When Angels Fall (37 page)

“No. Never.” She stood and put the freshly pressed white wool gown in Evvie’s hands. “You are going on your honeymoon. Even as solicitous as Holland is, I know he
would much prefer I not be there. He loves you very deeply. He wants his time with you alone. It’s his right.” Lissa touched Evvie’s hand. “It’s your right.”

“Perhaps, but neither one of us wants you to be here all by yourself. I just wish there was someone you could stay with.”

“I’ll make my own plans—so don’t spend another moment worrying about me.”

“Plans? With Ivan, Lissa?”

A pained look passed over Lissa’s face. She was heartily glad Evvie couldn’t see it.

“No, you goose. Why would you think that?” She then quickly changed the subject. “But now you must get dressed. Holland is obviously a man who does not like to wait.”

Evvie blushed, not at all missing her sister’s first reference to the night of the ball. Without another word, she began to disrobe.

As soon as Evvie was dressed and waiting in the parlor with George, Lissa went to change into another gown. She wore a simple dress of gray worsted adorned at the bodice and hem with black braiding. She knew her attire was a bit melancholy, but her best dresses, including her slate-blue taffeta and her rosebud printed tartan, were packed in Evvie’s valise for her honeymoon.

Evvie had no idea she had done this, but Lissa was sure her sister would need them during her month abroad and that she herself would not. She had also slipped in their mother’s emerald earrings. Rebecca’s pearls were notably absent, and Lissa had felt quite a pang when she thought how beautiful Evvie would have looked in them as she walked down the aisle. From that moment onward, however, she suddenly knew what to get Evvie for a wedding present. She would buy Evvie some pearls just like her mother’s, even if it took her years to earn enough money.

In her simple attire, Lissa was soon ready to go. She
went to the hook where she kept her mantle, but she paused when something caught her eye. A small sparkle shot from the bottom of her cloak. In amazement, she bent down and found one of the crystals from her snood caught in the fray at her hem. She had worn her cloak every day for almost a week and it seemed impossible that the crystal hadn’t fallen off. Yet there it was, its silver setting clinging tenaciously to the frayed threads as if waiting for her to find it.

She picked it out and held it in her palm. Staring at it, all kinds of memories flashed through her mind, terrible and exquisite. As if the little glittering bead were a great treasure, she pressed it to her breast. Had she not been driven by her emotions, she would have tossed it out her window and never given it another thought. Instead, she took a pin off her dresser, unbuttoned her bodice, and pinned it next to her breast. Her hands shook as she refastened her bodice and she knew she was being a fool. But still, it was her secret and no one else’s. She would wear the crystal bead next to her heart, right where it beat the strongest. And the knowledge of its past would be solely her own, one that she would carry to her grave. No one would ever know how strong her weakness had been.

The wedding of Evelyn Grace Alcester and Holland Thomas Jones took place at four o’clock the day after Christmas. They were married in Nodding Knoll’s little chapel before a grumpy minister who had squeezed them between services. There weren’t many people in attendance for no banns were posted. Yet Lissa had been pleased to see the Bishops arrive and a handful of other townsfolk who had stayed friendly to the Alcesters. Hol
land’s family remained in London. His mother was elderly and it was difficult for her to travel. So Holland had promised to introduce his bride to her and his brother’s family as soon as they returned from Venice.

There was no pomp and circumstance, yet it was a lovely ceremony, full of grace and simplicity. Evvie made a beautiful, wistful bride, and seeing her, Holland seemed unable to believe his good fortune. She was finally his and he stood proudly beside her, handsome in a gray frock coat and black striped trousers. As Lissa watched them say their vows, she couldn’t help but believe their future was bright, sure to be blessed with love and children. At long last, Evvie would be taken care of properly, and from the manner in which Holland looked at his bride, Lissa could have fallen to her knees in thanks that he had come their way. Already his transgressions were forgiven and forgotten.

When the ceremony was over a tear of happiness escaped Evvie’s eye as she met her husband’s lips for their first matrimonial kiss. No one could remain unmoved by the joyful picture the couple made, especially Lissa, who frequently dabbed her eyes with a hankie. Even the grouchy minister seemed touched by their embrace. As he ushered them into the parsonage to sign the wedding certificate, he released a rare smile and even gave Holland a congratulatory slap on the back.

“Shall we never see Evvie again?” George suddenly asked in a distressed voice as he watched Evvie and Holland disappear into the parsonage.

Lissa looked down at him and slid her hand through those black locks she loved so much. “Of course we will. She’ll go on her honeymoon and then she’ll be back.”

“But not at Violet Croft,” he stated dismally. His lower lip began to quiver.

“But you’ll see her at Holland’s house. And if you like, I’m sure you may stay there during your holidays from Eton.”

“But where will you be then?”

She tipped his face up and made him look at her. A playful smile touched her lips. “Well, I’ve given it a bit of thought, love. And I’ve decided to come live with you at Eton. Your chums won’t mind, will they, if I come and keep you company in your garret?”

“But—but—Lissa!” he sputtered, looking absolutely horrified. “You cannot! Eton is only for men!”

As if this were somehow a great revelation, she opened her eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

“Quite,” he answered hastily.

“Well, then, I suppose the only thing left for you is to have faith that you shall see me on your holidays and leave it at that.”

Looking as if he’d just escaped the hangman, George nodded reverently. With that, Lissa couldn’t keep herself from laughing. Bemusing her little brother to no end, she tweaked a lock of his hair, then kissed him well on his cheek. She was still smiling when she turned to walk down the aisle, but all at once her heart froze in her chest.

