Angelina

by Janet Woods

  “If you’d care to peruse my family tree you’ll discover we’re distantly related through your mother?” Sir Edward suddenly looked horrified. “Not that I’d presume on that to induce you to manage the estate. Indeed not.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” Rafe said, rescuing the fellow, who he found to be quite affable. “If you’re agreeable I’ll take it upon myself to find both a suitable steward and a clerk in your absence.”

  Thus it was settled. Business dispensed with, the two spent a pleasant evening savouring a decanter of fine brandy and discussing topics of interest they had in common. By the time Sir Edward left for his trip Rafe felt quite at home.

  Rafe was pondering where he could find a decent clerk at short notice when the sound of a carriage came to his ears. Shortly afterwards, