Angelina

by Janet Woods

  “I hardly know James, either,” she reminded him, sending a glance both apologetic and appealing his way. “You will not think too badly of me for saying that, James? It doesn’t mean - “

  A groan from the bed brought Rafe in two strides to his sister’s side. “What is it, Celine, are you in pain?”

  James laughed when Celine said in a weak, but determined voice. “If you do not stop baiting our host I’ll disown you, Rafe. You’re a rogue, and I’m ashamed of you. Leave us this instant, and do not return until you’re sent for.”

  “As you say, my dear.” Rafe planted a kiss on Celine’s cheek, at the same time managing to slide a smile in Angelina’s direction. “I leave you in capable hands I think. Lady Angelina seems to be a paragon of feminine virtue.”

  If Rafe’s grin was designed to disarm, it failed miserably. Angelina’s eyes became a tumult of provocation, her face flamed red, and her mouth opened as if she’d been about to answer. Then she thought better of it and turned away to busy herself at the bedside.

  Rafe’s expression was self-satisfied when he joined him. James gave him a steady glance. The shrug Rafe gave was almost imperceptible. James knew it was the only acknowledgement Rafe would give that his behaviour had left much to be desired.

  Over the next two days Celine regained her strength, and the two girls became good friends and confidantes. Much to Angelina’s relief, once Lord Lynnbury was convinced his sister was safe, he announced his intention of departing.

  Angelina had hoped to avoid Rafe’s departure by escaping from the house early that particular morning. Luck furnished her with the duty of visiting the wife of one of the estate workers who’d been delivered of a son the day before.

  There was a fine mist rising from the ground when she slipped out of a side entrance with Bessie. By the time they reached the tiny hamlet of workers cottages, spider webs laced into the hedgerows were hung with milky pearls of dew and fields sparkled with diamonds of light as the sun absorbed the moisture.

  Angelina’s gifts of a soft woven blanket for the child’s cradle, a pot of mutton broth, bread, and a crock of honey for the table, were appreciated.

  “Do not give the estate workers gifts that are not useful, and do not embarrass them by prolonging the visit.”

  Angelina, heeding the late Lady Alexandra’s often repeated advice, admired the red-faced infant, then thankfully made her escape from the stuffy abode and the darkly curious stares of two grubby children, who played on the hard-packed dirt floor beside their mother’s bed.

  She took a deep breath, enjoying the sun on her face, the soft breeze soughing through the branches above her head and the sounds of the birds singing in the trees. Despite Lady Alexandra’s demise, life had been good to her of late.

  “James is a wonderful brother,” she said, giving Bessie a radiant smile and no time at all to comment. “And am I not lucky to have a good friend like Celine?”

  “You are that, my bonny,” Bessie got in.

  “It’s a pity her brother is so disagreeable.” She frowned. “He doesn’t appear to be rude, but he has an uncomfortable way with him. Oh!”

  Rafe appeared suddenly, as if he’d materialised from inside the tree his mount was tethered to. Heart pounding, she placed a hand against her chest. “I thought I had missed your departure.”

  “I didn’t want to disappoint you by leaving without saying goodbye.” A flicker of an eyebrow gave a nuance of irony to his words. “It’s bad form for a guest to depart without presenting his host with a small token.”

  His smile was beautifully timed, coming at a moment when she realised it was equally bad form for a host to allow her guest to leave without a farewell. There was nothing she could do but appear gracious.

  “James probably informed you my financial state is not one to encourage the bestowing of expensive gifts, so I hope you’ll accept this small token of my regard, along with thanks for your hospitality.” His eyes held as much mischief as his smile when he plucked a posy of wildflowers from his saddle to present to her with a flourish. “Your servant, Lady Angelina.”

  “Thank you.” With a sense of shame Angelina realised she’d been impossibly rude to him. She didn’t deserve his thanks, let alone a posy as reward. He didn’t seem the least bit annoyed though. A ghost of smile curved her lips. “I’ll admit I have not been the most gracious of hosts.”

