When Angels Fall (25 page)

It was Ivan, of course, and she wanted to kick herself for allowing her imagination to roam so freely. He would never look at her with admiration and love in his eyes, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was a bastard, or that she was now his servant. Their fates had been driven apart years ago, and there was nothing either of them could do to change that.

Her little room never seemed so cold and forlorn as the nights when she thought of Ivan. Now she recalled their walk home and how he had tried to play the gentleman. The night air had been frigid and remnants of the last snowfall still clung to the sides of the road, making a ghostly outline. She had shivered beneath her thin mantle and before she could protest, he had thrown his greatcoat over her shoulders. His
surtout
was incredibly heavy, but Ivan’s warmth lingered in its folds and she immediately ceased her shivering. They walked at a brisk pace. To their left, the little hamlet of Nodding Knoll slept peacefully beneath a starry night.

When they arrived at the cottage, he bent and kissed her cold little hand. He opened her cottage door for her, then waited until she entered. He had to be chilled without his greatcoat and she knew a moment by the fire would do him good. But she wasn’t about to invite him in. Warily she gave him back his coat. He nodded and left for Powerscourt.

He had been chivalrous in giving up his coat and, though she admitted it only grudgingly, also in seeing her home. Still, she feared him. Her thoughts went back to earlier in the evening and their near kiss. Even now she longed to recapture it. She ached to see it go further. Day by day she was beginning to understand what had driven her mother to madness. The more time she spent with Ivan, the more she longed to step over the line of propriety and satisfy her growing, inexplicable desire for him.

Her hand ran over her taut, burning stomach and she rolled to her side. But to be truthful, it wasn’t only Ivan she feared. She feared herself perhaps even more.

The first thing Lissa found out the next morning was that Mrs. Lofts had been sent packing and a new woman, Mrs. Amabel Myers, had been summoned from London. John Dover had told her the news as they walked to the castle. Though she had no great love of the old housekeeper, Lissa still felt slightly guilty that she might have been the cause of the woman’s dismissal. But John made it clear that Mrs. Lofts’s position had always been precarious beneath the new master. All the other servants knew the marquis had taken an instant dislike to her and that he had made arrangements for a replacement immediately upon arriving at Powerscourt. London was a good two days away and Mrs. Myers was apparently already in her situation. Lissa could only surmise she had been sent for as early as last Monday.

This bit of news greatly lightened her heart, and she walked toward the castle much more briskly. The weather was fine and clear. The snow was all gone and only a crystalline layer of frost clung to the grass now. She breathed in the morning air and, for some odd reason, was actually looking forward to her day.

The first thing she did was meet Mrs. Myers. The new housekeeper was as motherly as Mrs. Lofts was cold and forbidding. When the woman walked there was a bounce to her step almost like Mrs. Bishop’s, and her white, frilly cap was a pleasing sight, especially in contrast to the severe gray bun Mrs. Lofts had worn. Lissa liked Mrs. Myers immediately, and the new housekeeper seemed to be fond of her too. Yet Lissa experienced a moment of discomfort when she realized that Mrs. Myers seemed taken aback by her appearance.

Lissa didn’t know that Mrs. Myers, being a gem of a
housekeeper, knew of everything that went on in her house from basement to attic. The woman was all too familiar with Elizabeth Victorine Alcester, at least all too familiar with her face.

The uncomfortable moment passed quickly, however, and soon Mrs. Myers and she were getting along famously. In fact, Lissa was hard-pressed to leave the butler’s pantry when the marquis rang the bells over the stair at ten o’clock.

Lissa found the library in the maze of corridors in the East Tower. Ivan was adding more coal to the fire in the hearth when she entered, and she thought he looked a little annoyed that she had caught him performing a servant’s task. The Marquis of Powerscourt certainly had enough servants to perform any task, no matter how trivial. Yet for some reason, the fact that he didn’t bother a servant to climb the cold back staircases just to place more coal at his hearth endeared him to her. Despite the rancor that had gone on last night, she couldn’t help but smile, which seemed to take him aback.

