Angella looked delectable in a high-waisted gown of forest green with a deep flounce at the hem. The sleeves puffed at the shoulder and fitted tightly to her wrists. He took note she preferred longer sleeves.
He had not even considered the topic until she pointed to drawings of the latest designs from the lady’s magazine Trowbridge suggested he order for her. “Why do women parade about half-naked in the winter? Look at the short sleeves and that neckline. No wonder so many women die of pneumonia and consumption.”
Startled, the earl, feeling comfortable in his waistcoat and jacket, looked down at the picture in the magazine. A young woman modeled a thin gown too scanty for the winter weather. “I never gave it a thought.” An image of Margaret flashed in his mind. Always up to the mark, he now recalled her shivering in the evening’s chill. He’d thought then she wanted his arms about her, and he had obliged.
The memory of the liberties taken suddenly shamed him, and he turned from Angella’s inquiring gaze. He felt sullied in the face of her innocence.
“No wonder,” she continued, “so many become ill.” Mischievously, she glanced up at him through her impossibly long lashes. “Of course, they do it for the likes of the gentlemen who have no notion what foolishness their women subject themselves to on their behalf.”
“Um. I concede your point, Angella.” He tried not to shift in the chair. Angella was much too quick and would pick up on his discomfort.
“You like women who dress like this, don’t you?” Her tone was hesitant, pained.
Grimacing, the earl met her gaze. A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I agree that women dressing like that in this season are goose-witted and so are their escorts.” He knew he condemned himself and his tone grew so harsh, Angella drew back.
Not one to abide hypocrisy, he hated what he was more and more seeing in himself. Stuff and nonsense. Once again, Angella found his weakness. She didn’t even realize how her honesty clawed at his heart. He laughed, but there was no frivolity in the sound. “Yes, I am one of those foolish dandies. Isn’t that what you wanted to know?”
Admiring Angella in her gown, the earl could not help but notice the lace that modestly covered the deep neckline. Her own addition, he supposed. A matching green ribbon held back her long tresses that glowed in the light of the fire as she settled down at his feet on a tapestried stool. He stilled his hand from reaching out to stroke the hair that glowed softly in the firelight.
As though determined to change the subject, Angella asked, “Have you ever met William Wilberforce? Papa met him once. He was very impressed with him. Said he heard John Newton preach, too, when Reverend Newton was rector of St. Mary Woolnoth in London.” She sighed. “I wish I could have heard him. To think of the influence he and Wilberforce have had in fighting the slave trade.
“Papa used to tell me how John Newton rebelled against his faith and become a shipmaster dealing in slaves. The cruelties Reverend Newton himself participated in were awful.” Angella blinked. “I can’t understand how anyone can be so cruel to another human being.”
“Many don’t think of the Africans as people, as human beings.”
“So they say.” Angella was indignant. “That is only an excuse. If they truly believed that, they would not deign to rape the poor women. Men don’t rape animals.”
“Angella,” the earl told her sternly. “This is not a fit subject for a gently bred young woman.”
Angella snorted. “It is that sort of attitude that allows the dreadful trade to continue.”
Amused at her retort, he steered the argument. “What of Newton?”
“He became a Christian and everything changed. His whole life became not only a crusade for Christ, but also a crusade against the horrible practice of owning one’s fellow human beings.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” the earl drawled deliberately, leaning back. “Slavery is not such a bad thing after all. I’ve heard many slaves fare right well. They are fed and housed...”
Angella stiffened, her eyes mirroring her shock as she heard him out. He shifted uncomfortably at the disappointment on her face.
“You don’t agree that the government should outlaw the slave trade, making it a criminal offense?” She paused, then swallowed. “Don’t you believe, along with Wilberforce, that slavery itself must also be abolished? How is this slavery different from the serfdom from which English men—and women, I might add—fought to break out of in the Middle Ages?”
Shaking her head sadly, she murmured. “If you truly feel that way, I thank God you’re not a force in the House of Lords. They’re insensitive enough as it is, never seeing beyond their own comfortable livings.”
The earl winced. “Now, Angella....”
“No, you listen,” she said. “I suppose you’d like to return to the good old days when the lord and master of the fief had the power of life and death over his people. Sure, and why not? You wouldn’t need to pay a pence to any servant on the estate.” The earl could read her feelings in her expressive face. The injustice of it all tore her apart. And she was thinking worse of him by the second.
“Angella. Miss Denning,” commanded the earl. “I apologize.”
Gaping at him, her eyes widened. “What?”
Reaching down, he took her hand. “I was only bamming you, my dear. ’Tis ridiculously simple to set you in a spin.”
As though not quite believing her ears, she continued to stare. Clearing his throat, he said, “Truth to tell, I rather admire Wilberforce. Quite the crusader. For the most part, I agree with him. Slavery is a brutal, inhuman practice that should be outlawed, totally and completely.”
She really read him the riot act then, but he stopped her with a question. “I’m curious, Angella. Why is it that you are so careful with proprieties and yet not once have you reproached me for not ordering all your gowns in black? Even a country mouse, such as you knows it’s the thing to wear the willow for at least a year after the death of a close connection.”