Standing next to the church’s carved double doors was the marquis. His black
surtout
was still covered with snow, but it was apparent that he had witnessed the entire ceremony. He leaned casually against the back wall with his arms crossed over his chest and she noticed that his hand was bandaged. She wondered what had happened to him, but his wound seemed not to distress him at all; he looked completely at ease. The only chink in his armor, however, was his eyes. They shone dark and brilliant, an exact mix of anger and desire. His stare seemed to burn right through to her soul and the intensity made her gasp. It pinned her feet to the aisle and forced her to fall beneath its spell. Without even realizing it, her hand moved to her bodice where her crystal was pinned. As if to protect herself, she pressed the stone into the soft flesh of her bosom. But still his hold continued. Only when she heard Evvie and Holland returning from the parsonage did the
magic ever falter. She glanced back at the rectory. The next time she looked back, her demon lover was gone.

Holland and Evvie left for Cullenbury right after the ceremony. They were to bring George to the train station so that he could catch the 3:12 train to Perth, and they’d already made arrangements to spend their wedding night at the Cullenbury Inn. From there they would travel to London, where they would board ship for Italy.

Lissa refused to make it a teary good-bye. She knew if she even let a quiver of emotion escape her, Evvie would be beside herself and refuse to go. So she had remained cheerful to the bitter end, giving her brother and sister a fond farewell and seeing them up into the carriage.

But oddly enough, it was when she said good-bye to Holland that she almost lost control. As she looked up at him, their eyes met with a bitter understanding, an understanding that had everything to do with Ivan. She was suddenly aware of how angry Holland was that there was nothing he could do for her. With that new knowledge, a tenderness for her brother-in-law overwhelmed her. Impulsively she stood up on tiptoe and placed a light kiss on his mouth.

“Welcome to the Alcester family, Holland,” she said, wry amusement in her voice, “and may God have mercy on your soul.”

He looked down at her, his eyes filled with joy mixed with frustration. With a gentle caress, he touched her cheek in farewell. “And why do I fear you’ll be the one I’ll need it for?”

“I? Never,” she vowed, a brilliant smile on her lips. “I shall behave like an angel during your absence.”

At once his face turned grim. Powerscourt loomed in the distance behind the carriage and he shot the castle a worried glance. Whispering for her ears only, he said, “But not a fallen one, promise me?”

His words shocked her, but his concern was so real she couldn’t be angry. All at once she realized just how lucky she was that he wanted to look after her.

“I promise,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. When at last her vision cleared, he, Evvie, and George were on their way to Cullenbury.

Alone, the walk back to Violet Croft was long and difficult. Mrs. Bishop had asked her to dinner, but Lissa knew she wouldn’t be good company so she refused the kind offer.

When she arrived home, her movements seemed to echo throughout the cottage. She spent the rest of the afternoon working on her needlepoint, but by evening she was heartily depressed. Ivan wouldn’t stay out of her thoughts. In an effort to cheer herself up, she made a huge fire in the hearth and put the kettle on. But then she was at a loss. The entire evening stretched before her like a great yawning cavern.

Sitting on the faded blue soft, she let her thoughts return to the wedding. But all too soon she was again remembering Ivan—how he’d looked, stating at her from the back of the church. Unbidden a tingle went down her spine. Her eyes darkened and she let her imagination roam where it may. Ivan would know how to ease her loneliness.

For the moment.

A frustrated frown appeared on her brow. She turned her head to the fire and watched the sparks shoot up the flue. How was she going to get through this month without losing her mind? Somehow she knew her needlework wasn’t going to be the answer. As the minutes ticked by she fought the urge to think of Ivan, but it seemed a greater task than she could accomplish. All too soon her reveries took over and she began imagining Ivan in her parlor. She pictured every detail—his coat, his hair, his scar. He stood over her as she sat on the sofa, his eyes glittering with suppressed desire. She wanted him to kiss
her and quickly he was, pulling her up from the sofa and into his arms. His hands found her bare skin and she burned from his rough caress.

Presently they were upstairs, their clothing shed and scattered on the floor. He made love to her as a lover should: tenderly, yet impossibly demanding. She reveled in his touch, his kiss, and the very weight of his body upon hers. She wanted him all and immediately, so she took her pleasure as violently as he took his. When at last there was no more pain or rage or unfulfilled desire between them, he lay quietly between her legs, and she watched him, praying she would never have to let him go.

But then her fantasy changed. Unwillingly, her mind pictured him leaving her bed. Even in her dreams she couldn’t stop him. At her window, she heard the harnesses jingle from his waiting carriage. She shivered. Suddenly everything was cold: the sheets, the room, him. She clutched the blankets to her and called his name, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t even look back. Quickly dressed, he made for the stairs. She begged him not to abandon her, but again her cries fell on deaf ears. Sobbing, she went to her window. Below, he ascended his carriage and drove off, whether heading for Powerscourt or another woman’s bed, she was never to know.

Releasing a gasp, she snapped out of the reverie. Her hands were shaking so she pressed them to her cheeks to keep them still. Her mind had played a dastardly trick on her, yet the worst part was that her daydream was all too true. She had visualized exactly what she feared. Ivan would take everything she could give, then make her a beggar for his love. Perhaps she was halfway there already.

Suddenly a knock sounded at her door. Startled by the intrusion, her gaze flew to the entry. It was late for visitors and as she moved to the door, she was overcome by the fear that her visitor might be Ivan. She almost didn’t answer the knock, but instinctively she knew it
wasn’t Ivan. His knock was commanding; this one was feminine.

“Lissa.” Arabella Parks stood in her doorway. Her face looked pinched as if she were rather angry. Lissa was so surprised to see her, it took her a moment to invite her in.

“Arabella, it’s so late. Is something wrong?” Lissa stepped away and allowed her to enter.

“I had to see you.” Arabella looked back at her carriage. With an abrupt nod, the driver tipped his hat and drove away.