Angel's Guardian

by Scottie Barrett

  He stepped out the front door and threw on his greatcoat. As instructed, a coach had been readied. Two females of approximately the same stature waited as the footman lashed the luggage to the top of the carriage. Their height was really where the resemblance began and ended.

  As he approached, Constance gave him a small curtsy. Angeline, who had been petting one of the horses, turned her head to glare at him like a spiteful kitten. A feverish color stained her cheeks and her eyes were wide and glittering. He signaled impatiently toward the open carriage. She cast him another resentful look, her big eyes shining with unshed tears before climbing aboard. Too damn bad, he liked the situation even less than she did.

  As he followed the women into the carriage he thought of the insanity of his predicament, a bachelor with a house full of females. Quite the change from a few months prior when he’d shared cramped and filthy quarters with his fellow soldiers.

  Angeline favored Constance, who shared the bench, with a placid smile. For him, she pursed her lips in disapproval. He couldn’t help noticing that her mouth had a slight overbite. It was the kind of mouth that could drive a man to do foolish things. Well, let Stanbury make an ass of himself over the pert little baggage. Almost instantly he mentally challenged that notion. He wasn’t at all sure that Stanbury was the right man for her. Stanbury could not handle his liquor and yet drinking to excess was his sport of choice. Bloody hell, his protective instincts were increasing exponentially with every second he spent with his charge.

  He pulled his gaze away to look at Constance. Certainly, it was only due to Stanbury’s bidding, that she was willing to teach Silas’s half-feral brat a few manners. But, despite Stanbury’s mercenary matchmaking attempt, he knew better than to read anything into Constance’s solicitous behavior tonight. He’d interpreted her cool flirtations as something more before. He’d no intention of making the same mistake twice.

  Nicholas shifted in his seat to find his ward appraising him. Her gaze skittered away and she pretended interest in the view out the window, worrying her plump bottom lip between her perfect white teeth. She was a sinfully sweet handful who would preoccupy a man, to the exclusion of everything else. He almost pitied Stanbury, who for all his jaded pretensions was completely besotted.

  ***

  Angeline had been caught staring at him and was determined not to let it happen again. She rubbed her gloved hand over the fogged glass and glanced out at the dark forest which lined the path. But her thoughts remained stubbornly focused on Draxford. He gave off such a cold aura. She relived the spectacle of the fight, the violence he’d meted out. The men gathered at the boxing match had watched him with awe but there had been an undercurrent of fear as well.

  Having no willpower where he was concerned, she soon found herself studying him again. Moonlight glided over him but did nothing to soften his appearance. Instead the silver light only increased the suggestion of power and menace. He’d been cut from different timber than ordinary mortal men. His tailor certainly had his work cut out for him, fitting those massive shoulders and powerful arms.

  Constance sighed prettily beside her. Why, Angeline wondered again, was she accompanying them? “Will you be returning home this evening, Miss Stanbury?” she asked.

  “Actually, I will be staying on for awhile to help you settle in.”

  “Settle in to the house I grew up in?”

  “The major thinks you could use a woman’s advice and guidance.”

  A cry of frustration escaped Angeline’s lips.

  Constance spoke in soothing dulcet tones. “A few lessons in decorum will certainly not come amiss.”

  In an instant, Angeline’s temper shot to a boil. “So I can snare a husband? I had no idea you were an expert on such matters.” Her words were tinged with jealousy and she instantly regretted them.

  Constance’s lips thinned. Her nostrils pinched as she pulled in a stern breath. Silence reigned for a moment as she seemed to gather her patience.

  “I have had my opportunities,” Constance said finally, but the words were aimed at Draxford and not Angeline. Her eyelids fluttered as she gave Draxford a shy but telling glance. Angeline hadn’t missed how Constance had fussed over him after the fight. Going so far as to test each bucket of water for the perfect temperature before it was hauled upstairs for his bath. What a curious couple they would make, she thought. It seemed like the force of his masculinity would crush this prim woman.

