Earl's Ward (9781460320594)

by Scheidies, Carolyn R.

  * * *

  The next morning, as was her wont, Angella, dressed in a royal-blue riding habit edged in gold braid, descended the stairs, anticipating—as usual—a quiet ride with the earl. Despite his treachery in not telling her about Margaret, her heart pounded at the very thought of being with him.

  In the quiet of her chamber the night before, she searched her own soul. She went to sleep with the sure knowledge that God had not forsaken her. In the newness of the morning, things didn’t look so black. To own the truth, the earl had not shown particular affection toward his fiancée. But then, he had been caught out. Nonetheless, Angella was willing to listen to his explanation—if he had one. She so hoped he could explain. She so wanted him not to be the rake she first thought him to be.

  However, instead of seeing the earl awaiting her, Angella came down to the great hall to find Lady Margaret and her brothers dressed to the nines for riding. Hinton held a silver riding crop that he impatiently slapped against his highly polished Hessian boots with their gold tassels.

  Looking up, he saw Angella on the stairs and came to assist her. “Here she is. Now we’re ready.” Unable to come up with any way to avoid him, Angella allowed him to escort her out the front entrance where stable boys held the restless horses.

  Sighing, Angella gave up on having a private word with her erstwhile guardian. Worse, as soon as she saw Angella pet the tall chestnut, who nuzzled her in return, Margaret demanded, “I want to ride that horse.” She pointed to the chestnut, somehow aware of Angella’s attachment to the animal.

  “Prime cattle, Spensor. What’s his name?”

  “Cherry, Margaret.” He snapped. “Angella usually rides him. Now, this is the animal I had brought around for you.”

  Her gaze narrow, Margaret interrupted him. “Darling, I want to ride this magnificent beast.” She moved toward the side of the chestnut. “Come, Spensor, give me a hand up.”

  Angella waited for the earl to protest. Instead, without a word, he strode to Margaret’s side and lifted her into the saddle. The triumph on the woman’s face sickened Angella almost as much as the earl’s silence.

  Slowly she moved toward the steady but showy gelding more appropriate for an uncertain rider. The beautiful dapple gray would have shown off Lady Margaret’s black-and-gold riding habit. If this was the mount chosen for Margaret, the earl thought little of her riding abilities. So why was he letting the woman ride Cherry, with his sensitive mouth?

  Arranging Margaret’s skirt over the pommel, the earl tried to get her to change her mind. “Margaret, Cherry will not do by half for you. Look, the gray will show your ensemble to greater advantage.”

  For a moment, Margaret pursed her lips as though about to change her mind—until she saw the set of Angella’s shoulders. “Poo. Surely if she can ride the beast, I can.”

  Angella waited for the earl to take her part. Instead he shrugged and threw himself onto his mount without use of the stirrup.

  Hinton reached to put her into the saddle, but Angella, feeling perverse, managed to outmaneuver him, giving Herbert the privilege. With a gurgle of excitement, he heaved her onto the saddle with so much force she would have gone on over if the earl had not grabbed her and settled her securely onto her mount. His gentleness stirred her and for a moment, she stared into his despairing eyes.

  Obviously, Lady Margaret planned on taking control of the outing. Unfortunately, she didn’t understand how to manage a spirited animal like Cherry and tugged at the animal’s sensitive mouth. Angella flinched. The woman had little control of the animal, who balked or ran at his own volition, keeping the earl occupied with controlling the horse.

  Angella fared little better. On one side Hinton paid her outrageously familiar compliments, while on the other side, Herbert babbled his appreciation. Time and again Herbert reached out to touch her arm, her face, her hair. His attentions unnerved her as Hinton’s distressed her. Long before they returned, Angella vowed never to ride again with the motley crew.

  Time and again in the days to follow, she tried to avoid not only the earl, but the scornful patronizing Lady Margaret, the lustful Lord Hinton and his unlikely mimic, Herbert, who parroted his brother’s attempts at seduction, but with even less success. Hinton did the pretty, always attentive, always taking her hand, always whispering in her ear things which put her to blush.

