“Smashing,” agreed the earl, but declined. He wasn’t about to explain to the girl, whose eyes lit with pleasure at besting him, that he held back his whacking beast on purpose. Though, not without some difficulty.
“You ride well.”
“Father bought the best blood cattle he could afford. He believed a well-bred animal would give much better service than one with uncertain parentage. And my mother was a bang-up rider. She put us in the saddle practically before we could walk.
“Father kept only a couple of animals and a small carriage. I’m afraid I had to sell everything to pay for medicine and other expenses when they were ill.” She sighed.
The earl enjoyed watching the picture Angella made riding his prime cattle. The docile plodders so popular among the ladies of the haute ton were not for her. She handled his cattle with an expertise most of his acquaintances would envy.
When he first took her to his stables, he hadn’t expected her to respond with such enthusiasm. She took easily to the more cerebral pursuits of reading and study. He knew her to be a modest young woman of intelligence and wit, but he had no idea she was more than a bluestocking—in the best sense of the word.
He also found her compassionate, but firm with staff. Not once had he heard her raise her voice in anger. His lips twisted in a wry smile as he added silently, Toward a servant anyway.
Truth to tell, he thought he had her pretty well figured out until she saw his horses where, without an ounce of fear, she walked right up to the most unmanageable of his animals. With soothing voice and gentle hand, she quickly calmed the nervous animal. The change in the stallion’s demeanor was nothing short of amazing.
“That was a ninnyhammer thing to do,” he scolded her, “going right up to Apollo like that. He isn’t known for his manners. You might have been seriously injured, or worse.”
Her gaze narrowed and he tensed, waiting for the explosion. Instead, she smiled sweetly as she rubbed the nose of the large horse who nudged her chest, asking for more attention. “Unlike some human beings, Apollo would never purposely injure me. Horses are more sensible, and, I might add, more sensitive than many people.”
“Are you referring to me?” She grimaced in response to the scowl on his face. “I...I didn’t mean...this time.”
Slowly counting to ten, the earl growled. “And only caper-witted humans rush in where angels fear to tread.”
Sorry,” said Angella. As usual, her large repentant eyes charmed him, and the earl found his irritation fading. No matter what her offense, she was quick to apologize. When accompanied by her captivating hesitant smile, the earl was hard put not to give in to her. The little minx!
* * *
The next few days it looked as though the earl and Angella had left behind their disputes. As he claimed, he was a gentleman. She sensed he held himself in utmost control, not once stepping over the bounds into impropriety. She found her feelings for him growing stronger because of his self-restraint.
As they slowly rode side by side admiring the view of the half-frozen lake, the earl broached the subject again. “Angella. I talked to the Lord last night.” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “I...uh...asked for your faith.”
Joy radiated from her face. “Oh, Spensor, that’s wonderful!” Reaching over, she touched his arm.
“I don’t feel any different,” he confessed. “Mayhap He did not accept a reformed rake.”
“Of course He did,” she assured him. “Trusting Christ is more than emotion. It’s a choice.” She smiled. “Things will become different with time. You’ll see.”
He grinned with relief. “Telling you was more difficult than telling Father I wanted to fight Boney.”
“I didn’t know you...”
He cut her off. “I didn’t. He forbade me to go, because I was his only heir. My best friend went. He was killed.”
“You feel guilty for obeying your father.”
“Put like that, it doesn’t seem quite the same.”
“Of course not, Spensor. Not everyone has been called to fight with the military. But God can take away that guilt if you ask Him. You’re His child now.”
As they talked, they turned their horses toward home. At the front of the manor, the earl lifted Angella from the saddle and escorted her into the hall. Benson took their capes and hats. “There are visitors in the blue parlor,” he said. Angella heard disapproval and something more she couldn’t figure out, in his tone.
Puzzled, Angella followed the earl into the wide room with its blue silk walls and blue-velvet-covered Queen Anne furnishings. A gaunt man stood in front of the hearth beside a shorter almost boyish-looking dandy at his side. Her eyes widened at the tall woman coming toward them, hands outstretched.
