Richard swallowed, trying to dissolve the sensation of thickening in his throat. Letting go of Gabrielle would be hard. But it was for the best.
He hoped Puddums wouldn't miss Gabrielle too much. Cats were so sensitive. Often they mourned longer than humans, refusing food and water until they made themselves ill. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Puddums.
He'd warned Dyce that the cat wasn't to be hurt. "Not a hair disturbed," he'd threatened.
Richard had faith in Dyce, even if the man was too stupid to realize the value of the valuable racing pigeons he'd eaten. Dyce had proven he could learn from his mistakes. He'd shown enough initiative to rid himself of the Brethren's leader and assume the position. In time, Richard might be able to send Dyce back to the Outer Banks to pick up where he and his wrecker friends had left off.
After all, the shipping business was competitive. A man had to look after his own interests. The arrangement had worked well for a quarter of a century, and there was no reason it couldn't be lucrative again.
"Follow my instructions exactly," he'd told Dyce. "I'll lure Angel into the garden."
"I'll be there, Mr. Hamilton. You can count on me."
Dyce could strangle Angel, throw the body in the river, and let the alligators conceal the evidence. Angel would vanish without a trace.
Richard chuckled at the cleverness of his plan. How fitting it was. The mystery woman disappears in a puff of smoke. With Angel gone, Will would wait a suitable time, then marry Julia.
And Lady Graymoor? She would be forced to leave her fortune to her dear friend Will and his lovely wife. Absolute perfection.
Richard wiped the dust from his face, removed a silver flask from his inside coat pocket, and took a sip. Then he felt his heart; it seemed to be beating with more regularity. He felt better, stronger. Who knew what the future might bring? Perhaps, in a year or so, he might think of remarrying, himself. After all, he was in the prime of his years. It wasn't too late for him to consider taking a younger bride—perhaps even fathering a son.
* * *
Will made poor time on the road. The horse threw a shoe not ten miles from Charleston, and it took hours to find a farmer to replace it. Then, when he reached the landing, there was no boat to take him upriver to Nottingham. He had to spend the night at the home of an acquaintance and didn't arrive at Lizzy's home until Saturday morning.
Griffin seemed overjoyed to see him. Other guests had arrived ahead of him, and the house was overflowing with elegantly garbed ladies and gentlemen. "Lady Graymoor is still abed," the butler informed him. "It will be a great relief if you would organize some sort of entertainment until she rises."
"She's not sick, is she?" Will asked.
"No." Griffin's eyes lit with amusement. "You know how my lady likes to keep late hours. She played cards until quarter to four. Won a tidy piece of change from Mrs. Maude Duane of Proctor's Hill."
"Where's Angel? Is she here?"
Griffin shrugged. "On the river, I imagine, sir. I've seen little of her since the first guests started arriving. Lady Graymoor assures me that Miss Angel has sworn to be on her best behavior tonight." He raised one thick eyebrow. "But that remains to be seen, doesn't it, Mr. Will?"
"You told her about Tamsey Blunt's death?"
"I did. She seemed quite stricken by the news. I gather that the two were not close, but—"
"Did you tell her that I knew she let them out of my cellar?"
"I insinuated as much, sir."
"Her reaction?"
Griffin shook his head. "I'm sure it's not my place to say, Mr. Will."
"Do you know which way she went? Upriver, or down?"
"I really can't say." Griffin turned a sharp gaze on a servant carrying a tea tray. "Stop! Right where you are!" he commanded. "Who prepared that..." He glanced back at Will. "If you'll excuse me. I have duties to perform."
"It's all right, I'll look for her myself." Will followed the stable boy into the barn to see that Lizzy's gelding was being properly looked after. The horse needed a rubdown and water, and with so many visitors at Nottingham, Will wasn't certain his orders would be followed.
He was just leaving the stable a quarter of an hour later when Angel rode into the yard on Calli.
"Will?"
For an instant, her features lit up in a smile, and he was struck by just how beautiful she was. Not just pretty, but poised and graceful. Her hair was bound up in a net at the nape of her neck, and she wore a broad-brimmed riding hat with a feather in it. In the blue habit, and the boots and gloves, no one would know she wasn't to the manor born. Until she spoke.
"I was hopin' ye'd come," she said. "I'm sorry if I put you in a bad way, letting Bett and Tamsey go like that."
He caught Calli by the bridle and led her around the stable, away from the barnyard, where no one would overhear their conversation. When he halted the horse and put up his arms to lift Angel down, she came into his arms as easily as if there were no hard feelings between them.
"You're sorry," he replied. He set her feet on the grass, but kept his hands around her waist. "Sorry you did it?"
"Nay. I'd do it again. I'm sorry about Tamsey, but she was a fool. And a bad thief. Someone was bound to murder her, sooner or later."
"Are you sorry for coming to my room?"
She averted her eyes. "Who says I did?"
"I do."
"Maybe you dreamed it."
"You play dangerous games, Angel. If you'd been caught, you'd be in jail. Hell, I could be in jail."
"I had to help Bett. She's been like a mother to me."
"No, Angel. Not like a mother. She is your mother." She pushed free of him, and he caught her wrist. "Did you tell Lizzy that you're her granddaughter?"
"What if I am?"
"You know that's not possible."
Her green eyes widened, and the tears spilled over. Will wanted to kiss them away, to wrap his arms around her, to keep her safe. Instead, he went on. "I asked Bett if she was your mother. She said that she was. She is. Not Anne Butler. No matter how much you want it, Angel, you aren't Elizabeth Butler."
"If Bett said that, she lied to you," Angel insisted. "She was my foster mother. She told me..." A dry sob broke her words. "Since I was little. She told me she found me on the beach. A gift from the tide."
Will shook his head and yanked her close. "I love you no matter who you are. But we can't take advantage of Lizzy."
"Ye think that's what I'm doing?" Angel's face paled until light freckles showed on her fair skin. "Ye believe that of me?"
"Not out of greed. But maybe it's something you want so much that you're trying to make it true."
A giant fist closed on his chest. God, but he wanted her. He wanted to hold her, to kiss away the tears, to hear her laughter. "Marry me, Angel."
"Ye think me a thief and a liar, yet ye want to wed me?"
"I never said that."
"But ye think it." She tried to jerk free of him, but he held her tight. "Let me go. I was wrong to think—"
"To think what?"
"To think that I could belong someplace. That I could be somebody. Not just salvage on a beach, but someone real, someone with a mother and a father. Somebody with a last name."
"I'll give you a last name."
"Nay. I'll not take it from you. Not when you think I'm so low as to—"
"You're the fool, William." Lizzy laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let her go."
Ashamed, he released Angel and stepped back. "I love her;" he said. "I want to take care of her."
"I can take care of myself!" Angel turned and stalked away, head high, back stiff as any navy officer.
Will started to go after her, but Lizzy stepped in front of him. "No. You'll stand here, and you'll listen to me," she said. "You think Angel deceived me, that she passed herself off as my granddaughter for my fortune?"
"I'm not blaming her," he began.
"No?" Lizzy scoffed. "You and Griffin together don't have the brain
s to fill an egg. What makes you think I believe Angel is Elizabeth? That I expect miracles? I don't know. Maybe I do. But whether Angel is Elizabeth or not no longer matters to me."
He stared at her. "You don't think—"
"Hell, no." She chuckled. "Well, maybe a teensy bit." Lizzy pinched thumb and forefinger together. "I'm tired of being alone, William. I'm tired of searching for Elizabeth. I'm laying her ghost to rest with Henry, Anne, and little Alexander."
"Why, then?"
"Quiet and listen to me! Did it ever occur to you that perhaps the good Lord took pity on a foolish old woman? That he might have sent an angel to fill her empty heart?"
"You've fallen in love with her, too."
"I have. As of yesterday morning, William, she is legally Angel Elizabeth Anne Butler. My solicitor has filed the papers at the county seat. I've rewritten my will. No pun intended. And I've left everything I possess to Angel."
"You've already done it?"
