She couldn't.
So she wouldn't waste breath in trying.
Instead, she forced a smile, dipped the paddle, and lightly splashed him. "Ye were right," she said. "I do like this place."
"And me?" he asked. "Do you care for me?"
"That's for me to know, and ye to guess," she answered lightly. Leaning forward, she dug the paddle hard, and forced the dugout against the current back the way they had come.
Chapter 22
At exactly ten o'clock, a tall, lanky footman with close-cropped hair climbed the wide center staircase at Nottingham to deliver morning tea to Lady Graymoor's second-floor chamber.
"Thank you, Coffie," Griffin said as the servant placed the inlaid tray carefully on a table. "That will be all for today. Her ladyship says you may have the rest of the day off. But be back by breakfast tomorrow."
A smile spread over Coffie's dark face. "Yes, sir, Mr. Griffin."
"You are too lenient with your people," Griffin said to Lady Graymoor when they were once more alone. "They take advantage of you."
"Perhaps." She smiled. "But Coffie is the best footman I've ever had. He deserves time to visit his friends and relatives on the island."
Lizzy was a vision this morning in her coral dressing gown. She wore not a trace of makeup, and her thick, swan-white hair was plaited neatly into two braids and hung down her back as simply as a country milkmaid's.
He returned to his seat by the open window that overlooked the wide expanse of front lawn stretching down to the water's edge. He'd already donned fresh breeches and hose, but he was still bare-chested.
Lizzy poured each of them a cup of tea, then set them aside and continued massaging horse liniment into his back and shoulders.
"It's going to be hot today," Griffin said. He groaned. "Lower... ahhh, there." The woman was a marvel. She knew instinctively where to find all the sore places.
"This is ridiculous, Griff. My hands will reek of this mess for days."
"It eases the ache, love. What better medicine for an old warhorse than your soft hands rubbing out the kinks?"
She laughed, a highly amused sound that came out much like a giggle. Leaning forward, she kissed the back of his neck. "I imagine you would have a few twinges after last night."
He twisted to look at her. Lizzy's cheeks glowed with color, and her eyes twinkled merrily. He grinned.
"I believe the country is better for more than an escape from fever and plague," she said.
"Hmmp." He rolled his head, first left, then right, and stood up. "Enough of this. I have duties to attend to."
"Not yet. You may put on your finest and huff and puff at the servants at dinner, but we have plenty of time. I want to talk with you about Angel and William."
Griffin examined a spotless lawn shirt for wrinkles, then, satisfied, thrust an arm into it. He'd known it. Things were too calm this morning. They were bound to get into a patch of nettles before the dinner hour. "You know exactly what my feelings are about that subject," he replied. "It's a disaster."
"Don't be such a dragon. Even you must have been young once. Can't you appreciate Angel for what she is?"
He began to button the shirt's single fastening at the throat. She brushed his hands away and buttoned it herself. Griffin frowned. Dealing with Lizzy was difficult when he didn't agree with her.
"I do know what the woman is," he said. "That's the problem. She's a good and loving soul. And I don't want to see her hurt."
"I agree. My heart goes out to her. She is very secretive about her life, but I'm sure she's suffered great hardship. And she dearly loves our William."
"He is very fond of her, I'm sure," Griffin said. "But Will is a gentleman, a Falcon of Church Street. Wherever he goes, he is welcomed into the homes of quality, given great responsibilities because of his birth and status."
"He asked me last night if I thought Angel could be happy here... if she could form friendships, learn to manage a home."
"And what did you tell him?"
"I had to be honest. I said I didn't know."
Griffin frowned. "She will present him with a bastard child if they're permitted to associate with each other for long. Why did you insist on bringing her here? You'll never prevent improprieties on this island."
"What makes you think I want to?"
"She isn't your lost Elizabeth."
"I didn't say she was."
"You didn't say it, but I know you are thinking it—wishing it were so. She isn't. You know I'm right. I was right about the last one, wasn't I? You've wasted far too much money on this hopeless quest."
"Is it hopeless?"