  “Like good wine, you will improve with age.”

  She spread her fan across her blush, wishing his smile didn’t have such an effect on her. “You’ll forgive me, I hope?”

  “No doubt I deserved every unkind word you uttered.”

  How despicable of him to point it out. Prickles of anger raced up her spine and she snapped her fan shut. “I do not recall being that unkind, Rafe.”

  “You were perfection. I’m the most arrogant of men sometimes, and need to be made aware of it.” Taking her hand he bore it to his lips, kissing each finger in turn. Etched on the classic lines of his face was the gently sardonic expression she hated. He chuckled when he plucked an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and slipped it inside his waistcoat. “A memento of the first time you called me Rafe,” he whispered. “Adieu, Angel. Don’t think too unkindly of me.”

  “I doubt if I shall think of you at all, Lord Lynnbury,” she snapped, totally flustered.

  “Then you’ll break my heart.” Bestowing another of his mocking smiles upon her he spurred his horse into motion and cantered off without so much as a backward glance.

  “I despise that man,” she said furiously as he disappeared from sight. Her

  glance went to the posy.There were satiny yellow buttercups, deep red poppies, tiny blue forget-me-knots, orange marigolds and a sprig or two of lavender. Still sprinkled with dewdrops, they were freshly picked, the stems bound in an initialled handkerchief. Hotly, she dashed the bouquet to the ground, then changed her mind and picked it up again. “It’s a pity to let them die so soon,” she explained to Bessie.

  “Yes, my bonny.” Bessie smiled. “His Lordship is a fine looking man, and has quite a way with him when he wants. He’ll be popular with the ladies no doubt.”

  Feeling a curl of dismay in the region of her heart, she gave Bessie an irate glare and flounced ahead faster than her maid could go. She held the posy to her nostrils breathing in its scent. It was the first time a man had given her a gift, and the fact that he’d taken the trouble to pick them himself made them all the more precious.

  No, she thought firmly, her finger tracing the gold embroidered initials on the fabric. It was not a romantic gesture. Rafe couldn’t afford food for his sister, let alone a gift. It was a token of his appreciation, nothing more, nothing less. Besides, as Bessie had said, Rafe would be popular with the ladies, and must be well practised in the art of flirtation.

  Slowly she came to a halt, waiting for Bessie to catch her up. She slipped her arm through Bessie’s and laid her head against her broad shoulder.” What am I going to do in London without you?”

  “You’ll manage. I’m not getting any younger, and your brother is right when he says you must have a maid who knows how to do the latest hairstyles and such. If you’re to take your rightful place in society it stands to reason.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  Bessie smiled. “I’ve got it into my head to retire to my brother’s place in Dorset if that’s all right with you. He’s a widower, and I’ve got grown up nieces and nephews I ain’t never seen. Imagine that?”

  “Oh, Bessie.” Tears filled Angelina’s eyes. “I’ve been selfish all these years. Of course you may go. I’ll instruct Hugh Cotterill to book you a seat on the coach, and I’ll arrange with my brother that you receive a generous pension. That way you’ll not have to rely on anyone’s charity should you not wish to.”

  “I cannot take such a gift,” Bessie protested.

  “You can, and you will.” Fiercely she hugged Bessie to her. “You’ve been almost a mother to me.” The tears spilled over on to her
cheeks. “My life is about to change and my childhood must be put aside. I couldn’t bear to send you off and imagine you wanting in any way. If your brother is cruel you must let me know and I’ll come and get you. Swear you will do this.”

  “I swear it.”

  Wrapped tight against Bessie’s chest, Angelina sobbed away the last sorrowful tears of her childhood. After a while, Bessie joined in.

  Chapter Five

  “A little to your right.”

  Rosabelle held the pistol at arm’s length, aiming it directly at the mounted figure of the Marquis of Northbridge.

  “Fire.”

  Her finger tightened on the trigger and the hammer clicked. “Straight through the heart,” she whispered.