Angella stared into the hearth. “I did consider it, but not for the reason you might assume. But because I thought you might have done it deliberately. There were more important considerations at the time and, well, it just never came up. Besides, Papa never did hold with such nonsense.” She smiled softly, the tendrils of her hair curling invitingly around her cheeks.
“He said, ‘We who serve the Lord go on to a better place. How much better to treat others with compassion and care while they are still with us, than to pretend a great mourning when once they have gone on.’ When Father and Mother died, I wore a black armband out of respect as I did not have a black gown, but I knew Papa would not want me to wear black all that long.” She shrugged. “It simply was not worth wrangling about.”
The earl witnessed the tears gathering in her eyes as the pain of her loss lay heavy upon her. He touched her arm lightly to comfort her. “I’m sorry about your loss, Angella. I am truly sorry.”
The two sat together silently for some time. The only sound in the large chamber was the crackle of the fire, and, once in a while, the roar of the wind outside the windows. It was then the earl realized he had become rather fond of his reluctant ward.
For all their squabbles, they had much in common, from their joy in riding to their mutual desire to make the estate a model of its kind. The earl smiled at the astonishment on Angella’s face when he shared his dream for Lucashire. “Fact is, I have been thinking on it for some time. You’ve been a help. Did you know that?” Her eyes widened.
“Me? Seems we mostly argue about how to accomplish your goals.” She shivered under his tender gaze.
“True. But you forced me to do more than think about my ideas. To best you, I needed to study, and that makes me want to try that new rotation system, and...”
Angella gulped. “Oh, m’lord, I had no idea.” She worried her lip. “I have been vastly unfa
ir. I thought...”
“I care only for riotous living and my own pleasures.” Though he teased, hurt flickered in his heart.
She laid a hand on his arm. “No, I knew it wasn’t as bad as all that. I am sorry.”
In all their brangles he’d never seen her as humble as she was at this moment. She truly cared. Looking into her eyes, he lost his train of thought.
In all the world of shallow promises and broken commitments, Angella was real. She did not play up to him for his title or his deep pockets, and she did not look down on him for not having the same deep faith as she did herself.
Yes, Miss Angella Denning was a most unusual woman, an honest woman who cared about others, cared even about his feelings. His lady mother would have liked her. Looking into her face, he wanted the peace he witnessed in her eyes, the solid faith that made her stick to her ideals no matter what. The thought startled him. He wanted more; he wanted her.
Neither could say afterward who moved first, but suddenly Angella found herself held tightly in his arms. She melted in his gentleness, her eyes closed as though savoring the wonder of the moment.
* * *
Her heart pounded with the knowledge she had refused to acknowledge before. She was coming to care deeply for the infuriating, often odious, earl.
As he released her, she gazed up at him with all the wonder of the stars in her eyes. “M’lord...I...” She blushed, then hid her face against his broad chest.
Beneath her cheek, she felt his chest rumble in a chuckle. “Who would have thought it, little Angella? Who would have considered I would come to care about the irritating forlorn little waif I rescued from the village bullies?”
She looked up then, her eyes searching his. “You care? You truly care for me?”
His arm held her close, the tender light in his eyes reassuring her. “I can scarcely believe it myself. Truth to tell, I don’t know precisely when you stopped being an irritant,” he said, then paused. “Mayhap you haven’t,” he teased.
With a light finger, he traced her cheek. “You haven’t told me what I wish to hear from you.” Pulling back, he studied her face. “Am I presuming too much? This is too fast...”
When he touched her, Angella found thinking most difficult. Color stained her cheeks. “No, m’lord. I...I have come to care for you, as well.” Her lashes fluttered shyly over her eyes.
He chuckled as with with deep satisfaction. Putting a finger under her chin, he forced her to look at him. “That’s what I wished to hear. But, my dear Angella, this m’lord nonsense will not do, will not do at all. My given name is Spensor. I want to hear it from your lips.”
“Spensor.” She blushed. The next moment, she pushed away from him. She should not let him hold her, in any case. Whatever was she thinking? This was the Earl of Lucashire. He could have any gently bred woman to wife. Of a certain he would not choose some unfledged orphan chit from the country—not to marry.
That could mean only one thing. The pain of her thoughts brought hurt. Unable to dredge up anger, she stared at him in dismay. How could she have let this happen? How could she open her heart up to him this way? She shuddered at the ammunition she might well be handing over to him.
“What is it, Angella? What’s wrong?” He tried to pull her back into his arms, but she resisted.
Tears glistened in her eyes when she turned toward him. “You’ve won, m’lord. I care for you, but I know not what you want of me. I am in your power, but I am not a nitwit. I know well in what category men like you place women like me who haven’t the same station as yourself.”
The earl flinched at her accusation. “What does a green goose like you know of the ways of the ton?”
Pulling away, Angella stared into the hearth, her back to him. Her head down, her shoulders bowed, she all but whispered, “I read the papers, and I hear things.” She felt his anger like a physical force and felt pain deep inside.