  Nothing she did discouraged the bounder in the least. If the earl realized she was uncomfortable, he gave no sign. Mayhap he just did not care. In Angella’s mind, it amounted to the same thing.

  A sennight later, she’d had enough. Pleading exhaustion, Angella excused herself from dinner. She could not force herself to sit through another meal with Lord Hinton’s hand groping her knee under the table, could not stand one more evening having him paw her, one more evening watching Lady Margaret fawn over Spensor.

  As she waited for darkness, her black kitten, considerably larger and sleek from eating well, scratched at her door. Opening it, Angella picked her up and buried her face in the cat’s soft fur. “I have to leave,” she told the kitten.

  The cat meowed. Angella smiled as the kitten rubbed her cheek as though in understanding.

  “Don’t worry, little one, I’ll leave you here where you have a good home.” After a quick hug, she set the cat on the bed. With a wide yawn, the animal pawed the quilt, stretched then lay down and curled into a fluffy ball. A moment later her loud purrs punctuated the silence of the room.

  Reluctantly, Angella donned a wool gown and drew a warm cape around her shoulders. From her window, she viewed the idyllic scene below. A full moon overhead shot silvery beams onto the snow below, lighting the path and deepening the shadows. The newly fallen snow, though pristine, looked hostile and cold.

  Silently, Angella sneaked down the hall, down a back stairway to a little-used outside door. The bolts, though not used often, were kept oiled and in good repair. It was the work of a moment to pull the bolts and slip outside.

  Skirting the large house and stables, Angella scurried into the shadows. Deep inside, she felt a disquiet about leaving, a silent disapproval. What else can I do? she cried silently into the looming darkness of the trees.

  Praying no one watched from the grand windows of the salon above, Angella trudged through the thin layer of snow, toward the bridge. As much as possible she kept to the shadows. But glancing back, she felt her heart quail at the clear trail of footprints she left behind. “Lord, send more snow. Please cover those tracks before morning. I don’t want him to fetch me back. Not this time.”

  Not that she had any idea of where she was going. In her satchel, she had a single gold piece the earl insisted she have for her work in the library. She hoped it would get her a ride to some town where she might find work. And if she froze in the night? Her sigh escaped in a white cloud. Who would care? As for Hinton, she shuddered.

  His whispered suggestions had become more and more vulgar and his hands more and more familiar with each passing day. Obviously, he thought her fair game, and who was there to gainsay him? Certainly not the earl, she thought with newfound cynicism.

  Angella shuddered as she pulled the cape more closely around her shoulders. Lord Hinton took few pains to keep his lust for her secret from his brother whose own attentions had become more familiar. As Angella reached the bridge, she thought that however bad the future, she was well shot of Lucashire. Only the thought of the earl twisted painfully inside.

  Grasping the ice-covered rail, Angella moved slowly over the bridge. Suddenly, long arms grabbed her and swung her off her feet. She gasped as she stared up into the face of the earl. There was no doubt that this time he was in a towering rage.

  Chapter 7

  In all his life the earl had not had to deal with a situation that affected him so dearly. Never had he cared so passionately for the outcome. The most surprising of all to him was that
he was more concerned for Angella than for himself. That, more than all else, showed him the validity of his new faith.

  Questions burned in his mind. What must Angella think of him? What disillusionment must she be going through?

  In the parlor, he got up from the sofa, where he was sitting beside Margaret, to pace the room. He had seen the effort Angella made to comport herself like a lady in the face of Margaret’s patent snobbery. Fact was, Angella showed herself every bit a lady, unlike his “fiancée.” He recalled his fears that Angella would not know how to behave in polite company. If one could call Margaret and her brothers polite company. He ground his teeth. They were anything but, and he wished them any place but in his ancestral home. He had been mistaken about Angella in so many ways. If nothing else, Margaret’s arrival showed him the arrogant man he had become. He did not blame Angella for not wanting to be in their presence—nor his. He winced.

