Angel's Guardian

by Scottie Barrett

  Hoping to avoid Draxford’s bad temper, Angeline strolled the garden as the grooms readied the horses.

  Benjamin rejoined them wearing what looked to be one of Silas’s old riding coats.

  Angeline turned at the crunch of wheels on gravel. Hugh Stanbury slowed his curricle as he approached.

  He alighted from his vehicle. “Here I thought to find the house dark and everyone recovering from last night’s festivities.”

  “Touring the colliery, brother.”

  Hugh squinted in disapproval at the disheveled sight of his brother then tipped his hat at Angeline. “We can take the wagon and cut through the meadows. Fill the bed with hay for the more delicate among us.”

  Draxford took the sorrel’s reins from Wick. “We travel the usual route.”

  “That road is fiendishly narrow.”

  “It’s served for a century.”

  “I’m sure you won’t insist upon the women risking it. I wager we can return to my house, get cook to pack a lunch and still beat you to the mine.” Hugh linked arms with Constance and began walking toward the garden obviously intent on collecting Angeline as well.

  “Angeline goes with me,” Draxford said.

  Constance slipped out of Hugh’s grasp. “I’m certainly not one to break a century’s tradition.”

  “I second that. By all means, let us have an authentic experience,” Benjamin said with another lift of his flask.

  Draxford brought the horse to Angeline. He stood at the gate glowering. Coward that she was, she dropped her gaze and concentrated on keeping her skirt from the grasping rose bushes as she exited the garden.

  He wrapped his big hands around her waist and lifted her into the saddle. An emotion flickered in the depths of his eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “So this is how you refuse me? Surrounding yourself with a bloody phalanx of bodyguards. Shame you could not enlist my aunt as well.”

  “Actually, having a headache was meant to convey refusal.” She glanced around at all the activity on the drive and tried for a flippant tone. “This circus is rather more than I bargained for.”

  Draxford scrutinized her face with an intensity that made her heart gallop. She could only imagine what he thought of her. A fickle, faithless tease. Claiming a singular passion for him yet refusing his proposal.

  He handed her the reins. “Don’t let the mare crowd Hazard. The stallion will kick.”

  “I’m quite capable of handling Sugar,” she said huffily.

  “You are the reason for this hellish tea party so you will bloody well behave yourself.”

  She held her riding crop out to him. It shook noticeably, registering the nervous tremble that ran through her body. “Perhaps you ought to punish me again.”

  “Believe me, I’d like nothing better than putting a few stripes on that pert little arse,” he said before stalking away.

  Traveling the winding road to the mine, always made Angeline sit more tensely in the saddle. Most of the trail was wide enough to travel two abreast. It was the final ascent when the trip became truly daunting. The road narrowed and the hill fell away steeply on both sides.

  They had only just made the first turn when Constance gasped loudly.

  Angeline glanced over her shoulder. The woman’s face was devoid of color. “You needn’t worry, Jewel can make this trip blind-folded.”

  Constance shot her a frown and continued to make suffering noises. Angeline realized that the man who was meant to take notice, was too involved in a conversation to pay her heed. Actually, it wasn’t really a conversation. Benjamin was speaking and gesturing animatedly while Draxford listened. With her horse practically glued to the back of Draxford’s stallion, Angeline caught snippets of phrases, about marriage and loyalty and kindred spirits. She guessed that Benjamin was pouring out his pain at Olivia Mayhew’s desertion as he’d done to her last night.

  As they continued on the trail tension seemed to ricochet from one rider to the next with the exception of Benjamin who appeared wholly concentrated on keeping himself in the saddle.

  With sudden urgency, he reined his horse to a stop then slid awkwardly from the saddle. He staggered toward a stand of trees.

  His mount took the opportunity to turn back and start trotting for home. Draxford cursed as he wheeled his stallion around and caught the escaping horse. “We’re turning back,” he said to Benjamin’s retreating back.

  Benjamin waved him off. “Just give me a moment to settle my sloshing brain.”