He pulled her into a warm embrace and kissed the crown of her head. He wanted so badly to protect her, but Lizzy's soft heart was her own greatest enemy. "Ah, love, you're such a dreamer. Wee Elizabeth is lost, rocked in the arms of angels. She has been lost for twenty years. She's dead, Lizzy, and the sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be."
"You'd have me completely alone?" She laid her head against his chest. "I'd know if she were dead. I can't tell you how I'd know, but I would."
"You'll never be alone as long as I draw breath."
"Then why won't you agree to make an honest woman of me?"
"Marriage? Between us?" He released her, stepped back, and tapped her lovingly under the chin. "Lady Graymoor wed her butler?" He shook his head. "It simply isn't done. Not even in the godless colonies. It is as impossible as a match between Angel and our Will."
How many times had he daydreamed about such a possibility of running off with Lizzy? But there was nowhere to hide. Italy, Holland, even India would find them out eventually. Lizzy's wealth and her title would be discovered. And doubtless the worthless cousin's son would sue to have her declared incompetent and seize her fortune. No, wedding his little countess wasn't in the cards. Besides, he told himself, so long as he was her butler, he could keep his self-respect. He wasn't a kept man, living on the coin of a rich woman. He was a trusted employee.
"I've reached an age where I care little what others think of me," she proclaimed, retrieving his waistcoat and holding it out to him.
He chuckled. "Can you deny your love of being the high point in Charleston society? Or that you wouldn't miss a card party or a ball? How many doors would be open to you with your hired man on your arm? No, my dear. Our relationship works very well for both of us. Let us not tinker with success."
"You are a stubborn old man, Griffin Davis. Why I've put up with your impudence all these years I'll never know."
He winked at her. "It's the Davis legacy. Sergeant may be a tad slow to rise to attention, but once his blood is up, there's no finer steed in the British Empire."
Lizzy screwed up her face and prepared to fire a return volley, but he defused her attack by blowing a kiss at her. "Admit it, love. There's no lover like a Welshman, and no Welshman like a Davis."
"You are... are impossible," she stammered. "Get out of my room and see to... see to your duties."
"Yes, m'lady," he replied with a solemn face and a deep bow. Inside, a warm glow filled him to overflowing. She might pretend otherwise, but Lizzy loved his rough soldier talk within the confines of her boudoir. Last night had been a triumph, and if his intuition was correct, tonight might hold even greater heights to conquer.
* * *
At exactly one in the afternoon, the regular dinner hour at Nottingham, Angel, garbed in a fancy dress and wearing shoes and stockings, appeared at the doorway of the formal dining room.
This morning, floating on the river with him, she'd been nearly overwhelmed by her feelings for him. Now, seeing Will rise to greet her, she wanted to weep with relief that he was alive and whole. If he lived and was safe, how could she ask for more?
She hadn't wanted to play this game, to dress and act like someone she wasn't... someone she could never be. But Will had asked it of her when they returned to the landing. And knowing they had so little time together, she could deny him nothing.
> Now, it was all she could do to keep her knees from knocking out of fear that she'd make a fool of herself.
Lady Graymoor had been so good to her, but the old woman couldn't understand that being a guest here, even an honored guest, wasn't the same as belonging. A quick glance at Griffin's face told her he knew she didn't belong in this room or in this house. She stopped, trying to decide if she should turn and run.
"Angel!" Lady Graymoor called. "How lovely you look. The picture of health. Do join us at table."
Sparkling crystal and silver gleamed on the white linen cloth. The table was laden with enough food to feed a dozen sailors. Overhead hung a large sail of woven reeds. Ropes and pulleys led from the sail to a far corner of the room where a footman fanned the still air, making the room much cooler than it would have been at midday.
In Charleston, she had eaten in her room or with Lady Graymoor in her chambers. There had been no fancy table, no fuss such as this.
Angel looked down at the array of forks and spoons on either side of her plate and felt a fresh wave of fear. So many. How would she possibly know which to use and when?
As if reading her mind, Will glanced at Griffin. "No need to put your staff to such trouble for me," he said to Lizzy. "The table seems set for the governor, rather than just us."
