Angeline did. Silas had spoken of his nephew’s stellar military career with pride and amazement. How Nicholas being the second son chose soldiering as a career. How his father had originally backed his choice by buying him a lieutenancy, but after losing his first-born to an accident, the baron had changed his mind. He’d ordered his sole heir home. When Nicholas refused to abandon his regiment, his father’s money dried up and with it any possibility of purchased promotions.
Constance folded his cravat with care. “Now the major is applying that same discipline and determination to bringing this estate back from the dead. It is a sinful waste of his time having to cater to a spoiled child.”
Tears of shame pricked Angeline’s eyes. Riding through the village she had witnessed what he was capable of.
“If you have any care for the man at all you will release him from this obligation,” Constance said and swept out of the room.
Angeline dried her tears and picked up the note. Perhaps she could sway her guardian’s decision. If she must marry, better the pleasant vicar than Hugh Stanbury.
Finding his study door ajar, Angeline quietly pushed it open. He looked up from the map spread across his desk and studied her. “You are supposed to be in bed.”
“I am perfectly recovered.” She took a seat across from his desk, the vicar’s note clutched in her hand.
With a frown, he returned his attention to the map. He dipped his quill and made some notations in the margins.
The silence became oppressive. Out of frustration, she pulled loose a lock of hair and twirled it around her finger. She sat forward to get a better look at the map.
She watched as he labeled a diagram on an area of the hillside.
“’Tis the Moss Knot Colliery.” She felt him stiffen as she leaned forward to get a better look at the map. A draftsman’s sketch of a road had been glued to the map. “Are you building a highway through Mr. Stanbury’s property?”
“No, his price is too steep.”
“A shame. The drive to the village is wearying. I have always thought the miners should have their own general store. There is a vacant barn here which would be perfect.” She pointed a finger near the housing units and he shifted his hand so she wouldn’t accidentally graze it. Insulted, she sat back in her chair.
“It’s being used to stable the horses that pull the barges.” Since she could remember, the mine had barely produced enough to warm the surrounding houses, now there were canal horses enough to fill a barn, which meant he’d begun exporting the coal. If she’d needed any more proof that Constance was right, that he was a man who could build an empire, then this was it.
He set his quill down and sat back in his chair and studied her with a wary expression. “Surely you are not here to discuss the mine?” He watched her worrying her hair and she quickly clasped her hands in her lap.
“What trouble are you in now?”
She managed a sugary smile. “No tr-trouble.” The intimidating look he was giving her made the words stick in her throat. She pulled in a shallow, trembling breath. “Just the opposite, in truth.” She dropped the tellingly creased note atop the map. “I think the vicar might be persuaded to take me off your hands.”
Flinty gray eyes stared back at her.
“This union would give me purpose.”
“And this occurred to you, before or after you attempted to throw the damn thing away?” He shook the map sending the note sliding to the floor. It landed amid other discarded papers. “Why in hell are you suddenly all fired-up to marry? You resisted it for a bloody year.”
She clasped her hands together in her lap. “I’ve decided I’d be happier as a wife than as your ward. I’d certainly have more freedom.”
His shoulders stiffened. “Last week it was Benjamin” he said, his voice suddenly rough.
“Yes, I’d willingly take Benjamin if he’d have me, but he hasn’t offered.” She smiled sweetly again. “You see how cooperative I can be?”
He arched a sarcastic eyebrow.
Angeline proceeded to rapidly list all of Mr. Firkins’ virtues, the majority of them hopeful guesses, leaving Draxford looking thunderstruck.
He leaned menacingly over the desk. “Tell me quickly, brat, if you accepted Firkins without my express permission.”
Her shawl slipped off as she bent forward thinking to snatch up the discarded missive. He glared at her, a warning to leave the paper where it lay. “If you’d read it, you would see he only hints at it. He has not formally declared himself.”
“You bloody well aren’t marrying that mewling milksop. By God, that sister of his would eat you alive.” He shoved away from the desk, stood up and buttoned his jacket.
He grabbed his riding gloves from the side table.
“Don’t pay him a visit, I beg you.”
He put on his riding gloves. “I won’t hurt him, if that’s what you’re worried about, but I will set him straight. I don’t entirely blame the poor bastard. A beautiful young woman wants to assist him in his duties. What the bloody hell was the man to assume?”
“It was innocently done. I never encouraged him.” To avoid looking at him as he hovered over her, she busied herself by straightening the fringes on her shawl. “I hate to ascribe motives to the man, but he may see it as a way to secure his position.”
He flexed his black leather encased fingers. “What you need, brat, is a good, hard spanking.”
There was nothing in his expression to suggest he was jesting.
“You don’t own me.” She had the good sense to get up from the chair and move toward the door as she continued to provoke him.
“Wrong. I do. And even if the man I choose for you is a goddamn ogre, you’ll bloody well marry him.”
“Well, you know what they say better the devil, or in this case ogre, you don’t know, than the ogre you do.” She directed a very pointed glare at him.