  Draxford brought the horses to a standstill beside Angeline. His broad shoulders were set in a rigid line and his jaw jutted stubbornly. “Not such a bloody innocent meeting last night, was it? You failed to tell me Benjamin proposed.”

  “Certainly not a proposal, more a suggestion. And poor Ben was so intoxicated he couldn’t sit upright. I’m sure he regrets mentioning it.”

  “Like bloody hell he regrets it. He just asked for my consent.”

  Angeline tried for a smile. “I don’t suppose you gave it?”

  His scowl grew darker. “If you’ve made any other conquests warn them to avoid me.”

  Benjamin staggered back to his horse looking a little less green. His patience growing as short as his temper, Draxford urged his stallion forward while Benjamin was still hoisting himself into the saddle. Angeline had half-expected that Draxford’s anger at her rejection would have lifted by now. That he might even be grateful for the reprieve. But his mood seemed to be growing blacker by the moment.

  Angeline twitched the reins to put some distance between them. She could tell by the alert tilt of his head, that Draxford sensed her retreat.

  “Behave, brat,” he warned.

  But she dropped back even further by applying the half-halt maneuver Wick had taught her and soon she was out of reach. The path had narrowed too much for him to turn his horse around. Thankful for a measure of invisibility, Angeline attempted to get control of her emotions.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  As their party rounded the final bend, Angeline could hear the clamor of men and machinery.

  The wagon had clearly made it in much better time. Hugh Stanbury looked entirely at his leisure puffing on the stub of a cigar while sipping from a misshapen glass likely filled with Mr. Foxall’s homemade liquor. She recalled Silas’s jest that they used it for blasting tunnels when they ran low on black powder. Hugh slugged back the liquor then dropped his cigar stub into the glass before striding toward them. Constance had alighted and was already clinging to Draxford’s arm. Fighting down the jealousy, Angeline urged her mount to a small crest above the paddock to get a better view. She twisted in the saddle to survey the area. The changes were vast and impressive. New housing for the workers was nearing completion. Sturdy barges were being assembled in the boatyard.

  Behind her, Angeline heard the crunch of boots. She groaned inwardly, not wishing to deal with Stanbury’s drunken gallantry. Mustering a pleasant expression, she turned to find the man she’d been trying to avoid the entire ride.

  Angeline placed her hands on his shoulders as he whisked her from the saddle. “’Tis amazing what you have accomplished.” The compliment did nothing to soften his demeanor.

  “Why the devil could you not have complied for once?” He raked his hair back from his face, smoothing back a boyishly stray lock. “One night naked with me and you’re cured, it seems.”

  “I will never be cured of wanting you,” Angeline said, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. His eyes narrowed with doubt. Could she blame him? Her behavior had been too mercurial. It was not game playing as he suspected, but self-preservation. It was the pull of desperately wanting something you knew in the end you couldn’t actually have.

  Unable to bear his intense scrutiny, she dropped her gaze and began adjusting his slightly croo
ked neckcloth. “You’re angry now, but you will thank me for this. We both know Constance would make you the ideal helpmate.”

  His body jolted at her suggestion. “No. She is Stanbury’s ideal helpmate. He’s just too thickheaded to realize it.”

  “But they are cousins.”

  “It is not uncommon for cousins to marry.”

  “I know she admires you greatly.”

  “Sweeting, you have this backwards. I choose your spouse, you do not choose mine.” He trapped her hand, stopping her from fidgeting with his cravat. “I should have followed my instincts and carried you kicking and screaming to the carriage.”

  A pointedly loud cough in the distance made her pull her hand from beneath his.

  Scowling, Draxford gathered the reins to lead the mare. As they walked toward the bustling coal works, Angeline glanced over at the man striding beside her. The man who had made all this happen. He caught her staring and she quickly looked away.

  A stable boy hurried toward them and collected the mare. Angeline gasped as Draxford placed his hand on her back and guided her past the gathered Stanburys and toward the waiting crowd. Eli Foxall, the manager of the coal works, stepped forward to greet them.