The countess looked puzzled. "Who is more dear to me than you are, William? Why shouldn't we eat off the lovely plates and silver. If we don't, who shall?"
A maid came to the table carrying a silver tureen of soup. Angel watched apprehensively as the girl ladled the steaming liquid into a bowl in front of her. Then, unexpectedly, Angel felt a tap on her ankle. She looked up to see Will wink at her and reach for a large spoon. Relief spilled through her as she followed his lead.
Realizing she had only to study Lady Graymoor and Will and do as they did made the dinner almost enjoyable. The food was delicious, and the conversation kept her wide-eyed with wonder. The countess prompted Will to talk of his journeys in the Caribbean and across the Atlantic to the shores of Ireland and Spain.
As she grew more relaxed, Angel glanced around at the beautiful room. The furniture here was dark and heavy. It looked old, but against the white plaster walls, the effect was startling.
Occasionally, while Will was telling of his adventures, he'd rub her ankle again with the toe of his shoe. And whenever he did, it was all she could do not to laugh. After the fourth time, she decided that what was fair for the gander was fair for the goose. Wiggling out of her slipper, she returned the favor. Will gave no sign that he was aware of her gentle stroking, but she sensed he was excited by it, and she silently vowed to give him more of the same whenever the opportunity presented itself.
At last, a final course was served: a light pudding and some kind of cake that Angel had never tasted before. Lady Graymoor laid her napkin beside her plate and stood up, a signal that the meal was over. But when Angel tried to do the same, she knocked a spoon off the table onto the floor.
Quickly she bent to retrieve the spoon, but as she ducked under the tablecloth, an odd sensation swept through her, making her light-headed. Will's voice faded and she seemed to hear another man speaking over Will's.
"...find you. Where are you, Bett? Fee fie fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!"
Suddenly giddy, Angel took hold of a table leg to steady herself. For the barest instant, she was a child again, crouching not beside the table, but under it.
"Can't find me!"
A small giggle bubbled up from the child's hiding place.
"Oh, yes, I can!" cried the deep male voice. "Got you!"
"Angel! Angel, what's wrong? Are you ill?" Will's anxious tone drew her back. She felt his arms around her, lifting her up. "What's wrong? Are you feverish?"
"Nay." She gasped. "Nay, nothin' be..." She drew in a ragged breath and blinked. Was she losing her mind? Why did she keep hearing Bett's name called? And why the ghost of a child under the table? "Just the heat," she lied.
"Ruby, take Miss Angel up to her room," Lady Graymoor ordered a maidservant. "Tuck her into bed. She may have a touch of fever." She laid her hand on Angel's forehead. "You are warm."
"I'm all right," Angel said. "'Tis just the great meal and the warmth of the day."
"Nevertheless," Lady Graymoor insisted. "It's to bed with you." She smiled reassuringly. "Or perhaps my lessons on how a lady faints have taken hold."
Ignoring her protests, Lady Graymoor and the slave woman Ruby followed her up the stairs to her bedroom. There, the maid opened the windows and helped her out of the dress. "I'm not going to bed," Angel insisted. "I'm fine."
"Humor an old woman," Lady Graymoor coaxed. "Just lie down for a little while. It's the custom here. We ladies always nap in midafternoon. Besides, I've been wanting an opportunity to talk with you."
Angel perched cross-legged on the bed as Ruby hung up the gown and left the room. Lady Graymoor drew a chair close to the bed and sat down. Angel looked at her warily and waited for her to say what was on her mind.
"Do you like Nottingham?" the old woman asked after a short silence.
Angel nodded. "'Tis lovely. But awful big."
"The house has a wonderful history. It was built by a Frenchman for his bride and passed through several families before it was renamed Nottingham. There used to be an Indian camp on the land. I understand the native people remained here long after they'd left the surrounding area."
"Yet... you did not bring me here to talk about Indians."
Lady Graymoor chuckled. "No, I didn't, did I?"