* * *
“From the village tabbies, no doubt.” He mocked her, painfully aware her accusation was not far from the man he was when he first found her by the road.
In the face of her discouragement, his own anger faded. Reaching out, he gently turned her around. “Look at me, Angella. Please.”
The despondency in her eyes brought out his protective instincts. “Oh, my dear Angella, I’m no saint, but I vow I was not thinking along those lines. You are a gently bred female and I am coming to care deeply for you. I will not take liberties. That, I can promise.”
The Earl of Lucashire held her gaze. “Miss Angella Denning, would you give me a chance to prove there is more to me that what you’ve heard?”
She searched his face, despondency giving way to hesitant shy acceptance. “I owe you that.” She hesitated, then said, “But I am no match for your expertise with women. When you hold me close, it befuddles my mind. That is not good.”
“I see.” A laconic smile touched his lips. For the first time he realized her vulnerability without a chaperone. Mayhap, he needed to rethink that situation. Angella was an innocent. He could very easily overset her own desires by manipulating her untried feelings that had swung in his favor. He had been wrong to keep her here alone. So wrong. If for no other reason, she needed a chaperone to protect her from his newfound feelings—from his own less honorable desires.
His feelings for her as hers for him were new and precious. He must take care to hold himself to the high standards his godly mother once instilled in him—standards he put aside when he went to London. He must take care and rethink the situation.
“I’ve found I have much to learn from you, Angella. I admire your steadfast faith, your conviction of right and wrong—which has caused me more grief than I’ve known in many a day.” He teased. “You have a bit of a temper.”
He grinned as she flushed. “I know.”
“Angella, constantly you assume the worst possible motives of me, some of which I well deserve. I need you to trust me in this, I will not treat you with disrespect.” He sighed. “We’ve gone from swords’ points to caring. I don’t know beyond that, but your innocence is safe with me.”
He allowed Angella to search his face. “I am coming to care for you, Spensor. I care not who you are or how deep your pockets are. But you don’t know the most important person in my life.”
The earl tensed. “Who are you talking about?”
“Jesus, my Savior. However we may or may not feel about each other, there can never be anything more between us unless you, too, follow Him.” She stopped, hesitated. “I’m sorry. Mayhap, I am assuming too much....”
“I believed once. My mother taught me the way.” He tucked a strand of hair around her ear. “I haven’t exactly been living in a manner that would make my mother proud. Angella, you have something I’ve lost—my faith.”
“It can be yours, Spensor. It’s a matter of trust, trust in Jesus Christ, the Son of God who loved you so much He died on a cross to take away your sins. He took the punishment you and I deserve. He did it because of His great love. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. He loves you. He’ll forgive. All you need do is accept what He has already done for you.” Her face lit with fervor.
“You make it sound so easy. I still believe in a greater being. Isn’t this enough?”
Angella shook her head. “No, you must choose to follow Him, choose to accept His gift of life.”
“I see your faith means so much to you. It’s why you stood up to that cravenly vicar. Why you left my home when I tried to force you to do something you felt wrong.”
Angella nodded as the earl continued. “Your faith makes a difference in your life. Gives you a solid foundation and a certain peace. When,” he jested, “you’re not raging at me. What about people like Reverend Carter? So many Christians are nothing more than blatant hypocrites.”
When Angella shudde
red as she sat on the hearth rug, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up disagreeable memories.”
Angella looked up at him. “What about Reverend Carter? How long will he continue at Little Cambrage?”
The earl growled. “The parishioners got what they deserved in the man after what they did to you.” At her frown, he sighed. “Actually, I asked him to look for a new living and to leave once one becomes available. But I only agreed to that after he promised to send his son to live with his wife’s family. The lad was anxious to go. Until then...”
“Carter stays?”
“For now, at least. Hopefully, the hypocrite won’t stay long.”
“Thank you for saving Andrew.” Angella straightened. “But, Spensor. There cannot be a hypocrite unless there is something, someone real, and that is Jesus Christ. Besides, just because one is a Christian doesn’t mean one is perfect.”
She stretched out her arms. “I certainly am a good example of that, me and my temper, at least where you’re concerned.”
The earl chuckled. “I do see. I promise to think on this, Angella. I will.”
* * *
“This chestnut’s a sweetgoer. So what happened to the whacking beast you claimed could beat me without blowing?” Angella laughingly called back to the earl.
Holding back his prime cattle, his gaze swept over the young woman whose wind-kissed cheeks flushed with triumph. He admired the picture she made in her warm black-and-silver frogged riding habit that showed off her young curves to advantage.
His hands tightened on the reins as the wind blew her hat akimbo on her head and streamed her hair down her back.
At the end of the long gallop, she pulled the chestnut to a walk, letting the earl, on his massive gray, ride up beside her. Unlike her, he wore a light cape over his Bishops’ Blue riding jacket that fit him as though molded to his figure.
Her eyes danced mischievously as the earl moved alongside. With a terse smile on his face, he graciously admitted defeat. Angella challenged. “Smashing race. Want to do it again?”
Earl's Ward (9781460320594) Page 7