  Mr. Foxall looked as rugged as the hill he mined. A bear of a man, he rubbed his big paw of a hand over his bald pate as they approached. His head was bumpy from scars and coal etched the wrinkles of his forehead.

  “Mr. Foxall, I apologize for disturbing your work, but some of my guests were interested in seeing the progress.”

  With his gloved hand still firmly planted on her back, Draxford introduced the Stanburys. Mr. Foxall gave Benjamin’s face a thorough examination before turning his head to show the gouges that plowed through his ear and trailed below the collar of his shirt.

  “In battle?” Benjamin asked.

  “Explosion in the mine.”

  Draxford nudged her forward. “You remember Miss Kent.”

  “Aye, the last time I saw Angel she was soaked through. Come up here in the rain to let me know of your uncle’s passing.”

  “Alone?” A muscle in Draxford’s jaw jumped.

  “I am grateful to her. No one else thought to tell me.” Mr. Foxall smiled down at her. The laugh lines around his eyes were more pronounced because of the coal which had settled in them. “Imagine you have your hands full with this one. Always was a chancy lass. When she was just a wee one she pestered one of the bargemen to give her a ride down river. Wasn’t long before we were fishing her out of the water.”

  Draxford’s fingers tensed on her back. “Scaled a broken down trellis just last night.”

  Mr. Foxall let loose a bark of a laugh.

  Benjamin rocked back on his heels to get a good look at Draxford’s proprietary hold on her. A knowing smile soon creased his face.

  As Mr. Foxall began the tour Angeline slipped discreetly from her guardian’s grasp.

  The works were alive with noise. Chains rattled as tubs were brought up the shaft, coal clattered as it was spilled onto screens to filter out debris, and hammers pounded in the boatyard.

  “Careful of the slurry.” Mr. Foxall pointed ahead at a few rivulets of pulverized coal and water which cut muddy ditches in the ground. Some planks had been laid atop the mud.

  Angeline couldn’t help noticing that Constance’s hem had already darkened with coal dust and worried about her own russet skirts, she quickly lifted them to ankle height in preparation of crossing.

  “We are in the process of sealing a leak in the dam,” Mr. Foxall assured Draxford as he bypassed the makeshift bridge and strode in his big muddy boots toward a stone wall.

  A cry of surprise escaped her lips, as Draxford scooped her off her feet and into his arms as he followed in Foxall’s wake. He looked down into her scandalized face, a wry tilt to his lips. Then he pulled his gaze away and resumed his conversation with Foxall about shoring up the wall. None of their conversation made it past Angeline’s stunned brain. Draxford acted as though he cradled his ward in his arms everyday, while she blushed furiously and avoided looking at Foxall.

  Once clear of the runoff, she fully expected he would set her down but he carried her quite unnecessarily beyond the muddy area, still hugging her tightly to his chest.

  A chirpy voice came from the direction of the manager’s cottage. Mrs. Foxall waved from the porch and then bustled toward them. Angeline, refusing to greet the woman perched in his arms, squirmed a bit and he finally set her down.

  Of course, Mrs. Foxall hadn’t missed a thing. Her eyes flickered with curiosity as she approached. She was a short, round woman who barely reached her husband’s chest. A rector’s daughter, she’d chosen marriage to a rough, hard-working miner over a more genteel existence. “Major Draxford, I’m brewing some nice strong tea.”

  “Very kind of you,” he responded.

  Mr. Foxall frowned. “Can’t it wait, Hattie? I was just going to show Major Draxford the drawings for the gravity railway.”

  She waved in the direction of the office. “Do what you must. But I do think refreshments are in order after that dusty ride.”

  Mr. Foxall did not let his wife’s censorious tone dissuade him. Gesticulating broadly, he led Draxford toward the office.

  Hugh glared at Draxford’s retreating back then clapped his hands together. “Tea, just the thing,” he said with forced good humor.

