Stuff! He was well shot of London and its hypocrisies. At Lucashire he would live as he pleased, bowing to no one, playing no games. Again he glanced at the girl who rode uneasily beside him, her attention on soothing the little black kitten. Obviously the chit was not superstitious, but many still were, even in this enlightened age. Could that cat be part of the girl’s problem?
She looked somewhat familiar and he dimly recalled meeting her years before at one of his birthday celebrations. Yes, that was it. With his cousin Betsy when both were scarcely out of leading strings.
Letting the reins slip through his hands, he hurried the horses through the village. As it faded into the distance behind them, the young woman gave a great sigh of relief. The kitten in her lap meowed loudly.
“I know you’re hungry, little one, but I can’t help that right now.” She stroked her soft fur. “At least you’re alive.”
“I’d like an explanation, child. Why did the good folk of Little Cambrage throw you out?”
Biting her lip, the young woman continued stroking the kitten, which now settled down in her lap and, with a huge yawn for one so tiny, fell asleep. “I suppose you have a right to know, since Mother made me promise to contact you if all else failed.”
The earl’s eyebrows rose at this startling statement. “I see.” But he didn’t and she appeared to know it, much to his annoyance.
Mischievously, she glanced over at him. “I doubt that.” She sobered. “You may or may not have guessed, but Reverend Denning was my father.”
“Come now. I can hardly credit the villagers turning out a daughter of their beloved pastor.”
“They were manipulated. Soon after Mother and Father died, I wrote to my brother, Edward, but—if he received my letter at all—’tis highly unlikely he’d be able to return for some time.”
“Why is that?” After their run, the horses trotted along the road, content to be moving ahead.
“He’s in India.”
“With the military, I suppose.” Respect for her brother shone in his eyes, then faded.
“No, as a missionary with William Carey.”
“A missionary. You jest. What good can that accomplish?”
“Eternal life for who knows how many natives. They need the Lord, too.”
“They have hundreds of gods.”
“But no hope,” the young woman said with quiet confidence. “We are called to minister to all peoples. I am proud he went.”
“Even if it leaves you without a protector?” the earl asked, adding, “Surely there are other relatives.”
She shrugged. “There is my mother’s father. But, Grandfather, you see, won’t recognize me. He was furious when mother married a lowly vicar rather than some starched-up wealthy peer.”
“You were told to contact me?”
She sighed. “No one was too helpful in that regard. It might have been different if your father still lived, but you...”
A wry smile touched his lips. “I can guess. They didn’t want you besmirched by contact with a rake such as I.”
“Actually I did not know what to do. When Reverend Carter came, I thought he was being kind when he allowed me to stay on. I did not know...” She closed her eyes; her thin shoulders trembled.
“Go on,” commanded the earl, but not unkindly. Her words began a chill at what might have transpired.
Haltingly she told her story. For some time the earl did not speak as he fought his rage at what the vicar had done to her. That is, if she was telling the truth and not spinning some Banbury tale to engage his sympathy. He’d discover the truth of the matter soon enough.
“Look at me.” She did so and he scrutinized the face with its deep green eyes, straight nose and sensitive mouth. There was a hesitant plea in her eyes he did not miss. Unless she was a much better actress than he gave her credit for being, she believed everything she told him.
“What is your name, Miss Denning?”
“Angella.” Her gaze was hopeful.
Great! All he needed was some unfledged chit underfoot.
As though sensing his anger, Angella averted her eyes. “We’re well past the village, m’lord. I am sure if you set me down now, no one will bother me.”
The earl’s eyebrow rose. “What fustian is this? Set you down in this stretch of wilderness. What do you plan to do?”
Angella cringed at his tone. “My affairs need not concern you further. You have no wish to be plagued with some young woman you didn’t even know existed fifteen minutes or so ago.”
This was so close to what the earl himself was thinking, he stared at her in surprise. “The affair is not of my making, but if you think I’m going to let some gently bred child down here, you’ve an attic to let.”
“I am well in possession of my wits, thank you. I’ll have you know I am twenty years and not some child.” Angella glared at her rescuer, obviously stung.
He eyed her speculatively in her threadbare gown. True her hair, though tangled, was gloriously thick as it cascaded down her back. He took in her thin arms and shoulders, a sure sign she had not been eating properly for some time. There wasn’t much of a figure to be seen under the loose bodice, either.
Pulling the horses to a halt at the roadside under a thick stand of oak trees, the earl faced the girl who stared back at him determinedly. He gave her credit for spunk, but was she truly innocent? A moment later he pulled her roughly into his arms.
She gasped, first melting against him, then stiffening in anger. She struggled in the earl’s arms. “Let me go, you odious blackguard. You’re...you’re as dreadful as the dastardly vicar!” Then she burst into tears.
The earl, who until that moment had taken the whole incident rather lightly, had taken her into his arms to test her reaction to his attentions. At her response, guilt curled around his heart. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so awkward around a woman, for indeed the woman he’d held close to him was not a child. Her body, though slight, was the body of a maturing young woman.
Holding her, he was at a loss how to comfort her, how to still the tempest of her tears or how to apologize. He did not need to be told his disparaging actions had ripped away the last shreds of her dignity and self-control. For a long time she wept, not seeming to realize he held her lightly in his embrace.
* * *
When Angella lifted her head, she was surprised to see embarrassment in the earl’s eyes. She knew her expression showed astonishment that she had allowed him to hold her after his unexpected embrace. Scooting away from him as far as the narrow seat would allow, she hugged her arms across her chest.
Eyeing the discomfited earl with suspicion, Angella broke the tension first. “I got blood all over your jacket.”
With the lightest of touches, he traced the wound on her forehead. “At any rate, I do think this has almost stopped bleeding. Your cheek, too.”
Angella tried to smile, but failed. “You may set me down now.”
He shook his head. “I shan’t hear of it. You’re coming with me to Lucashire.”
“I don’t think so. Not after...” She bit her lip and nervously stroked the cat, who seemed not to have even noticed the tempestuous drama of the past few moments.
The earl’s visage darkened. “’Tis not my usual practice to ravish innocent young maidens, especially those under my care.”
“Could have fooled me,” Angella muttered, but knew the earl heard her. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
His lips curled up at the corners. “’Twas but a simple embrace, and at least we correctly discerned the truth of the matter. You are not a mere child.”
“You might have taken my word for that...like a gentleman, but, of course,” she said, “I have found them in remarkably short supply since Papa’s death.” She glared at the earl. She sensed he recog
nized her anger was mostly a front to cover her humiliation.
“A pretty speech,” he retorted, “but the women I know have little use for either veracity or virtue.”
Angella stared at him. “You certainly know a strange breed of women.”
“Ditto for you and men, I’d say. Now, let’s quit fencing. I’m taking you to Lucashire, and that is that.”
Angella straightened her shoulders. “No, not unless you can offer me a legitimate position in your household. I’ll not sit in your pocket like some missish damsel or worse. You didn’t come to the country to play guardian to an impoverished vicar’s daughter.”
The earl’s grip on the reins tightened. “Very perceptive. However, you’ll do what I want you to do, Miss Angella Denning. Besides, for what are you fit? Certainly not housework.”
She hesitated then, before answering carefully. “I do well at sums. I can keep books. I am a great organizer. I can write up the speeches you give in the House of Lords.”
The earl hooted at this. “I vow, child. I haven’t but once stepped into those hallowed halls. Think you I spend my time preparing speeches for pompous lords who have no use for an upstart in their midst? Not to mention the time doing so would take from...”
“The baize tables, gambling and other pursuits,” ground out Angella. “And here I was thinking you were more than a London dandy. Forgive me.”
He frowned at the discerning look Angella gave him from beneath impossibly long lashes. “Now, look here, Miss Denning. There are some good men running this country.”
“Yes, and many others who should take up their proper responsibilities.”
“Be that as it may,” the earl agreed, continuing, “what would an unfledged chit know about running England? I daresay the House of Lords is beyond your ken to comprehend.”
“Is it now?” Angella’s eyes narrowed at his challenge. “Who is going to run this country if younger men refuse to take their God-given responsibilities seriously? M’lord, farmers are rising up in riots, the corn laws are ridiculously unfair, farmers are fighting for their existence. What will happen to the expanded farms once the war ends and their products are no longer required? People are starving. English people. Don’t you care?” She took in a deep breath. “What would you know of starving while you sit at tables overflowing with food that would feed a normal family for months?”
The earl glared at Angella. “Who are you? I’ve not known a woman like you before.”
He frowned when Angella told him, “I imagine your experiences with women seldom have gone deeper than paying for numerous fripperies, not discussing affairs of state. Am I correct?”
* * *
The girl’s question gave him pause. In drowning his guilt in riotous living, he’d done more than neglect his responsibilities to his estate. Not, he defended himself, that he hadn’t been involved in decisions. Except for one or two, he amended, thinking of the new vicar.
She continued, “And what about the fate of the poor climbing boys—children who can barely walk forced into frighteningly dark, not to mention, dangerous chimneys by older boys with lighted tapers. Their death rate is appalling, their treatment worse.”
“Enough. I get the picture.” The earl halted her onslaught. “You’re quite well-spoken for a country chit, not to mention well versed on the issues.”
“Papa believed even females should be educated to their fullest capabilities. Something you would dun him for, I’m certain.” Sarcasm fell heavily from her lips.
“He thought it was a shame I was born a girl, because he knew females were not encouraged to use their intelligence. Said he’d like to see me at Oxford. Not that he had a great deal of respect for the college. Papa said the professors were often lazy and the students apathetic. Still and all, he would have liked to see me continue my education.” She sighed. “But he’s gone.”
“So you’re quite the bluestocking.” He rolled his eyes. “This could prove most interesting.”
“If I agree to come with you.”
His lips tightened. “You have no choice in the matter, Miss Angella Denning.”
Eyes flashing, Angella jerked suddenly, causing the kitten to meow in protest. Quickly soothing the animal, Angella said, “Only if you have a job for me. I will not sit in your pocket.”
“Stuff and nonsense, you’re the most irritating, impertinent, difficult female it has been my misfortune to know in an age.” An image of Margaret flashed in his mind. “Almost, anyway.” He quickly wiped away the image of the woman determined to become his wife. It wasn’t something he liked to think about.
Angella actually grinned at his condemnation as though he’d complimented her. “Thank you, m’lord. You do me honor. Now, about that job?”
“We’ll see.’’ The earl found himself grinning back at her. Her independence was a refreshing trait after Margaret’s cloying dependence on his person—and his purse. “For now, I want you to be my guest.” He raised a restraining hand. “Now, don’t fly up in the boughs. Not now, at any rate. All right.”
Since there was no gainsaying him, Angella turned away. The flush on her pale cheeks told the earl she was ashamed at her outburst, but not enough to give him the satisfaction of an abject apology. He grinned. At least she was no whimpering female given to a fit of the vapors at the first sign of inconvenience.
If she spoke the truth of the matter, she had outfaced the new vicar before the gathering of the whole village. She must have had some idea of the outcome. Glancing her way, he gazed into the large eyes of the cat lying in her lap, regarding him intently. He chuckled as he urged on his horses. Mayhap his visit would not be quite as dull as he had imagined. He wasn’t sure whether he liked the idea or not.
Silence reigned as they sped on through another village and down a long road. As the sun drew behind the growing bank of clouds, Angella shivered in her lightweight gown. “Here, let me give you my jacket.”
“No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” Angella hugged her arms to her chest.
The earl’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly, but, though he did not press the issue, he did hasten the pace. Sometime later after he turned off the main road, the earl commented. “Ever been to Lucashire Hall?”
Angella nodded.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “my birthday celebration.”
She added, “And my brother, Edward’s, commissioning reception.”
“Then you know,” said the earl, “we’re coming on it presently.”
He tooled the horses over a bridge that spanned a wide shallow stream, meandering off into the distance. “Used to be part of the moat when Lucashire Hall was Lucashire Castle.”
He caught her interest. “What happened?”
The earl grinned more to himself than at her. Bluestocking indeed. The chit thirsted for knowledge, and, where Lucashire was concerned, he was more than willing to accommodate her.
“Unfortunately it was breached, raided and destroyed when one of my illustrious ancestors found himself out of grace with good King Henry III. His son, Edward, was more understanding of the circumstances and restored both our lands and titles. Been passed on ever since.”
Coming down the long drive, the earl pulled the phaeton to a halt. Sweeping his arm before him, he exclaimed, not without considerable pride, “There it is, Lucashire Hall. I never tire of this view.”
The huge edifice never failed to impress him whenever he came home. This was his home. The look of wonder on the face of the young woman beside him satisfied some need within him. No doubt she felt about his home as he did himself. Clasping his arm, Angella sucked in a deep breath.
“It’s like something out of a dream, isn’t it?” She whispered as though speaking aloud would make it disappear into the mist that surrounded it in the afternoon that had turned to damp chill.
He watched
her take in the imposing residence with its main four-story facade flanked by two high round towers with their sculptured stone balustrades. The center portion of the hall was domed and a wide entrance flayed out in two long shallow-stepped staircases around a marble fountain set in a small, immaculate flower garden, ablaze with color.
Water spouted high in the air from the sculpted figure of a draped cupid poised with an arrow in his bow. On either side of the hall, well-manicured formal lawns and gardens spread out in concentric circles.
* * *
The whole of it took away her powers of speech. Taking in the beauty, Angella was scarcely aware when they arrived. The earl gave over the reins and came to lift her down. She gasped and automatically held on to the awakened kitten and her satchel as the earl’s large hands spanned her tiny waist.
A moment later, her arm tucked in his, she found herself ascending the elegant stairs. The kitten dug its claws into her shoulder and huddled close to Angella’s neck as she looked around the place she had visited only twice.
A giggle escaped Angella’s lips.
“What is it, little Angella,” the earl asked. She liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. The warmth with which he spoke her name brought a flush to her cheeks.
“I feel like Cinderella coming to the ball, sans elegant gown and glass slippers.” Her giggle stilled in a choked sob.
Tightening his grip on her arm, the earl led her through the massive door, opened by an imposing butler, into the spacious vestibule with its mosaic flooring, two-story-high intricately carved ceiling and its tapestried walls. The chamber seemed to go on endlessly in either direction. Angella stared.
Giving over his cape and hat to the austere butler, the earl indicated the room. “This was once the great hall of the castle. ’Twas the only part left partially standing after the razing. The whole of the new hall was built around it. Impressive, is it not?”
Angella nodded. “It makes me feel so, so insignificant. Who am I to be in such a grand place? You are right to be proud of calling this your ancestral home.”
Earl's Ward (9781460320594) Page 3