Darby's Angel

by Marcy Stewart

  He had said he resisted the merry widow. Well, she'd seen that kiss, and it did not look like he fought very hard.

  Darby's lips turned downward. She sat in her rocker and covered herself with a shawl. Although her ivory dress had long sleeves, she always grew cold at night. Reaching for the book of sermons on her table, she opened it and began to read.

  After ten minutes, her eyes grew so heavy that she put the volume aside and occupied herself by chewing her fingernails and thinking. By the time her self-inflicted hour passed by, she had stirred herself into a boiling stew.

  She was able to maintain composure enough to close her door quietly and slip through the corridor on soundless feet. Arriving at Simon's door, she knocked softly. After waiting several endless seconds and hearing no answer, she knocked again. When he still did not answer, she took a deep breath and turned the knob. It was unlocked. She edged inside and closed the door behind her.

  He had left the candle burning by his bed; a dangerous practice, since he slept so soundly. She would have to warn him about that as she had warned him of so many things. Perhaps fire held no fears for him, since he was not mortal; but it did for her.

  Knowing she should not, she tiptoed to his bed and watched him sleep. The candlelight flickered over the fair hair tumbling across his forehead, the remarkable dark brows, his long curling lashes. Looking at him now, she could not doubt he was an angel. If only he acted more like one.

  He had pushed aside his covers while he slept. His nightshirt reached only to his knees, and its top buttons gaped open. She felt a sudden, mad desire to press her lips to his cheek.

  Her face began to flame. She should not be here. Never had she been in a man's room, other than Alexander's, but he did not signify. She'd thought visiting an angel's chamber would be of similar innocence, but now she realized her error.

  With her gaze pinned to his face, she began to back away. She could not see that the handle of the water pitcher on his bedside table was sticking out; thus it was his fault, not hers, when her elbow struck it a glancing blow. The pitcher clattered toward the edge, the bowl it nested within sliding, too. In a heroic effort, Darby lunged desperately and caught both before they broke upon the floor, though water spewed in all directions, mostly upon her dress.

  In the catching, she had stumbled to her knees, and now her head bumped the table noisily, causing it to rock. Clenching her teeth to hold back the hot words which threatened to burst from her mouth, and with both hands still clutching the pitcher and bowl, she watched Simon's razor tilting toward the floor. The table returned to its former position, but the blade plummeted. It struck the carpet with a soft thud.

  With a crazed expression, Darby looked at her angel. He had continued to sleep peacefully through all—until the razor landed. And now his lids were slowly opening over eyes that glimmered like diamonds, and with as much comprehension. When recognition, then confusion, entered those eyes, she felt a wave of heat pass from her head to her toes despite the dampness of her gown.

  "Darby?" he asked in a sleep-thickened voice. "What are you doing?"

  "Nothing," she snapped, setting the pitcher and bowl on the floor and struggling to rise. Her hand squished into a particularly wet spot of carpet, and she winced but managed to attain her feet. "I had a little accident, that's all. If you turned the handle of your pitcher toward the wall as is proper, none of this would have happened."

  She bent to retrieve the ceramic pieces and demonstrated her meaning by showily restoring them to the back of the table. With an angry glance at him to see if he paid attention, she stooped a second time and retrieved the razor.

  "You're all wet," he said, still sounding bewildered as he looked from her to the table to the floor and back again. For a moment she suspected laughter threatened in his eyes, but he lowered his glance so quickly she was not certain. In a hoarse voice he added, "Let me get something to wrap around your shoulders."

  When he rose from the bed, she was pleased to see a look of alarm cross his features as he realized he wore only a nightshirt. Now she was not alone in her embarrassment.

  "Where is that robe?" he muttered, throwing his blankets back and forth. Finally, he found the garment—a moth-eaten, old red thing, Darby saw, making a mental note to find him a better one—pulled it on, and tied the sash. Snatching a blanket from the bed, he walked toward her.

  "I don't need it," she said, raising her chin. "I was just leaving."