  Moving to the window, he drew aside the heavy velvet winter curtains to look out toward the front of the hall. The snow sifted pristine and white over the bushes, the last of the flowers, covered the trees like goose down and gave the bridge an ethereal appearance as though it were emerging from the nether regions. The surface would be icy, he knew, and he reminded himself to have Benson ask the servants to clear it at first light.

  No, he did not blame Angella for avoiding the after-dinner tête-à-tête. He cared not much for it himself. Besides Margaret’s efforts to make a cake of Angella, he was also aware of Angella’s attempts to fend off the lecherous Lord Hinton. The earl clenched his teeth in frustration.

  That very forenoon he had again cautioned Harry. “I will not have you frightening the girl, so keep your hands off her.”

  A slow smile had played at the corners of Harry’s mouth. “You have your cozy armful, so leave me to my entertainment. There is little enough to do in this godforsaken place. Besides, it is a trifle, a mere harmless flirtation.”

  “If you overstep your bounds, I vow you’ll find yourself married to Miss Denning. I’ll not have you trifle with her affections.” From the look of amusement on Harry’s face, the earl well knew the man sensed he had no intention of forcing him to come up to scratch. Even the thought turned his stomach.

  Hinton’s indifference to the earl’s warnings vexed him to no end. His prospective brother-in-law sensed Spensor’s tendre for his ward and played upon that affection. Bother! He would never force Angella to marry the bounder. Lord Hinton wasn’t good enough for her by half.

  Still and all, the earl found himself feeling not so much hatred for Margaret and her brothers but frustration and a certain sadness. He thought back to that fateful night in London. The earl recalled dancing with Margaret, then others claiming his attention; recalled wandering off to the card room and sitting in on a friendly game. As always he took care not to bet too deeply nor lose too heavily, as did others far more gone in their cups.

  What he did not recall was imbibing as deeply as Margaret later claimed he had. Toward dawn as the crowd thinned, the game broke up and he went to find Margaret.

  He’d grown bored with the London round...and with Margaret.

  Nonetheless he bowed as she said, “Dance with me once more, Spensor, before the orchestra packs up and leaves.” Taking her into his arms, he moved with her around the floor. Already, streaks of dawn filtered through the edges of the brocade curtains.

  As the music faded, he led his companion to the side. Harry stood at the table with another glass in hand. “Been a long night, old chap.” He shoved the drink into the earl’s hand. “Merely lemonade. Drink up.”

  Thirsty, the earl accepted the drink and tossed it down his throat. Handing back the glass, he said with finality, “I must be going.” He smiled. Harry smiled back at him. Herbert grinned. He felt decidedly odd.

  Margaret, however, frowned. “Oh, darling, not yet.”

  Things got fuzzy after that, but somehow before he left he found himself engaged to Margaret, tied forever to her and her leech of a brother. Much later, he wondered about the drinks supplied at every turn by the ever-smiling Harry. There was something havey-cavey about the whole thing, but how could he prove it? Besides, by then it was too late. Much, much too late. A day later he sought some way to call off the engagement.

  Looking inside himself now, he had to admit, with some surprise, he had changed since then. Angella was right, as usual, even about his untested faith. It stretched within him strong and resilient, like new rope. Was Margaret’s coming a testing of that faith?

  Glancing out the window, he tensed as a shadow moved beneath the snow-laden pine and oak. The shadows shifted. Nothing more. No, there it was again. Shielding his eyes from the light reflecting on the panes, the earl peered into the darkness.

  Furtively, a shadow moved into the silvery moonlight. Detached from the trees, the shadow took human shape, female shape. Angella! In the bright moonlight he recognized the cape and the determined set of those shoulders as she trudged through the snow. What was she about now?

  With an oath he immediately regretted, he swung about. Flinging back a short apology, he raced from the room. Not waiting to don coat or hat, he ran through the door of the great hall and out into the cold night.