“Spensor. My darling Spensor, how could you leave me alone so long in London? Since you would not come to me, I had to come to you.” She laughed. “You know, we have wedding plans to make.”
Chapter 6
Against the elegance of the unexpected guests, Angella felt decidedly dowdy with her windblown hair tumbling over her shoulders, her hem damp and her half boots smudged with mud. As for the gaunt man by the hearth, she’d seen that look of animal lust before—in the eyes of the vicar. Fear knotted the pit of her stomach, fear and a certain despair.
Despite it all, Angella managed a polite but distant smile for the woman who took possession of the man who so recently said he cared for her. For a moment, Angella thought wildly, It’s all a mistake. Spensor will put the encroaching woman in her place and everything will be all right.
But he didn’t. The earl did nothing to disentangle himself from the woman’s arms. As though he had no mind of his own, he allowed that woman to drag him to the sofa. He flashed Angella a look of total dejection, a silent apology that choked her. In that moment her heart broke.
The man tried to take her arm, but Angella deftly avoided him, hurrying to sit in a chair close to the sofa. Though the earl frowned, he but nodded her way as he sat opposite in a settee with his betrothed. He was betrothed!
* * *
The earl witnessed the glitter in Margaret’s eyes as she scrutinized Angella’s disheveled, but fashionable attire. “Darling,” she crooned, “you didn’t mention you were going to be entertaining a young woman at Lucashire.” There was no mistaking the venom in her tone.
Helpless to halt the direction of Angella’s thoughts or to derail Margaret’s ire, the earl ground his teeth. Why did she have to show up now and without warning? No, ’twas his fault alone. He should have broken off with Lady Margaret long since.
Now Angella refused to meet his pleading gaze. Though she averted her face, he sensed her suffering as if it were his own. Lord, help me, he cried silently.
“Lady Margaret Ainsworth, may I make you known to my ward, Miss Angella Denning. Lord Hinton, Miss Denning. Herbert...Mr. Hinton, Miss Denning.” Everyone made a pretense of civility.
“Surely she has not been living here unchaperoned, darling, has she?” At the earl’s reluctant nod, Margaret patted his arm, her smile patently false. “Spensor, darling, whatever were you thinking? If she is an innocent, her reputation will be in shreds when the ton gets wind of her staying alone with such a virile bachelor.”
The earl started at her implied threat. Why hadn’t he acted as soon as he realized he’d made a mistake on not seeking a companion for Angella? He well knew into what category Margaret now placed Angella, and it was his fault.
“Miss Denning,” he said repressively, “has only recently become my ward. There is time, yet, to find a proper chaperone.” As he reused the term, Angella winced. She didn’t deserve this latest blow, but the earl was hard-pressed at the moment to know what else to do. Somehow he must deal with Margaret before mending his fences with Angella.
In his selfishness, he placed himself in an untenable p
osition, never thinking of what he might be doing to Angella. If only things had worked out as planned. He owned he hadn’t planned just what he was going to do about Margaret and now it might well be too late.
Sure he fully intended to make his break with Margaret, but had no notion how to go about it without causing a scandal that would reverberate not only on him, but also on Angella and Lady Margaret herself. How could he know Margaret would hunt him down in Lucashire?
“Miss Denning is the daughter of one of my vicars. He recently passed on, leaving her in my care.”
Margaret rolled her eyes, taking no pains to hide her belief that she thought the girl beneath contempt. “One’s people will take advantage if not kept down. Can you imagine foisting the chit on you in such a fashion?”
* * *
Angella whitened with mortification and anger, but held her peace, wishing a hole would open up in the floor for her to hide in. Margaret was not finished. “Darling, what are you going to do about her? You cannot keep her here. It isn’t done. Surely you have some—” she paused, then emphasized “—distant connection in need of a companion...or a governess. Though, she looks a bit young for that.” She stared through Angella with contempt.