  He stopped, though he still extended the blanket toward her. "Why? Did you sneak into this bedroom just to throw water on the floor?"

  She glared at him haughtily. When he offered the blanket to her again, demandingly, while chewing his lower lip in a futile effort to hide his amusement, she shuddered to feel her mouth responding in traitorous twitches.

  "Oh, very well," she said crossly, seizing the blanket and tossing it around herself. "I did have a reason for coming, so I may as well stay a moment."

  "Please do." He gestured with exaggerated politeness to the straight-backed chair beside the fireplace. There was only the one chair, and while she sat in it, he slouched on the rail at the foot of his bed.

  She stared at him disapprovingly, the silence lengthening. Merriment continued to shine from his eyes, and she did not like it.

  "I hope nobody saw you enter my room," he said. "I wouldn't want you ruining my reputation."

  She immediately caught the allusion but failed to see the humor. "Your angelic reputation is safe with me, though I fear the same cannot be said of all your acquaintances."

  That killed the laughter in his eyes, she was pleased to note.

  "I'm sorry about Lenora. I mean, nothing really happened, but I know to you it might have looked as if something did."

  "Yes," she said acidly, "I'm certain it was my error, but I could have sworn you were kissing her. Even she admitted it. Cannot you?"

  "She was kissing me. "

  "And you could not stop her—big, strong angel that you are."

  "I was trying . . ." His voice faded, as if he suddenly realized the futility of protesting.

  His inability to form better excuses fueled her anger. "It seems if you were going to kiss anyone, it would be me, since I'm the only one you entrusted with the secret of your identity."

  Darby's eyes widened in shock. From what wild spring had those words burst? Horrified, she covered her face with her hands. She could hardly see Simon in the spaces between her fingers, but he was regarding her with an ominous silence. She squeezed her eyes shut and began to pray for forgiveness.

  His voice came as if from a great distance.

  "Do you want me to kiss you, Darby?"

  "No!" she said firmly. "No, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

  When he remained silent, she opened her eyes to a squint. That terrible look of sadness had come into his face again, and she had put it there. He was disappointed in her. And why shouldn't he be? Imagine anyone so depraved as desiring to kiss an angel. Even Lenora wouldn't have done such a thing, did she realize what he was. Or most likely not.

  Tears sprang to Darby's eyes. She should be shot.

  "Don't you dare cry," he said, and moved as if meaning to go to her. But as soon as he stood, he sank back to the bed, proving she disgusted him so thoroughly that he could not comfort her. Tears began to spill down her lashes.

  "You haven't done anything wrong," he added earnestly. "Not a thing. It's me, Darby. I'm the problem."

  "No, you aren't," she sobbed, "I'm too—too possessive. I think of you as m-my angel, and I don't want to share you with anyone else."

  This time he did leave the bed and come to stand over her. With a tender, sorrowing look in his eyes, he touched the top of her head, and with his fingers traced the path of her tears, erasing them gently.

  "I am yours," he said.

  Darby stared up at him, hoping for something she could not name. The pain in her heart lessened, and her mouth trembled into a little smile.

  Although his eyes remain
ed clouded, he smiled faintly in response and moved his thumb across her lips as if sketching them, making her shiver. When he lowered his hand and returned to his perch on the bed, she felt consoled and disappointed all at once.

  "You have more character than anyone I've ever met," he said, his voice sounding hollow. "Don't put yourself down, do you hear me? Never do that. You are so ... so pure, so good. I don't know who would be worthy of--well, enough. Maybe you'd better tell me why you wanted to see me."

  Her head was spinning with his praise, and for a moment she could not think. "Before I speak of that, there is something else I've been thinking about since—since we were all in the garden." Indignation flared within her again, but she pushed it aside. "When Alex came toward us, remember how quickly Lenora pledged us to secrecy? She said she would not tell him of our liaison"— Darby wrinkled her nose scornfully—"if we did not speak of her involvement, or whatever it was, with you."

  Simon nodded, a curious look on his face, as if to say he did recall it but did not understand its importance.