Uneasy, he brushed the coal dust from his hands. She appraised his appearance this morning and was pleased by his attire. He wore only a batiste shirt and gray trousers with black braid running down the side seams. His clothes suited him well; simple and masculine. She watched him go to the huge leather-topped partners desk and hand her a stack of papers. She looked down at them. They contained only names.

“May I ask what these are, my lord?”

He seemed to prickle at the use of his title. “A list of the guests I am inviting to the Powerscourt ball.”

This surprised her. In her entire lifetime, she had never heard of a ball at Powerscourt. The former marquis was a man haunted by the fact that his first wife had died without issue. He hated people and lowered himself to follow only a few rules of polite society. He had teas but never dinners. He discreetly shed his lusts upon the wan
dering gypsies, never upon the more proper ladies of Nodding Knoll. Though he should have supported Powerscourt’s town much more than he did, most people were glad he was a recluse.

Now Powerscourt, made magnificent again, was to have a ball. Perhaps it was time.

“You’ll do the invitations. Of course, I expect it won’t take you more than a week.”

She looked at him. “A week?”

“There are over eight hundred invitations to be sent.”

Lissa scanned the list. The ball would be an enormous affair. But the marquis never did anything halfway. Not even when he’d been a stableboy.

“I’ll have them done in a week,” she promised.

“Fine. You’ll stay in here. I’ve sent for everything you’ll need.” He went back to the partners desk and held the chair for her. She sat by a stack of cards engraved with the Powerscourt crest. With ink and pen in hand, she began. Ivan settled in a chair to read. Every now and then she looked up because she thought he was watching her, but his head was always bent toward his tome. Strangely disappointed, she would go back to her task.

Saturday was the day she’d planned to go to Cullenbury to sell her gown, but instead she spent it continuing to write out the invitations. She worked every day in peaceful seclusion in the library with Ivan. Though they hardly spoke a word to each other, she looked forward to her work more and more as the days progressed. Mrs. Myers would bring them luncheon at noon and tea at precisely four-thirty. In many ways the week was idyllic. And like all sweet times, it ended much too soon.

When all of the invitations were written they were sent by post, mostly to London, for all of Nodding Knoll was to be invited by banner. Lissa had hardly thought of whether or not she and Evvie would attend, partly because she was so busy inviting others, and partly because she knew she would have nothing to wear to such a grand
event. In three weeks’ time the rose satin gown would be gone. Yet Evvie would have her blue velvet, and Lissa knew that the Bishops would be happy to chaperone her sister so that Evvie could have her waltz with Holland.

Ivan didn’t mention the ball in any manner other than to inquire about her progress with the invites. By the end of the week, Lissa had made up her mind that she would not attend, until she got her semi-annual ‘charity’ visit from Arabella Parks.

Arabella came to visit bearing gifts for her destitute friends. She gave Evvie a huge jar of pickled tongues that her cook had just put up and presented to Lissa her old editions of
The Ladies’ Cabinet
and
Les Modes Parisiennes.

Lissa thanked Arabella, a bit stiffly perhaps, then led her to the parlor. Evvie merely stood by, holding the disgusting jar until Lissa could look at it no more. She took the tongues from Evvie’s hand and put them in the kitchen. She came back bearing a pot of chocolate.

“It’s so kind of you to call, Arabella. How’s your mother?” Lissa put down the tray and looked at the clock. It was almost noon and she wanted to get to Cullenbury that day. Thankfully Arabella wouldn’t linger, Lissa knew that all too well.

“Mother is ecstatic, Lissa. You’ve heard of the Powerscourt ball, of course?” Arabella asked, accepting the cup of chocolate Lissa offered her.

“Well, we’ve heard rumors. . . .” Lissa discreetly pinched Evvie who was seated next to her. Evvie had to cough to keep from giggling.