  William laughed and plucked the pistol from her fingers. “Kill him after you’re married, Rosie, and preferably when you’ve given him an heir. If you don’t give him a son his distant cousin will inherit.”

  She shuddered at his words. “I’ll never agree to marry that old goat. Having him touch me would make me sick.”

  “Forty is not all that old. Consider, Rosie? George is not only stupid, he’s wealthy. He’ll give you everything you desire if you play your cards right.”

  William aimed the pistol at the centre of her breast.”Come here,” he said, then when she obeyed he circled her waist with his arm . “Rosie, when the time comes you’ll enjoy George’s touch. He’ll not leave you wanting for anything.”

  Her eyes hooded with the thought of pleasures to come. William observed her through narrowed eyes. Northbridge would exploit her wildness if he had any sense, give her no choice.

  Her breast brushed against his chest. Damn her! He sucked in a swift breath when she laughed, and he pushed her away.

  When the Marquis of Northbridge entered the room William was examining his pistol, Rosabelle gazing out of the window.

  She looks flushed, George thought, his gaze lighting on her full breasts, which were barely hidden under the lace of her fichu. He couldn’t believe he’d been given permission to court her. He’d expected opposition from Lady Elizabeth.

  If he succeeded in winning her hand the betrothal would be announced at the ball. If he didn’t? George grinned to himself, already regarding Rosabelle as his. He wanted her enough to abduct her if the need arose. Once compromised, Rosabelle would have no choice.

  She turned, staring at him through hostile eyes when he greeted her.

  “My Lord?”

  Accepted his gift of a posy with a barely concealed sneer, she left it to wilt on the widow sill when she left the room.

  “Excuse me, My Lord.” She pushed past him with her haughty nose up in the air.

  Her behaviour didn’t put him off. George knew women, and Rosabelle Wrey was ripe for the taking. He could smell the woman of her as she brushed against him on the way out. She was aware of herself, teasing him with her swaying hips and thrusting breasts.

  She would not be so hostile when she became his wife, he thought, his grin wolf-like. If she didn’t come to him willingly he’d flay the skin from her buttocks until she begged for mercy. His body reacted at the thought of Rosabelle Wrey humbled before him, sharing his bed. The girl had strong wide hips and would bear him many children.

  His glance flitted to Will, who gave him a mocking grin as though he’d read his thoughts. George was uncomfortable with Will. The earl’s younger son had never been less than friendly towards him, but Will’s sly cleverness seemed to be one step ahead of his own thinking.

  “Rosie’s out of countenance,” Will said. “Her mamma will not allow her to have the ball-gown she desires. She’s worried that our new sister might outshine her at the ball.” He smiled. “If you really wanted to impress her...” To George’s disappointment Will shook his head. “No, it would be too simple.”

  George sighed. Will did nothing without recompense. “If I like your suggestion it could be worth something.”

  “Of course it could. Five guineas, say.”

  When the money was safely in his pocket, Will said. “There’s a French dressmaker of your acquaintance in attendance at the Marley residence. She’s much in demand I believe, and is choosy about her clients.”

  How the hell had he known about the Frenchie?

  “Naturally, Rosabelle’s curious as to what other women will be wearing to her

  ball, so I’m taking her to call on the Marley sisters tomorrow. Rosabelle wouldn’t be able to resist if she discovered the woman had been secretly commissioned to design her the most beautiful gown at the ball.”

  “And that would do the trick, eh?”

  Will sighted down the barrel of his pistol. “It would if the gown was accompanied by a small trinket. Rosabelle is fond of rubies.”

  “She is, eh? What would you suggest as suitable.”

  William shrugged. “What do I know about women’s trinkets?” He loaded the pistol and shoved it into a pocket under his coat. “She admired a pendant in Winchester not long ago. I’m on my way there now. If you like I could point it out to you.”

  George wondered if William had arranged a commission on it with the jeweller, but he couldn’t see how. “That’s uncommonly kind of you, Will.”

  They both turned towards the door as Rosabelle came back into the room. Crossing to the window seat she picked up the posy, holding it to her nose in a pretty gesture.”I forgot these, My Lord.”