  The heavy rain had pitted the road that connected the neighboring estates. The carriage rocked to and fro as it splashed through puddles. Constance smoothed her already perfectly smooth coiffure. Unlike Angeline’s bun which was unraveling with every lurch of the carriage. Annoying strands were coming loose at her forehead and at the nape of her neck. She tried to tuck some stray strands behind her ear only to bang her elbow on the side of the carriage as the vehicle jolted.

  When the beloved manor came into sight the feeling of homesickness tightened her throat again and she blinked hard to keep back the tears. She was returning as an unwanted guest.

  Draxford did not wait for the coachman to open the door. The moment the horses came to a stop he climbed out and handed Constance down.

  Angeline rose from her seat to follow.

  “Stay seated. I will deal with you in a moment.”

  With an annoyed sigh she plunked back onto the leather squabs.

  After giving the driver instructions about the valises, he tucked Constance’s hand in his arm and escorted her to the door.

  Endless minutes passed. The driver had long since abandoned the vehicle. The waiting set her nerves on edge. Since he’d had no qualms about lecturing her in front of Constance on the ride to the house, she could only assume that the coming scolding was too sensitive for Constance’s delicate ears. She leaned forward and peered out the still open door of the carriage. Because of the rushlights lining the courtyard, she saw the huge shadow his form cast before she saw the man. She sat back quickly so he wouldn’t catch her watching.

  He climbed aboard taking the seat opposite her and shut the door behind him. His presence seemed to consume the air. Her breathing turned shallow.

  He did not waste any time. “So, little minx, how many men have been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of that seductive body of yours?”

  She stifled a frustrated cry. For some ridiculous reason she thought he’d find some humor in the situation, but that was the charming Draxford, the one she’d invented. This man was a stranger to her.

  “How many men?” he asked again, his tone unyielding.

  She could feel her cheeks darken with outraged color. “Only you!” she said fiercely.

  His gray eyes narrowed with accusation. “Whom were you expecting to entertain?”

  “No one. I was soaked through to the skin. I assumed it would be perfectly private there.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I am not what you think.”

  “And what do I think?”

  “That I’m a whore like my mother.”

  “Actually, what I think,” he said, in a dangerous tone, “is that my uncle was too damned lenient with you. I will not be making the same mistake.”

  She’d heard enough, she flung the door open, tripped down the carriage steps and raced to the house.

  Finding Tabby standing in the doorway with a tremulous smile and her cherubic cheeks wet with tears, instantly mellowed Angeline’s fit of pique. Tabby, who had doted on the motherless child, who had been the only one in the entire household to think it a problem that Angeline was growing up savage and unkempt. In her own cheerful way she’d taken control. On top of her other duties, she’d taught Angeline how to groom herself. Silas never acknowledged the transformation, but Tabby was swiftly promoted from kitchen maid to an assistant housekeeping role.

  Angeline instinctively pulled her pelisse in tight to protect i
t from the dust which was always thick on the jumble of trunks and boxes and other miscellany which lined both sides of the entrance hall, only to realize that the hall had been emptied of clutter. The only piece of furniture was an elegant, gilt-edged console. Angeline strode across the marble floor and stopped at the entrance to the parlor.

  Tabby shifted the candle to illuminate the darkened interior. “They tore down that filthy flocked wallpaper last week. ‘Tis about time I say.”

  The room was emptied of all furnishings. The rushlights could be seen through the large windows now stripped of the moth-eaten damask curtains.

  Next, they passed the dining room. The walls had been freshly painted and the worn and scarred table had been replaced with a sleek mahogany one. The dining chairs were of the same gleaming wood with plush wine-colored cushions.