"I have, with Angel protesting every step of the way." She smiled. "Now, you do your part. Convince her you are the biggest ass that the Creator ever smiled on. Beg her to forgive you and give you another chance. Marry her and take care of her, William. Love her and make her happy. And make me happy. Give me greatgrandchildren while I'm young enough to appreciate them."
Chapter 28
Angel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was terrified, as frightened as she'd been the first time she'd summoned the nerve to leap on the back of a wild mare, nearly as scared as the morning she'd been caught in a riptide and almost drowned.
Her knees were trembling. Her belly felt as though she'd swallowed a handful of dragonflies. Her heart was broken, and she thought she might burst into tears at any second. She wanted nothing more than to run away, to keep going until she was far away from Nottingham and Will Falcon.
All she had to do was hold her head high and walk down a curving marble staircase wide enough to drive a coach and four. She was supposed to remain graceful and poised, yet pretend that she was balancing a bucket of bait on her head. Lady Graymoor expected her to smile at seventy-eight hostile gentlefolk and a host of servants who'd all come to Nottingham in hopes of seeing her eat live chickens or at least trip on the steps and knock herself simple.
She bit the inside of her cheek until her eyes watered. How hard could it be to face Will's friends and neighbors and pass herself off as the granddaughter of a countess? Surely, it would be no worse than catching a barracuda with your bare hands.
Abruptly, the fiddlers stopped playing. Fifty pairs of eyes stared up at her, and Griffin announced, "Lady Angel Elizabeth."
For long seconds, she remained frozen. And then, in the back of her mind, she heard Bett's sage advice: "It's too late to cast anchor when your boat's on the rocks." She took one more heady breath and began her descent.
Her ears burned as a titter of whispers rose to meet her. But then she caught sight of Will standing beside Lady Graymoor. And he was watching her with the look of a man who dug for clams and came up with gold guineas.
Her heart flipped over, and hope blossomed in her chest. Will began to clap his hands. Lady Graymoor joined in, and soon everyone was clapping for her.
As she reached the bottom step, Griffin touched her gloved elbow lightly and whispered, "You're a vision, m'lady. If I didn't know better, I'd think..." He cleared his throat and averted his eyes, but not before she saw the gleam of tears shining there.
Lady Graymoor swept forward to take her arm. "See, darling, it wasn't so bad, was it? They love you." The old woman raised on tiptoes to kiss her cheek as a tide of strangers surged around them.
"This is my dear friend, Mary Pritchett, and her husband Raymond," Lady Graymoor said.
One name and face followed another. Angel gave up attempting to keep them straight. She shook each offered hand and smiled, soon finding that she wasn't expected to reply.
"A miracle," a waspish, middle-aged matron said.
Richard Hamilton approached with Julia. "I can't tell you how happy we are that you've found each other." Julia smiled coolly as her father took Angel's gloved hand and kissed it.
Angel pulled back, trying to remain gracious. There was something about Richard that she found unsettling. And she didn't need witchcraft to tell her that Julia hadn't come here out of friendship.
"You must cut some of my flowers for your mother," Lady Graymoor said. "The Maid Marian roses are wonderful this year."
"How kind of you," Julia replied. "You know how I love your garden. It's the finest in the state."
The musicians began to play again, and Angel slipped away from the three of them. Sets formed for dancing in the long parlor, and servants passed among the guests with all manner of food and drink.
Angel couldn't eat a bite for fear of spilling something on her gold and white silk gown or down the front of the very low neckline. The dress was so narrow that she could only take small steps, and the bodice and embroidered half-sleeves so tight that she felt like a butterfly half in and half out of a cocoon.
"May I have the first dance?"
Angel turned to find Will at her side. "I'd not think ye'd trouble yourself," she murmured.
"I'm an idiot."
"Aye, you are."
He led her away from the crowd to a spot by the French doors that led out on the veranda. "Lizzy told me everything. I was wrong. Can you forgive me?"