“You have that backwards. It’s better the devil you know.” His lips tilted ever so slightly in an arrogant smile.
Her cheeks flaring with embarrassment, she slipped quickly out the door.
CHAPTER NINE
They were practicing the quadrille again. It had taken Angeline several days to master the less complicated steps of a country dance. And nearly twice the time to learn the quadrille. Angeline congratulated herself as she executed the figures without once referring to the instructional pocket book which dangled from a ribbon tied to her wrist.
The dance ended, Angeline dipped into a flawless curtsy and looked to Constance for approval. A smile curled Constance’s lips, but it was not an encouraging one. Angeline could tell by the slight flare of her thin nostrils that she was exasperated.
Clearly, Angeline wasn’t absorbing the lessons quickly enough. As the masquerade party drew near, Angeline’s training had taken on an urgency. Hugh Stanbury would be there to judge her progress, and the sooner he took Angeline off Draxford’s hands, the sooner Constance could get on with her own plans. Angeline was through fighting the inevitable. She hadn’t dared suggest another potential husband to Draxford since she’d brought up the vicar’s vague proposal. He’d been in a thunderous mood for over a week after that disastrous meeting.
With difficulty, she had broken herself of the habit of acting the coquette with her guardian. Though she’d almost lapsed yesterday when she’d itched to tease him about a razor nick on his gorgeous chin.
Constance, sensing Angeline’s surrender, had begun fortifying it by relaying Draxford’s disappointment in her.
Constance flipped open her fan with feminine artistry. Angeline flicked her wrist and her fan opened smoothly. Pleased with herself, she held it up to her face and batted her eyelashes furiously. Constance responded to her attempt at humor with a pursing of her lips. Angeline was certain the lessons would not be so odiou
s for either of them, if her tutor would only show some lightness of heart.
“You must avoid making a ridiculous flirt of yourself. The fan should merely be used as a way to discreetly cool your cheeks after a dance.”
She plucked the fan out of Angeline’s hand. “Do not think of embarrassing Major Draxford. You are his charge and thus your behavior reflects upon him. The poor man is unhappy enough with this situation. This is the only event he has agreed to since becoming master of this estate. Will you ruin the first impression he makes?”
The scolding landed with a sting. Angeline, refusing to give Constance the satisfaction of seeing tears spilled, hurried from the room. Behind her she could hear Constance’s voice rise to an unbecoming pitch. As Angeline raced down the stairs she took some satisfaction in her tormentor’s distress. She heard the sound of boot heels approaching down the long hallway from the study, clearly he’d heard his beloved’s angry outburst and was coming to the rescue. Angeline slipped out the front door before he could lecture her as well. She threw glances over her shoulder half expecting him to follow as she raced over the lawn. She didn’t stop running until she came to the small stream that bisected the property. Panting, she pulled off her boots and slipped off her stockings, jamming them into her boots before wading into the cold water.
After an hour lazing in the grass by the stream, Angeline snatched up her boots and headed back to the house rehearsing an apology as she went. She knew he would insist on it because Constance was always blameless.
As she passed the barn, she heard old Wick calling dice. The men were gathered at the rear of the barn. A small pile of coins lay in the dirt by their feet.
“I was beginning to think you’d gotten too snooty to say hello.” Wick gave her a gap-toothed grin.
She planted a kiss on his creased face. “Sorry Wick, they have me trapped in the nursery twirling and curtseying until I’m dizzy.”
He looked down at her muddy feet. “Haven’t turned you into a grand lady yet, I see.” He turned to one of the newly hired stable hands. “Bill, give the girl the dice,” he said.
Bill, his wheat colored hair standing up with dirt and sweat, gave her a wink and gently tossed her the dice. She caught them with a light laugh and rubbed the familiar cubes with her thumb.
Wick pulled a dented flask from his coat pocket and took a sip. “Some courage, darling?” he asked. He’d never offered before. She was so glad not to be judged and found wanting for a change. Despite her last disastrous encounter with alcohol, she took a long celebratory sip and then another. Wick gave her a few coins to wager with. Angeline blew on the dice for luck and called a seven. She whooped with delight when she rolled it.
Her head was spinning as she reached down to pluck the dice from the dirt. She laughed at her clumsiness. Wick cleared his throat hard. She glanced up to find him crushing his hat in his hands and Bill attempting to shove the flask in his pocket. The dice spilled from her hand. She whipped her head around and peered up into his forbidding face. Her giggles died instantly.
“Don’t blame the girl, sir. Me and the boys are the corrupting influences,” Wick said. But the boys had already scattered leaving only poor Wick to defend her honor.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Draxford responded. “Come,” he ordered and snatched up her boots from the hay bale. She had to hurry to keep up with his long strides.
The gardener trimming the shrubbery bordering the house stopped his labors to watch them pass. Embarrassed yet still fired by the false courage of alcohol, she thrust her chin out and turned to give the prying servant an imperious glare. The man doffed his cap revealing a familiar bald pate. Kit Brewster. Forgetting Draxford’s anger, she raced across the lawn and threw herself into the big man’s arms. He smelled of soil and cut greenery and sweat.