  Angeline grabbed Tabby’s hand and tugged her down the hall, skipping the morning room and the library, she held her breath as she opened the map room. And exhaled a sigh of relief to find the stacks of books, the glass cabinets crammed with ancient manuscripts, the rocks and fossils lining the shelves. This had always been her favorite room in the house. She’d helped Silas catalog his specimens and books here. She’d learned to draw by sketching the bits and pieces of the natural world which Silas collected.

  Angeline followed Tabby up the broad staircase. “Miss Hodgett is just two doors down from you. Sorry she was, to leave her cozy little nest.” Tabby ushered Angeline to the same room she’d always occupied. Tears pricked her eyes upon entering it. It had been emptied of all her beloved possessions. The workers had tackled this room before the downstairs parlor, even. It had already been repainted and refurnished. The new master of the house had not wanted her return.

  While she’d bided her time in the carriage waiting for Draxford to return, Tabby had emptied her valises. She’d transferred her clothing to the wardrobe and turned down the covers on the bed. Angeline’s neatly folded nightshift had been tucked beneath the pillows and there was fresh water in the ewer atop the washstand.

  “’Tisn’t as bad as all that, Angel.” From the bottom of the wardrobe she took out a box. A porcelain doll with a pirate’s patch where the eye had cracked and an ancient atlas with a worn leather cover. Angeline hugged the book to her chest, swallowing back the tears as she recalled all the days she’d spent in Silas’s study poring over the fantastical maps. “Tabby, thank you.”

  Once Tabby left, Angeline took a seat on the bed and flipped the book open to her favorite page, a map of the oceans, teeming with sea monsters. She ran her fingers over the bizarre creatures she’d added. Instead of scolding her for ruining his book Silas had pointed to the bottom of the map near a continent of ice and said the artist had failed to include the leviathan with a white mane which inhabited the area, and would she do him a favor and draw it in. With Silas’s encouragement other fantastical creatures were added until the pages held monsters from corner to corner.

  Angeline’s tears spilled unheeded, splashing on the pages. She placed the book aside and quickly shed the hideous gray dress and pulled on her nightshift. Feeling chilled and unwelcome she climbed into bed and pulled the unfamiliar coverlet over her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Angeline woke to find Tabby grinning down at her then proceeded to have a tug-of-war with her over the coverlet. Angeline refused to loosen her grip on it. She adored Tabby but the maid never allowed her to ease into the day.

  “Miss Stanbury is already pacing the nursery.”

  Angeline groaned. Her few days of respite were over. Her jailers had remembered she existed. Since she’d arrived she’d stayed cloistered in her room, even taking all her meals there. She felt like a bird who preferred its confinement in a cage to preening for its owners even if it afforded a little freedom.

  “Let her pace,” Angeline said with a pout.

  “I’ll bring you a cup of chocolate, a bit of toast and your favorite marmalade.”

  Despite Angeline’s wish to defy Constance, her hunger stirred.

  Reluctantly she rolled over and sat up. Tabby left the room with a smile of accomplishment. The water in the ewer was chill and Angeline quickly bathed and dried herself. Her skin still slightly damp, she hurried into the warmth of her flannel morning wrap.

  Tabby returned with a delicious smelling tray. Angeline slathered marmalade thickly on a piece of toast, took the cup of chocolate then crawled onto the deep window seat. The cup warming her hands, she took a few sips of the rich chocolate and watched Tabby arranging the brush and hair ornaments. Angeline brought the cup with her and took a seat in front of the mirror.

  Tabby drew the brush through with such vigor, that Angeline was forced to stiffen her neck to keep her head from bobbing with each stroke.

  Angeline winced as Tabby tackled a painful snarl. “Why must I be tutored by Miss Stanbury?”

  “Because the major wants it so. And he’s a man who gets his way…each and every time.”

  Tabby lowered her voice to a near whisper as if someone might have their ear to the door. “Her lady’s maid arrived today. A snooty piece of work. She claims the major asked Miss Stanbury to marry him just after they made him a captain, but that she’d refused him. I think she has since tallied up his wealth and accomplishments and decided she’d made a mistake.”

