself.”

 Elizabeth realised she’d heard the woman’s name mentioned without once flinching. That she’d not encouraged Angelina to talk of her childhood had been wrong. If she was to know and understand her daughter she had to put her anger and jealousy aside. What did it matter now? Lady Alexandra was dead; she poised no threat.

“Tell me, child.” She hesitated, not really knowing whether she wanted to hear the truth. “Were you happy living with Lady Alexandra?”

“I seldom saw her.” Her daughter looked troubled. “When I did she was not affectionate, yet...”

“Yet what?” She encouraged.

There was an uncertain expression in Angelina’s eyes. “Although I worked hard to earn her approval I could never capture her affection, nor could I find love in myself for her. That made me unhappy.”

Immense satisfaction flowed into Elizabeth’s body. She drew her daughter close, tenderly stroking a tendril of hair back from her face. “Love must be nurtured to make it grow, yet lack of it can make you vulnerable. That’s why I do not encourage your familiarity with Lord Lynnbury. He’s a handsome and charming man who has a way with women. I do not wish to see you hurt.”

“Rafe has no interest in me as a woman.” She smiled wistfully. “Besides, he might decide to offer for Rosabelle?”

  Elizabeth’s breath hissed in her throat as she took a step back. “He told you that?”

 “No, of course not. Rafe would not discuss such an intimate subject with me. Rosabelle - “

Elizabeth gazed sharply about her. “Where is Rosabelle?” she hissed. “I understood she was with you.”

“She left just before you arrived.” Angelina averted her face to hide the tell tale blush rising beneath her skin.

Lying did not come easily to the girl, Elizabeth thought.

“I cannot say where she has got to,” she stammered.

“Cannot, or will not?” Expelling her breath in aggravation as the sound of several horses came to their ears, Elizabeth made swiftly for the door. “The earl is meeting with the men of the district to discuss ways and means of catching the highway robber. It will not do for Rosabelle to make a display of herself. I want you to stay in your chamber until they’ve all departed. Do not show yourself at the window again.”

“No, mama.” Angelina went back to her embroidery, knowing Rosabelle would blame her for the dressing down she would most surely get.

Half an hour later she was surprised, and a little dismayed, when her mother informed her that her presence was required in the study. “Your father wishes you to answer questions about the incident regarding the highwayman.” Elizabeth fetched a shawl, draping it modestly around Angelina’s shoulders. “Do not speak unless directly spoken to, and keep a modest demeanour at all times.”

“You will come with me, mama?” Her voice quavered at the thought of being questioned by several men whom she did not know.

“Of course I will.” Slanting her head to one side her mother regarded her with a smile. “Do not look as though I’m about to throw you to the wolves. I’m sure it will not be the ordeal you imagine.”

Disinclined to believe her mother, Angelina clung to her arm when they entered the study. The room was thick with smoke, and glasses containing port were being handed around by a manservant. The babble of male voices became a hush when the men became aware of their presence. Although Angelina kept her eyes lowered, she sensed curious glances cast her way.

Then the earl was by her side, his voice gruff. “My daughter, gentlemen.”  There were murmured greetings and a general clearing of throats before the earl returned to his seat. “I’ve familiarised the company of the unfortunate incident concerning the highwayman, my dear. As you’re the only person who has seen him unmasked, the gentlemen wish to question you on his appearance.

   “Indeed, sir,” she said, stammering a little. “I’m afraid I did not see much at all. It was nearly dark.”

“Can you remember what colour his eyes were, Lady Angelina?” This from a handsome, middle aged-man who stood with his legs apart in front of the fireplace.

“Dark.”

“Dark blue, or dark brown?”

“Almost black.”

 “Hair?”

“He wore a hat that came down over his face. It was black. The kerchief he wore as a mask was also black.”

 “Coat?”

 “Black...black boots...black breeches...black crop.” And so it went on. She described a perfectly anonymous man dressed in black with no distinguishing marks, then described him all over again.

“Horse?”

“Black.” She smiled as a sense of the ridiculous took hold of her. “The horse was black all over, shining black, as though the rider loved it well and took pride in its comfort. I hope I did not harm him when I brought the cane down upon its back.”

When Rafe chuckled she dared to send him a smile.

“Was it a stallion or a gelding?” someone asked.

“My sister is not aware of the difference,” William said as the room became embarrassingly quiet.

“My pardon.”

Certainly aware of the difference, Angelina coloured. She was grateful when William crossed to her side and gazed into her eyes. “You mustn’t worry. We have a good description from the Marquis of Northbridge.”

 “Nice nag that,” the man at the fireplace said admiringly. “Black as the devil’s soul. I’d know it if I saw it again.”

 “Think carefully, Angelina.” William’s eyes narrowed in on her. “Can you remember anything at all about the highwayman’s face?” 

Something nibbled at the back of Angelina’s mind, then frustratingly slipped away. Regretfully, she shook her head. “As I mentioned before, he was young. It was nearly dark and it all happened so quickly.”

“Then you wouldn’t recognise him if you saw him again?”

Why was William pressing her on this? Asperity came into her voice. “It’s possible, but I cannot be sure.” Forgetting she was not supposed to offer an opinion she gazed round the room. “I suggest you seek the horse. Once you’ve found it the rider will be within your grasp.”

“This is men’s business,” her father said, his annoyance barely disguised. “Your opinion was not solicited, nor is it welcome. I suggest you apologise before you depart.”

The shock of the earl’s public censorship brought a hasty retort to her lips. Her mother’s fingers tightened in warning on her arm and she practically bit her tongue. She gazed upon the earl’s stern countenance with displeasure, encountering an equal measure in return.

Her father did not approve of her any more than she approved of him at this moment. She gave a tiny shrug and lifted her chin, saying silkily as she gazed into the darkness of his eyes. “I’m sorry if my words offended. In the past I lacked your guidance and was encouraged to express an opinion freely. I acknowledge your censorship and accede to your superior wisdom.” 

Tension suddenly filled the room. Keeping her chin high, she bobbed a curtsy and saw colour mottle her father’s cheeks as he gave a stiff, assenting nod. His eyes slid guiltily away from hers in dismissal.

The Marquis of Northbridge, sensing nothing untoward spoke from his position against the fireplace. “Damned fine idea though, eh Thomas? Look for the horse to find the rider. Why didn’t I think of that?  I’d know that nag anywhere. I wager young William here would too if he but saw it once. He’s a damned fine judge of horseflesh, your William...damned fine. Black as the devil’s throat that nag was. It must have been sixteen hands high.”