  Angella had no notion of the treachery of the bridge in winter as did he. Snow oozed over his evening pumps, soaking his feet as he raced to intercept Angella before she reached the bridge. The goose-witted girl was at it again. Whyever did she pick this night of all nights to run off? His lungs ached from his sprint to rescue Angella. Too late. She reached the bridge.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he yelled. Leaping onto the bridge behind her, he swung her up into his arms. Clutching her to his chest, he moved carefully but quickly away from the icy bridge. “Have you bats in the cockloft,” he scolded, “running off like that in the middle of the night!”

  “Oh, put me down.” Angella squirmed in his grasp, but he grimly held on to her. “You have no right to detain me, m’lord. Now, put me down!”

  “Be still, girl. However much you hate me, if you will not be still, we shall both go down and break our fool necks. Or haven’t you noticed the undercoating of ice? The bridge is thick with it.”

  “I’ll be fine. Let me go.”

  “Fool girl. That bridge is a death trap in this weather. No one can safely negotiate it until the ice is removed. You’d die trying to cross.”

  Tears froze on her cold cheeks. “At least I’d be with those who love me.”

  Stung, the earl held her closer. “You want to take me with you?”

  Angella stopped struggling, her body rigid in his arms. The earl muttered under his breath. It was freezing cold and it seeped inside his thin dinner jacket to chill his skin. He held Angella close as much for her warmth as to secure her in his grip.

  Angella put her arms about his neck. “You shouldn’t have come out in this weather without a coat. You should not have come after me at all. You’ll probably catch your death.” He did not miss her anxiety and it sparked hope within him.

  A smile touched his face for the first time in days. He felt giddy with a happiness he knew would not last, not until he solved his problem with Margaret. It felt good to hold his Angella in his arms. His Angella? He slowed his pace. Despite the biting chill of the wind, the earl relished the feel of the young woman against him—where she belonged.

  “Whyever did you run away, Angella? I know you’ve had a shock, more than one, but this, this is daft. We need to talk, I know. Surely you could have come to me?”

  “When? How? Certainly not with Lady Margaret all over you, cooing in your face. She hasn’t let you off her leading string since she arrived.”

  The earl grimaced at her apt description. “Don’t I know, but...this was a hen-witted thing to do. You may not believe this, but I care what happens to you, Angella.”

  “Sure
you do. That’s why you forgot to mention you already had a fiancée. That’s why you’ve ignored me all week, taking her part in everything. Of course, that is as it should be since she is your intended.” Angella gulped. “I should hate you. I should.”

  “But you don’t?” The earl wasn’t sure how to deal with that realization.

  “No. I want to, but no.” Angella coughed before continuing. “I’m hurt and angry, but you’re miserable, as well. Still...”

  The earl slipped, caught his balance and continued toward the hall. “You must let me explain. But you need to explain this hen-witted caper, as well.” Ice from overhead trees showered down on them. “Why must you always run away?”

  “You must understand that I saw no other choice.” Angella sighed. “I had to get away!” she cried. “I knew not what else to do. Harry is overfamiliar and I cannot stop him. Lady Margaret never misses a chance to set me down, and you...you have been acting like an odious, hypocritical, treacherous bounder who...who...” She stopped. He heard the sob in her voice.

  Her accusations hurt more than ever Angella could know. He who despised dishonesty and hypocrisy turned out to be the worst offender of all. “I know all that and I’m sorry, but what would you have me do now?”

  * * *

  Angella heard genuine hopelessness in his tone that effectively checked her desire to hurt him as he had hurt her. Had she not once planned on giving him opportunity to explain without prejudice? But that was over a week ago. He’d made no attempt to explain to her. Still and all...

  “I’d like to hear you out, Spensor,” she told him. Inside she felt a sense of peace.

  Hugging her, the earl carried her up the steps into the great hall. Angella shook with cold and the earl shivered, but he refused to set her down until he reached one of the two ancient fireplaces on either end of the hall. During the days of knights and maidens fair, whole oxen had been turned on spits in the massive hearths. Now the roaring fire shot its heat toward them as the earl set Angella on a long settee before the fire and sat beside her.