Clenching her hands to keep from slapping the woman, Angella wanted nothing more than to wipe the scorn from the other woman’s face. Her own paled. The day disintegrated from there. Between Margaret’s deliberate slights and Lord Hinton’s familiarity, Angella fled to her bedchamber with relief.
Pounding her pillow, she cried, “I wish I didn’t have to leave my room until they leave.” She slumped. Little hope of that, not with Spensor—the earl—allowing all sorts of liberties of his person.
With his fiancée hanging on him every moment, there had been no opportunity for private conversation. No doubt, Margaret wanted to make certain the earl didn’t stray again. Sarcasm twisted Angella’s lips. Why should she wish to speak with Spen... The earl? Everything was clear enough. Anger gave way to deep, wrenching hurt.
She saw the devastating scene in a series of pictures: Lady Margaret’s gushing display of affection, the earl’s dismay, the vacuous grin of Herbert Hinton. Most of all, she shuddered at the leer on the face of Harry, Lord Hinton, Lady Margaret’s brother, as he languidly surveyed her from top to bottom like a side of meat. His insolence infuriated her as it discomfited her.
“Lord, where is Edward? Is he ever coming home?” What if he didn’t want to come home? That insidious thought was lowering in the extreme. Or couldn’t! “Lord?”
Taking a deep breath, Angella started down the long flowing staircase. Her hand gripped the warm smooth banister as she reluctantly descended the stairs.
The day had severely tried her emotionally. For a time, she considered pleading a megrim and excusing herself from the dinner party. It would not be entirely a whisker, but the pain lay in her heart, not in her head.
How could Spensor, Lord Lucashire, have so deceived her? She sighed at the possibility of love she had envisioned between herself and the earl. She saw them walking together, hand in hand, through life’s changing seasons. Did she, a vicar’s daughter, think the earl would actually consider marriage? What fustian! Such a green goose. No wonder Margaret looked down on her.
In one moment all her dreams, all her hopes had crashed. If his profession of caring was a sham, was his profession of faith any less? That pained more than the first. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Angella wiped a tear that insisted on blurring her vision. Spensor prattled on about honesty, about trust. What did the man know about either? She had been right to be suspicious of his motives. Yet, a voice inside reminded her he had not shamed her. Angella shook her head. It was so confusing. All she knew was that she needed to take herself in hand and expect nothing from her reluctant guardian.
How could everything continue so normally? Giggling maids hurried past, their arms loaded with brush and broom. A straight-shouldered footman caught up with the young maids. Whispering to them, he made them blush and giggle even harder.
How young they all seemed. Angella felt she’d aged considerably during the day. How naive she had been. How foolish. But then, she could not have known about the beautiful Lady Margaret. Now, there, she thought cynically, was the sort of woman she guessed would appeal to the appetites of a man like Lucashire.
When she entered the anteroom to the formal dining hall for dinner, Angella was hard put to force a polite smile. Lord Hinton was quick to acknowledge her presence.
Taking her hand, he led her farther into the room. “Miss Denning—Angella, if I may—you bring a breath of fresh air into this mausoleum.” She felt his clammy wet palm through the silk of her rose gown.
“Miss Denning, if you please.” She wasn’t about to encourage him.
He laughed as though she jested, his pointed chin dropping onto his chest, making his thin face almost a caricature of himself. More off-putting than his features was the look in his eyes and the feel of his hands.
As Angella edged away, he pulled her back to his side. “None of that, Angella. Why, we’re almost family.” His glance took in his sister on the earl’s rigid arm. “At least we’ll soon be kissin’ cousins so to speak. No Lord Hinton, now. The name’s Harry.”
Scrambling to her other side, Herbert added. “I am Herbert, pretty lady. You smell clean.”
For a moment Angella panicked, but then she forced herself to think rationally. The younger brother seemed harmless enough. As she watched him parroting his older brother, Angella felt a certain sadness for the slow-witted man. To hide her irrational fear of Herbert, Angella smiled at him. “Thank you, Herbert.”