  They crowded into the small front room which served as the family’s main room. William, who had been pulling a wooden boat set on wheels, startled as they entered. The toy tipped on its side. The boat made a scraping sound as he dragged it over the floorboards and ducked behind his mother’s skirts.

  Angeline loved their cozy little home. It had changed little since she’d last visited. The dining table stood along the far wall, a basket of knitting sat near the rocking chair, a few worn, obviously oft-read books were stacked on the windowsill, the sketches she’d done of the Foxall’s two sons held pride of place above the mantel, and a kettle steamed over the fire in the hearth. The table was set with a colorful array of vessels. Not a single cup had a matching mate. A delicate china creamer jug with pretty pink roses sat incongruously among the rougher tableware.

  “Tom, come greet our guests,” Mrs. Foxall called.

  Thomas, the eldest, stepped through the door and bowed stiffly. It had been a year since Angeline had seen him. He’d grown tall and slender. His thin wrists poked well out of his jacket. Despite his timid greeting and his angelic face, Angeline knew he was as wild as they made them. He could often be found tip-toeing along fence railings, riding bareback, or swinging from a rope far above the canal. Thomas was a kindred spirit to the child she once was.

  Angeline helped serve the tea while Mrs. Foxall took great pains to evenly slice what remained of a seed cake.

  They were onto their second cups when Mr. Foxall, followed by Draxford, ducked under the lintel. The low ceiling made them look like giants in a doll’s house. Neither man took a seat at the table, as if they both knew that the furniture couldn’t withstand their large frames. Angeline wondered whether Mr. Foxall pulled up the high-backed rocking chair when dining with his family, none of the other furniture looked sturdy enough to hold him.

  Hugh held his cup aloft.

  Mr. Foxall lumbered across the room to a small niche set in the wall and returned with a bottle.

  “You’ve saved me. I’ve had a trying time of it, and tea hasn’t the power to revive me,” Stanbury said, his words already slurring some. He took the stopper out of the bottle and splashed it into his cup. “My stableman overestimated his ability to teach a horse to drive. The gray balked at being between the shafts nearly the entire distance.”

  William stepped cautiously out from behind his mother and tucked a thumb in his mouth. He reached out to touch the engraved buttons on the sl
eeve of Constance’s jacket. With a tight smile, Constance shifted her arm away. Angeline had been so preoccupied with her own problems she hadn’t thought to bring sweets, or a new toy as she normally would. The mine’s isolation made it easy to delight the children with little novelties.

  His mother held a chunk of cake out to him to lure him back to her side. He munched on the cake, crumbs falling onto his shirt as he stared wide-eyed at Angeline’s hat.

  Angeline suddenly remembered the little bird nestled against a flower on the crown and removed the hat. The bird was a fanciful creation constructed from a patchwork of felt scraps, with black beads for eyes. She unpinned it and held it out to him on the palm of her hand. William snatched it from her with a giggle. Sensing Draxford’s gaze on her face, she glanced up and gave him a tentative smile. A corner of his stern mouth ticked up slightly.

  “Now you be careful with that, Will,” Mrs. Foxall said.

  “’Tis his to keep,” Angeline said. She was certain Gladys would not object. Angeline imagined her smiling when she told her of William’s delight, and then pulling out her bits and bobs to fashion something to replace it.

  “So, Drax, what’s this new contraption you’ll be building?” Benjamin asked.

  Mr. Foxall instantly became animated. “A sort of tramroad, but built on a slope. Gravity pulls the carts downhill, you see.” His hand swooped. “Then we empty the coal into the barges, and float them down the canal. Simple as sin. No more moving thimblefuls in saddlebags.”

  Stanbury clanked his cup down on its saucer. “He’s made you say that, hasn’t he, Foxall?” Stanbury let out a sneering laugh. “I know Draxford and he won’t waste time or money building that contraption when the perfect solution is already available. But forget access, eh Draxford? It’s ownership of my harbor you’re after.”

  Mrs. Foxall pantomimed a sweeping motion which Thomas obeyed by picking up his brother and exiting the house.