She wanted to remain angry with him. He deserved her anger. He'd hurt her badly, and she loved him so much. She loved him with all her heart and soul, and she couldn't have him. She felt herself begin to tremble. "'Tis nothing, Will. If we could remain friends—"
He took her by both arms and whisked her onto the wide, pillared porch. Lanterns hung from the high ceiling, and in the distance, Angel could see the light of the slaves' bonfire. The cadence of African drums and the swirling notes of strange stringed instruments drifted across the wide lawn from the celebration. The air was thick with the scent of the jessamine and of the river.
"I want you for my wife, Angel," Will said.
She shook her head as tears smeared the light dusting of powder on her cheeks. "Ye know I can't."
"Why not? I know you love me."
"William. Here you are," Lady Graymoor called. "Richard wants to dance with our guest of honor. And I was hoping you'd be my partner for—"
"No," Will said. "Angel and I are—"
"It's all right, Will. We can talk later." Angel moved away, still shaking inside, glad for the interruption. Just having Will close to her made her forget good sense.
"I need to talk with you now," he insisted.
"William. Don't make a fuss." Lady Graymoor tugged at his arm. "One dance to humor an old woman. Surely, what you have to say to Angel will wait."
"Go, please," Angel said. She stood there as Will reluctantly escorted Lady Graymoor inside.
"Did you want to dance, or would you prefer a breath of air?" Richard asked. "Would it be too much to ask you to show me the countess's gardens?"
"Nay, I... I mean no." Angel led the way down the steps and around the house. An iron gate led to the formal gardens, thick with boxwood and roses of many colors. "You can see the flowers better by daylight," she said awkwardly.
She was uncomfortable, but didn't want to offend the man Will worked for. She didn't know exactly what was bothering her. It wasn't as if she and Richard were alone. Behind her, near the gate, Angel could hear a woman's voice calling someone, and to her left, murmurs came from the maze.
For a while, they strolled in silence. It was a cloudy night with mist lying thick on the grass. The garden was dark except for the lanterns hanging here and there on posts.
When Richard did speak, Angel nearly started out of her skin. "It would please me if you and Julia became the best of friends."
She glanced up at him warily. He was soft-spoken, a friend of Will's, and he'd made no attempt to touch her. So why did she feel as if a ghost had jumped over her grave? "I'm sorry,"
she said. "I need to talk with Will. If you will pardon me, I'll—"
Richard barred her way. "I think not."
He whistled, and gooseflesh rose on the nape of her neck. Angel took a step backward. Abruptly, Richard seized her arm. "Your game is over, bitch."
"Let me go." She tried to pull away, but his fingers bit into her arm.
"I wondered where you were," Richard said.
Angel twisted to see a hulking shape materialize on the path behind her. She caught a whiff of sour, unwashed clothing and knew who the intruder was.
"Will!" she screamed. At the same instant, she turned back toward Richard, balled her right hand into a fist, and smashed it into his face.
Startled, he groaned and staggered back. Angel dashed past him. Behind her she heard Dyce's grunt of anger. His boot soles thudded against the bricks.
She knew that in the clinging gown and slippers she wouldn't be able to outrun him. There was no time to rid herself of them. "Will!" she screamed. The house was a hundred yards away. Dyce was gaining with every step.
Shielding her face with her arms, she dove into a hedge of roses. Thorns ripped at her skin and gown, but she wiggled through, darting down another path and diving into the tall, boxwood maze.
"Get her!" Richard cried.
Angel flung off the slippers and pulled the dress up above her knees. When she heard Dyce crashing through the foliage, she ran as hard as she could.
"Angel!"
That was Will's voice. She turned left, then right. A wall of hedge rose before her. She was certain she heard someone coming. Not Will. He was too far away.
Again, she fought her way through the leaves and branches. A woman's scream was suddenly cut off. Then she heard a shot.
"Angel!"
"Will!" She ran, ducked around a lantern pole, and threw herself into his arms. "Dyce," she said. "He's here! He tried to kill me."
A harsh cry made the hair raise on Angel's neck.
"Stay here," Will ordered.
"Nay," she protested. "I'll not leave ye."
Falcon's Angel Page 27