The man positively beamed. “Herbert. She called me Herbert. Angella, Herbert. Herbert, Angella,” he chanted until his brother shushed him.
Irritated, Lord Hinton proceeded to regale her with the wonders of London from the dark Tower of London to the in-demand, dignified actor John Kemble of Covent Garden.
“He’s a sight to behold. Kemble is a good actor, though rather staid and unbending.” Hinton continued despite Angella’s inattention. “On the other hand, Kean makes quite the Shylock. Ah, yes, quite the villain.” His leer crawled up Angella’s skin like something living.
Too bad, she thought ruefully, I didn’t have protection against the earl’s wiles.
To her relief, Benson announced dinner. On Hinton’s arm, she followed her erstwhile guardian and his chattering fiancée into the grand dining hall. Its magnificence overwhelmed her as it had since her first sight of the vaulted ceiling.
The table, smelling of beeswax and lemon, gleamed with its recent polishing until it reflected the gold-plated dinnerware and the sparkling silver embossed with the Lucashire crest. Waterford crystal goblets waited at each place.
Large bowls of fresh flowers decorated the table, adding a delicious fragrance to the delectable smells of the platters of food carried in on large trays by tall, well-built footmen in red-and-gold livery.
Gold-based candelabra lit the table, sending a soft glow over each face. Angella noted the earl looked particularly glum. His lips twisted cynically when he leaned forward as Lady Margaret whispered in his ear. His gaze caught Angella’s, but she glanced away.
If he was out of countenance, so was she, thought Angella, shoving the food around on her plate without eating but a bite of this and that.
It didn’t help to be derided by the London sophisticate when the footman brought Angella juice instead of wine. “My, my, child. How droll? What was your father anyway?”
“Leave her be, Margaret,” commanded the earl, his tone sharp.
With a warning glance toward his sister, Hinton smoothed his sister’s rudeness. “Let the chit drink what she pleases, Margaret.” He hoisted his glass toward Angella. “Never fear, I shall take up the slack.”
There was no doubt he did just that. Angella’s ey
es widened in amazement at the prodigious amount of spirits the gentleman managed to down without showing the least effect. Until dessert was served, that is. By that time, his speech slurred and the hand holding the goblet shook.
On the other side of her, Herbert—trying to keep up with his brother—tipped his own glass with increasing frequency. Margaret brought the interminable dinner to an end by rising to her feet. “Time we ladies excused ourselves,” she said, patting the earl’s arm. “Don’t be too long, darling.”
The earl scowled. Herbert giggled. Lord Hinton raised his glass and leered at Angella. “Nothing will keep me away long.”
Throwing Lord Hinton a look of utter disgust, Angella rose to follow Margaret from the room.
Margaret walked down the long hall to the formal drawing room. There was no comfortable coz in the library that night. “Thank You, Lord,” Angella breathed. The library held too many dear memories.
Though mostly healed, tonight her knee ached and Angella slowed to keep herself from falling as she followed the arrogant woman. In the torchlight, the red brocade on the walls glowed eerily. The statues seemed to move in the flickering light. Angella wished Lady Margaret had picked another room in which to retire after dinner. At least she had a short respite from the unwanted attentions of Lord Hinton.
Settling onto a long sofa, Margaret carefully arranged her skirts while studiously ignoring the younger woman. Surveying the elegant room with satisfaction, Angella heard her murmur, “Soon. Soon all this will be mine.” Angella gritted her teeth to keep from screaming.
The stress of the day had taken its toll and, by the time the gentlemen condescended to attend them, Angella, in truth, had a nagging headache. Never had she thought she would be so thankful for pain. Pleading a megrim, she escaped to her bedchamber.
Anger welled up inside. Her prayers sounded more like accusations and dropped like lead from the ceiling. Her anger spent, her prayers turned toward her own attitude. “Lord, forgive me for my temper again. I get in a spin over the littlest things, but this isn’t little, Lord. This is my life.”
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