  “He must love her?” Angeline intended it as a statement, but she ended on a high whiny note, turning it into a question instead.

  “What else would make a man shed his pride and ask again?”

  “He’s asked then?” Angeline’s eyes glossed with tears. Disgusted, she looked away from her reflection.

  “Not yet, but he’s sure to soon enough.” Tabby gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “Don’t worry, Angel, he’ll see you right.”

  ***

  Before making the dreaded walk up to the freezing nursery on the uppermost floor, Angeline searched out Gladys. She hadn’t seen Silas’s sister since being packed off to live with Mrs. Withers. She found Gladys in the parlor working on one of her fanciful hats. Her overfed cat luxuriated in her lap. Ribbons, spangles, and an assortment of exotic feathers lay strewn over the table. Though a year and more had passed, Gladys was still clad in mourning crepe. Today though the rusty black material was dusted with glitter. If only Gladys’s mind was more firmly planted on this earth then Angeline’s care might have been entrusted to her.

  The old woman leapt from her seat spilling the cat onto the plush carpeting. The insulted cat meowed loudly. “My dear, dear child,” she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. Angeline gave her a hug then plucked a sparkling sequin from her wrinkled cheek.

  “I’m all at odds and ends in this huge house. I’m always sending the servants hither and thither to fetch my millinery tools.” She held up a hat plastered with so many ribbons and silk flowers, that the actual straw of the hat was practically invisible.

  Gladys had made her an assortment of hats, hats for every season and holiday. Her favorite had been the St. Valentine’s day hat. Despite its whimsical nature, it had really been quite beautiful. A white top hat with pink netting and a trailing ribbon in cherry red. She wondered if those cherished hats had been thrown away with the rest of her possessions.

  Angeline smiled at Gladys’s creation. “Makes me wish for spring,” she said.

  The old woman’s cheeks dimpled with pleasure.

  Someone was ringing a servants bell so violently that the sound seeped up from below stairs and into the parlor. Gladys’s face collapsed into a frown. And she leaned in toward Angeline. “That Stanbury woman doesn’t care for me,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “She clucks under her breath every time she sees me. Acts as if she is mistress here already. Just this morning I had to rescue perfectly good decorations from the wastebasket.” She dropped her gaze to the hat she was holding and began fluffing up
a large crimson rose. “If Silas were alive he’d certainly have a talk with that nephew of his. He’s making a…” Her words trailed off as she sat back down and tested the placement of a plump little mouse fashioned from scraps of fabric. She nestled the mouse between two daisies and then tilted her head and eyed it critically. With a shake of her head, she tossed it aside.

  Angeline fished a silk butterfly from the pile of scraps. Gladys plucked it from her fingers with a whoop of delight.

  She gave Gladys’s narrow shoulders a squeeze. “I’m off to learn how to be genteel.”

  “No need to be too apt a pupil, my dear. Remember, a tutor worth her salt enjoys a challenge,” Gladys said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

  With a frustrated sigh, Angeline mounted the stairs to the nursery. Though a coal fire burned brightly in the fireplace it did little to warm the cavernous room. What an unfriendly place for children, Angeline thought. And of course that’s why Constance had chosen this very room when there were so many inviting rooms in the mansion. Constance wished to make it plain that she considered Angeline an unruly child who needed to be trained out of her bad habits.

  “I’ve been ringing all morning for you. You may have the leisure to stay abed, but I have other obligations.” With a frown creasing her brows, Constance waved her hand in the direction of the double-sided desk, and Angeline took a seat. She was surprised that she was actually given an adult seat rather than a child’s stool. The desk was arrayed with books and magazines on etiquette and fashion. Peeking out from the bottom of the pile was a rendering of the interior of a home which looked suspiciously familiar.

  Constance sat opposite her. Her posture stiffer than usual. “Remember you are here on the sufferance of your guardian.”