"You've been good to me, but I won't take advantage of your—"
"Hush. I like you, child. You're much as I was when I was twenty. I imagine it's hard for you to think that I could have been young. I wasn't so beautiful as you are, but I had my share of beaus."
"You have beauty now, ma'am, a beauty of the soul that shines for all to see."
"What sweet flattery." Lady Graymoor chuckled, but Angel could see that she was pleased. "I wonder if you would indulge me."
"More questions?"
"I've asked before, I know. But this time, would you please answer? It would mean so much to me."
Angel shrugged. "If I can."
"Fair enough. Are you certain you can't tell me the month and year of your birth?"
She shook her head. "No, ma'am, I cannot. I told you before. I don't know."
"But surely your mother..."
"Bett. Bett took care of me. She loved me like her own."
"Like her own? You aren't her daughter?"
"I am. I just wasn't born from her body. Bett sometimes said she was looking for driftwood and found me on the beach. Other times, she'd say she caught me in her crab trap, or dug me up in an oyster bed."
"Do you remember her finding you?"
She shook her head. "Sometimes I think I do, but..." She sighed. "In the end, there's naught but fog."
"You didn't ask where you came from? What your name was?"
"Just Angel." She could tell that Lady Graymoor was becoming more excited. The old woman leaned forward and took her hand.
"Do you remember a ship? A mother and a father? A baby brother?"
Angel shook her head.
"Where, exactly, did Bett find you?"
Angel laughed. "You know not the Brethren. They wander the length of the Outer Banks. One month here, the next another island. I doubt even Bett could tell you."
"And you're certain she isn't your real mother?"
"Nay. I'm certain of nothing. Did you know Bett, you'd understand. Bett is a fine piece of work, she is. And she's fond of tall tales. She was between husbands when I was young. Could be I'm her natural child, and she's too canny to admit it."
Lady Graymoor squeezed her hand. "Did you know I've spent twenty years and more searching for my lost granddaughter?"
"Will has told me a little. But I'm not that child, ma'am. I'm an island wench and no kin to the great of England."
"You do understand, don't you
? I'm wealthier than you can imagine. And if you were my granddaughter you'd inherit everything."
"Wish I was. I'd like to be your missing poppet. I never had a grandmother, nor any that I could name my own. But I'd not lie to you or to myself."
"But you can't be sure. If this Bett found you after a shipwreck, it's possible that—"
Angel raised the lined hand and kissed it. "Look for your granddaughter within heaven's gates, ma'am. For what the sea claims, she will not give up."
"So many have told me." She rose, looking suddenly older and weaker. "And perhaps they were right." She started toward the door, stopped, and looked back. "Is there anything you need? Anything I can do to make your stay more pleasant."
Angel shook her head. "No, ma'am, I'm—wait." She swallowed, hesitant to ask, then blurted it out: "I'm fond of the woods and the beach." She pointed to the dress she'd worn earlier. "The gown is lovely, but it's not fit for fishing. Could I have something plain to roam in?"
"You want an old dress?"
"A skirt and bodice will do for me. Or even a man's shirt and breeches." She shrugged. "I am what I am, and no more. Best not to waste silk and satin on the likes of me."
"Very well, if that would make you happy."
Angel couldn't tell if Lady Graymoor was pleased or vexed. "It would, my lady. If it's not too much trouble. I need no shoes."
"No." The old woman chuckled to herself. "I don't suppose you do. I'll ask William's Delphi to find something suitable for you." And then she sighed. "I wish you were my lost granddaughter."
"Not if you knew me better. I'm rough, ma'am. I'm used to island ways. I'm grateful for your kindness. But I know where I belong."
"And so do I," she replied. "So do I."
Chapter 23
Angel did sleep in the afternoon. At seven, when Ruby came to announce supper, Angel asked to be excused, saying she wasn't hungry.
"Mr. Will, he's worried about you," Ruby said.
"Tell him not to fret. I'll be myself tomorrow."
The young black woman cocked her head. "You got the moon misery, miss? Belly troublin' you?"
"No need to mention that to the gentleman or to Lady Graymoor. Just say... say I'm in-de-posed."
Falcon's Angel Page 21