  She dropped a curtsy, just deep enough to draw his eyes to her wares. Her eyes shone with a mixture of excitement and avarice. She’d been eavesdropping. There was not even the suggestion of a blush as she allowed him to brush a kiss across the back of her hand, though she withdrew it as soon as possible from his caress.

  Rosie was a born harlot, he thought dispassionately. She’d soon learn to welcome his attention.

  * * * *

  Mary Mellor pushed the brick back in the chimney piece and turned to her son. “If

  anything happens to me there’s enough gold to pay for lodgings in London for a while.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Frey muttered, frowning in concentration as he signed his name at the bottom of the page. Task finished, he put the quill to one side and stoppered his precious supply of ink. “If I get this job I’ll stick it for a year or so. London isn’t cheap. I hope to be able to save enough to give us a good start.”

  “His Lordship would drop a word in the right ear if you’d only let me ask.”

  An obstinate expression surfaced in Frey’s dark eyes. “His lordship can keep his fine words. I pay my own way from now on.”

  Mary knew better than to argue with her son. His resemblance to Thomas Wrey was more than just surface. It struck her as ironic that of the earl’s three sons, his bastard should be the one to most resemble him.

  Frey had the dark brooding quality of his father, the same obstinacy. But the earl’s stubbornness grew from an autocratic sense of rightness. Frey had a determination born out of defiance.

  He’d been about ten when he’d first realised that the man who visited them on ocassion was his father. Eventually, his childlish bragging had reached the ears of his half- brother, William.

  At fifteen years of age William hadn’t been far off manhood. His adolescent blood surged hot and turbulent. The thrashing he’d inflicted on Frey had been merciless. Even the earl had paled at the sight of Frey’s bruised and broken body.

  It had been a lesson well learned. Something had died in him that day. Naturally quiet by nature, he’d become almost brooding, displaying no reaction when he learned William had earned a flogging from his father for the deed.

  The earl took it upon himself to point out to Frey what was already apparent to him. His position depended on acceptance of his circumstances.

  Frey came to terms with his position in life that day, and applied himself to the education offered him with a humble acceptance that such a privilege should be afforded him. He’d never given William reason to thrash him again however much he was goaded. But nei
ther had he forgiven him.

  Mary knew the time of reckoning would come. When it did her son would stand up to William Wrey, whatever the consequences. It worried her. She hoped his need for retribution didn’t interfere with their plans to go to London. Another year and they’d have enough money cached to carry them over the lean times. Apart from Rosabelle, only Frey and herself knew of the plans.

  As Frey rose to his feet he automatically bowed his head to avoid the low beam as he made his way to the door.

  “You’re going out?”

  “I want to slip this letter under Cruickshank’s door so he’ll get it first

  thing in the morning. After that I’m off to see the rector for an hour or so. He has some Latin text he wants me to look at.”

  “I was hoping you’d stay home. Rosabelle might be able to visit this afternoon. She’ll be disappointed if you’re not here.”

  “She’ll survive.” Frey dropped a kiss on her head and opened the cottage door. Rosabelle had always enjoyed queening it over him, even as a child. “You shouldn’t encourage her to come here, Ma. If she gets caught there will be hell to pay.”

  “She’ s too clever to get caught.” His mother’s eyes began to shine. “The Marquis of Northbridge has asked for her hand. Imagine that, my little Rosabelle a Marchioness.”

  He gazed at his mother for long seconds. “Lady Rosabelle isn’t yours, she’s the daughter of Elizabeth Wrey.”

  Unconcerned, Mary snorted. She’s never been a real mother to her.

  “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if Lady Elizabeth decides she’s had enough,” Frey warned. “This latest indignity -”

  “And what’s she going to do about it?” His mother’s words were little whiplashes of scorn. “It’s not my fault her child didn’t die like it was supposed to. The earl should have waited until the runt was dead before he -” Abruptly, she stopped her tirade.

  Frey’s eyes were sharp on her face. “Before he what?”