  "Well, there it is, don't you see?" Darby exclaimed, growing excited enough to bounce from the chair and pace in front of him waving her hands in extravagant gestures. "Why should she be worried about what Alex thinks of her if she does not plan to trick him into marriage?" She studied Simon's face eagerly. "You still do not understand, do you? Oh, I know that you desire they wed so your important person will be born. But I think Lenora has schemed to marry Alex all along and may have killed her husband in order to do so. Don't you find it suspicious that she didn't want my brother to know you kissed her?"

  "I didn't kiss her," Simon replied distractedly, trying to follow Darby's line of reasoning.

  "As you say, then. But can you not admit the possibility that I'm right? Alex will not be absurdly rich, but his fortune is considerable. Certainly, he is in better straits than poor Reece was."

  She was dismayed to see a furrow appear in his brow. Obviously, he wanted no one to dash cold water on his plans. Well, he could not hide from the truth; he was an angel.

  "I don't know, Darby. You're stretching things a little, I think."

  "Am I?" she challenged.

  He shifted on the bed as if he were uncomfortable. "It's worth thought," he admitted, "but I don't know if Lenora is really after him. I mean, it's plain your aunt and uncle are trying to throw them together, but Lenora's actions don't fall in line with that. Flirting with other men is a dangerous way to reach her goal. Had I been responsive, Alexander would likely have found out."

  Darby shook her head stubbornly. "Lenora thrives on this sort of adventure. If you'd seen her behavior among gentlemen when she was wed to Reece, you would never guess she was married."

  "A lot of people enjoy playing games like that," he said slowly, an odd expression on his face. "Even if she does have a wandering eye, you can't simply conclude she murdered her husband. We don't have enough information."

  "If we knew more, though ... if it transpires that Lenora is guilty, you won't insist upon completing your mission, will you? Surely you won't expect Alex to marry a murderess!"

  He held her gaze for a long time before lowering his eyes. She felt a moment's trepidation at the glimmer of fear she saw there. Or had she imagined it?

  "I ... can't answer that right now," he said. "And don't go snooping around where you're not wanted. Are you listening to me? No trying to find out anything. I—I command it, as your angel. Understand?"

  A taut moment passed between them as she struggled with her own willfulness. But she could not argue with heaven, not when its wishes were so plainly presented. Defeated, she nodded slowly.

  Simon watched her closely, then sighed, sounding relieved. "Now, did you say there was something else you wanted to talk about?"

  Subdued and disappointed, she returned to the chair.

  "Edward has asked me to marry him," she said.

  Had she thrown her skirts over her head and howled, Simon could not have looked more surprised. "Edward?" he asked stupidly, as if he had never heard the name before.

  "Yes, Edward Wallace. You have met him."

  "Um. I remember."

  “Well, I wanted to ask your advice. Do you think I should say yes?"

  He ran a hand across his mouth, his gaze wandering back and forth along the carpet beneath her feet. "Why ask me?"

  "I thought if anyone would know, you would."

  Still avoiding her eyes, Simon cleared his throat. "How do you feel about Edward?"

  Her eyebrows lifted when he pronounced Edward's name as if he did not like him. "I love Edward," she said devoutly.

  "Do you really?" The curtness in his voice both surprised and pained her. "Then marry him, by all means."

  "Well, you see, this is the way of it," she said consideringly. "I love him because I have known him all my life. There is not a feeling of ... oh, I don't know how to say it." She almost told him then of her sisterly feelings when Edward kissed her, but stopped herself in time. Since she had made such a furor over Simon's kiss, he would probably condemn hers in turn. Instead, she finished, "He does not make me feel ... in the way I believe I should, to be married."

  "Oh, I see."

  "Well, you need not look so amused. I don't find it a laughing matter."

  "You're right; it's not." The brief look of humor faded, and he crossed the room to stand before the window and gaze outward. "What does Edward do? Does he have a job?"

  "You don't know this? He runs his family's farm. They have a dairy that is becoming well-known."