“Mother thinks I would be a fine marchioness. I believe I may finally set my cap.”

Suddenly their fun was over. Evvie sat deathly still, and it was all Lissa could do not to let her jaw drop. It was absurd, but the thought of Ivan taking a wife had never occurred to her. Now, as she looked at pretty, red-headed Arabella, the possibility was all too clear. Arabella looked stunning in her changeable silk dress. The taffeta was all
the rage; though the gown was burgundy, it was also woven with luminescent green silk threads and the deep shadows of her skirt were colored spruce. It suited Arabella perfectly. Yet Arabella wasn’t just attractive, she was also kind. Her kindness was a bit superficial, perhaps, but no one could fault her for that, especially not Lissa. Arabella was the girl she might have become had circumstances not changed.

“So should I set my cap for the marquis, Lissa?”

Lissa took a sip of her chocolate. She tried to enjoy it for it was the last they had but it tasted bitter. “Of course you should, Arabella. You’ve already waited so long to be married. Does the marquis share your sentiments?”

Arabella hesitated before answering. “If not now then I am determined that he will.”

“So you should be,” Lissa answered, relief and dread swelling in her breast. Ivan was not for her, she knew it only too well. So why did this conversation put her in agony?

“Oh, Lissa, it’s so wonderful to have a dear friend like you to talk to!” Arabella suddenly stood and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then she took up her magnificent mantle of black curly lamb and walked to the door. “Of course, I shall see you both before Christmastide—at the ball!”

Lissa was just about to make their excuses when Arabella added as an afterthought, “You know, I have several of last season’s ballgowns I can send down to you girls. Why don’t I do that? I know both of you would just love them!”

Lissa wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or insulted.

“Oh, no! You mustn’t bother,” she said. “Evvie and I already have our gowns for the ball.” Lissa could hardly believe what she’d just said.

Arabella gave her a puzzled look, then shrugged. “Until the ball, then!”

“Until the ball!” Lissa answered, watching Arabella being helped back into her carriage by the footman.

After she’d gone, Evvie could hardly contain her excitement. “Lissa, you mean we’re really going? I’ve wanted to, but I was sure you wouldn’t.”

Lissa sighed. Why had she been so impetuous? She should have simply made her excuses to Arabella and trotted off to Cullenbury. But her temper had gotten the best of her again. Last season’s ballgowns indeed! Suddenly the picture of Ivan waltzing with Arabella was almost more than she could stand. Ivan was going to see her in that rose satin ballgown if it killed her.

Unfortunately, it probably would.

She turned to Evvie and said, “We’re going to Ivan’s wretched ball, all right. Just let anyone try to stop us.”

Though the ball was still a week away, Powerscourt practically shook from all the activity within its stone walls. Housemaids prepared guest apartments; two additional cooks were summoned from Paris; and lads hopeful of playing footman for even just one night came and were measured for livery.

As the preparations and confusion built to a crescendo, Lord Powerscourt was not to be found. Mrs. Myers mentioned that he had taken off for London, and while Lissa didn’t want to seem at all interested in the marquis’s comings and goings, it seemed the housekeeper could read her thoughts. She assured Lissa he would be back in plenty of time for his ball.

Apparently the marquis so desired to be back at his castle, he rode all through the night, and showed up at Powerscourt late the next morning. When Lissa arrived, Mrs. Myers told her that the cook had the marquis’s breakfast waiting in the hot closet. With some trepidation
in her voice, she added that Lissa was to bring it up to his apartments.

The request, though made in the innocent light of morning, seemed to make both women anxious. Mrs. Myers fluttered about the servants’ hall like a bird guarding its nest while Lissa warily listened to her explanation of the route to the marquis’s suite. She was then handed his breakfast tray, which was made of heavy coin silver. Her arms ached with the weight and she was anxious to have the task over with. Mrs. Myers seemed to be equally concerned, for just as Lissa was ready to leave she added ominously, “If you are delayed, love, I shall come find you.”