* * *
Lizzie entered by the kitchen door of her husband’s house. Mr. Rackham and Dace rose to their feet. She had not meant to disturb their breakfast.
Molly lifted the brown teapot in a gesture of invitation. The skin around one of her eyes showed lurid colors that drizzled green and gold onto her cheek. Lizzie declined as silently.
Her husband came to the door to kiss her cheek.
She felt her face warm. “I am looking for Mr. Rackham’s sisters,” she said by way of explanation. “Are they here?”
Mr. Rackham gave a cry of dismay. He ran from the room, leaping up the three steps in one bound.
Her husband muttered an oath. “They aren’t here, are they, Lizzie?”
“I don’t know. We are supposed to be going shopping together, but they are not at their house. They left a message for me to meet them here, but they are not allowed to visit Edward, are they?”
The viscount put an arm around her. “Come along, my dear, you must chaperone them.” He pulled her along, up the stairs. “It’s too quiet.”
He knocked on Angel Anston’s bedroom door. “Not a good sign that it’s closed.” He opened the door.
Muffled squeaks came from the five Rackham sisters huddled together in a corner. Their sprigged muslin dresses, made of the same material, made them look as if they all wore one giant dress.
Poor Mr. Rackham was fenced in against the wall by a chair held by a tall, demented, sweat-drenched Angel Anston. His nightshirt hung loose upon his body, a week’s growth of beard darkened his face. “Fight you for them,” he snarled.
“I don’t have to fight you, Angel. They are my sisters. You have to give ’em back, my mother won’t like it,” protested Mr. Rackham. He made no attempt to defend himself other than to twist away from a chair leg which came perilously near his throat.
“Must marry,” Angel said.
The Rackham misses seemed not to find the prospect alluring, judging from their horrified expressions and fearful squeals.
Lizzie could not fault them. Marriage to an insane giant with a Felmont nose and a penchant for fighting was not any young lady’s romantic dream. And yet, perhaps it had been, until they met him in person.
Dace would not let her enter the room. “Wait here, dear heart, lest he capture you too. He means Rax has to marry one of them.” He strolled in to address the madman. “What on earth are you doing to Aunt Porridge? You’ll have to marry the old thing if you are not careful.”
Angel swung the chair in a great arc at her husband’s head. Dace leaped agilely out of the way. The bedpost vibrated from the force of the blow.
The chair drooped in Angels’ hand. He rubbed his other hand over his belly to check that he had not split himself in two.
The Rackham girls screamed as one. They turned to flee for the door, but Angel Anston barred the way. He swung his chair too and fro in a long sweeping arc, not at them, just in their path so they couldn’t escape.
Mr. Rackham hurried out of the way and ended up huddled with his sisters looking as brave as they did.
The viscount called out to them. “Don’t try to leave until he has calmed down. I can’t fight him, it would tear his wound open.”
Lizzie stepped into the room. She stood perfectly still with her hands lightly clasped in front of her. “Stop this noise at once,” she commanded, in her best speaking-to-madmen voice.
Everyone froze. Angel Anston stared at her down his long nose, breathing heavily. As if she were not immune to the snorting Felmont stare.
“Edward, get back into bed or I shall send for the doctor.” She folded her arms and waited. Angel Anston put down the chair. He made his way to the bed and sat on the edge.
“Lie down,” Lizzie commanded.
He obeyed her.
The viscount ushered the Rackham ladies out into the hall. Their brother pointed sternly towards the front door and disappeared with them.
Moments later, through the open window, Lizzie heard him admonish his sisters. “Heavens! I say these things for your own good. You can’t go visiting him until he is right in the head, and then you can’t go because it isn’t decent. He’s strong as an ox. Could slaughter me with his little finger, then the family fortune goes to Great Uncle Severin and the lot of you will be married off, in all haste, to his ancient cronies. If that fate appeals to you, by all means visit Anston again.”
On hearing his name, Angel reared up from his pillow.
Dace went to close the window. “They are not talking about you.”
“Afraid for her,” muttered Anston. “She had five heads, tried to save her,”
“I understand.” Lizzie kept the laughter from her voice. “Rest now, Edward.” She had learned to keep all emotion from her voice. Madmen fed on emotions. Her stepfather had received encouragement and interest only when his topics of conversation were halfway decent.
She accepted Dace’s kiss at the front door as she left. Every day brought her closer to accepting the idea that it was safe to love him, though sometimes she awoke alone in the night, worried about her own sanity.
Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1) Page 36