He chucked her gently under the chin with his knuckles. “Was wondering when you might notice, old Kit.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Your Major sent a man for me. Took just a flash to choose ‘tween being a master gardener and fetching pails of water and coal for her highness.”
He glanced over the top of her head. “Behaving yourself, lass?” It was not hard to imagine Draxford’s simmering impatience coming to a boil.
“Mostly,” she answered. Refusing to jeopardize his new position, she gave him a quick kiss on his weather-beaten cheek and hurried back to the house.
“Thank you for giving him work befitting his talents.”
“The man deserved a reward for protecting a girl who defies every rule of proper conduct.” He held the door for her, his jaw flexing with annoyance as she hastily wiped her feet on the mat beside the boot scraper. She hadn’t done a proper job of it and trailed dusty footprints on the marble tiles of the entrance hall.
Angeline followed him into the study. As he took his seat behind the desk, she plunked herself down on the chair which faced him. The huge desk was strewn with ledgers and charts. There was also a selection of brass lanterns which Angeline recognized as mining lamps, though these were unlike any she’d seen before.
She reached over and ran her fingers along the mesh which encased the candle holder. “Is this meant to keep the flame contained?”
He moved the lamp out of her reach.
Angeline reminded herself that she’d resolved to get out of Draxford’s way and here she was interrupting his work again.
He pushed a cup towards her. “It will help sober you.”
She pushed it back. Tea splashed over the rim and onto the saucer.
“I rather like the sensation.” She hadn’t meant anything by it, but his gray eyes darkened. She instantly dropped her gaze, blushing as she recalled how uninhibited the alcohol had made her before. How she’d purred his name.
“Can you not go a day without acting like a little hellion?”
She tilted her head to the side and studied him. “You are so very changed from the man I once knew. So unbending. But then I suppose years of soldiering will do that.” He looked far from pleased with her assessment. “Do not mistake me, I still hold you in the highest of esteem, I just don’t know whether I like you anymore,” she said, coming to a startling realization that loving a man did not necessitate liking him.
“Thankfully, a guardian does not need to be liked to accomplish his duty.”
“Duty?” she said with a huff.
“Responsibility, then,” he said.
There were a couple of sharp raps at the door. Before Draxford had a chance to respond, the door swung open.
“I see you found her.” Constance stared pointedly at Angeline’s mud stained feet and she quickly tucked them under the chair.
“Come, Angeline, you’ve troubled the major enough.” Constance gave Draxford a look of commiseration, reinforcing again that they were united in the thankless task of caring for a naughty child. Angeline was grateful for the woozy, mellow feeling the liquor had imparted, it kept her from rising to the bait.
Though her eyes were naturally drawn to him, she made a conscious effort not to look at him as she stood up. ‘Twasn’t as if she could expect sympathy from that quarter anyway. Constance, still in high dudgeon, walked stiffly out of the room and Angeline followed obediently behind.
***
Nicholas felt a deep frustration as he watched the little minx leave the room. It wasn’t like her to acquiesce when ordered to do something. He wasn’t sure he trusted this compliant attitude. And he found it doubly irritating that she’d not even spared him a backward glance.
What had happened to the girl with the saucy tongue who’d owned her sensuality? Instead, she’d avoided looking at him as if she wished not to be reminded of their shared memory. Almost as if she resented him for having seen her naked. As it should be, he told himself, she was breaking the habit of flirting with him. He picked up the quill
and focused on the ledger. He dipped the pen into the inkwell, angrily tapped off the excess ink and began logging expenses.
After a pile of receipts had accumulated by his elbow, he stared down the long column. He’d entered the figures with angry slashes. The last few numbers were almost unreadable. Damn, if he was going to let that slip of a thing best his self-control.
He slammed the book shut and shoved it to the side. Determined to get on with business, he started another letter to Stanbury. All his previous attempts to purchase the land to build an access road to the colliery had been rejected. Stanbury was holding out for the girl. And that was never going to happen. It had been idiotic to entertain the offer even for a moment. He should have thrown Stanbury through his study window when he’d suggested it.
Nicholas outlined another generous deal, and then sweetened the pot with a higher percentage of the profits than he’d previously offered. The quill snapped in half as his frustration mounted. In disgust, he ripped up the letter. He was done negotiating.
He stood up abruptly, buttoned his jacket, and shot his cuffs. All that undying lust she’d professed for him, just a schoolgirl’s fantasy it seemed. Hell, she just admitted to not even liking him.
He stuffed his riding gloves in his jacket pocket. Foxall had posted notices and would be hiring today from his base at the Twining Ivy Inn. Nicholas expected he would be overwhelmed with applicants. They’d hit a new seam of coal earlier than anticipated and the skeleton staff which had operated under Silas couldn’t handle the extra work.
As he stepped outside his study, tinny music from the decrepit pianoforte drifted down. He was soon heading up the stairs.
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