  "So, he's not trying to latch onto the Brightings fortune."

  Darby stiffened until the top of her head was as tall as the chair's back. "Do you think he wouldn't consider marrying me without being paid for it?"

  Simon turned wrathfully, startling her, "A man would have to be a fool not to want to marry you!"

  "Oh." Shocked with pleasure, she squirmed a little and relaxed her shoulders. "Thank you."

  As the quiet lengthened, Darby lifted her gaze from her lap and looked at Simon. Something silent and serious passed between them; something beyond words but as tangible as the blanket beneath her hands.

  In that moment, she realized she had fallen in love with her angel. And as certain as she knew her name, he loved her, too.

  The stunning awareness of this horror rushed the blood to her cheeks. With stinging eyes, she stood, the blanket falling to the floor.

  "I—I have to leave," she said. And felt agony when she saw his eyes fill and redden with this new, unspeakable knowledge they shared.

  "Yes, I guess you'd better."

  But he did not move; apparently, he was rooted in place beside the window, one hand clutching at the draperies as if to a lifeline. She walked to the door alone, but before she touched the knob, he spoke her name softly. She turned and waited.

  "Marry Edward," he said. "He seems to be a good man. He's kind to his mother and sister, and I'm sure he'll be the same with you."

  Darby gazed at him. In this moment, she thought with a sense of fate, I have grown up. And I will never truly be happy again. She opened the door, not caring if every member of the household lined the corridor to shame her.

  "Thank you for the advice," she told him in a breaking voice. "I—I will consider it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Simon had not slept when the maid tapped on his door before daybreak the next morning. He’d instructed the servant to awaken him in time to have breakfast with Darby so he could accompany her to the pottery. Now, staring at the ceiling with salty eyes, he wondered if he could go through with it.

  “I’m awake, thanks,” he told the maid through the door. He had to get up, even if the thought of seeing Darby filled him with dread. Last night at dinner, he had asked if he could visit her workplace, and she was expecting him. But he continued to lie in bed while the darkness beyond his window warmed to pink.

  What he wanted to do was run outside, flee into the woods and dash beneath the ash trees lik
e a coward. Whatever awaited him in the future had to be easier than pretending he didn’t love Darby.

  But he couldn’t run. For the next few weeks he was anchored to the past, tied by obligations that must be met, even if his heart cracked into dust fulfilling them.

  He deserved any pain he suffered. Months—and a whole world—ago, he buried his child and the only woman he’d ever thought to love. That they were no longer husband and wife at the time of her death was his fault. Afterwards, they’d remained friends. Neither one of them had bothered to change their wills, which was how he came to inherit Brightings.

  Now even that bond seemed shallow in comparison with his passion for the enchanting girl he had come to save. She was different from any woman he’d ever known. Elena had been bright, sophisticated, and assertive. Darby was strong, too, but there was an innocence, a vulnerability, about her that made him feel protective. And he was drawn to her idealism, her unapologetic morality, like a guilt-blackened moth to the flame.

  Elena never really needed him. Within weeks of the final decree, she had begun seeing other men. It was, in fact, her engagement to a dentist that caused her murder and Tay’s. Simon’s deranged worshiper had incinerated them both to punish Elena for causing him pain.

  Again, his fault.

  And now he’d involved Darby, charmed her into his orbit like a python entrancing a nightingale. He could have remained remote and detached, but by allowing his own feelings for her to show, he’d caused her natural awe of a heavenly visitant to grow into something more. And Darby would not recover easily. She might never be the same after he left. He certainly wouldn’t be.

  Some angel he was. He seemed not only determined to save her from death, but to ruin her for life.

  Even though he didn’t like the sound of it, marriage to Edward Wallace was probably the best thing for her. He didn’t want Darby mourning her angel like a nun for the rest of her days.

  But what if Darby didn’t want to marry Edward? She hadn’t sounded very enthusiastic last night.

  Simon jerked upward, propping himself on his elbows. Outside the window, the rising sun mirrored the fiery sense of doom he felt.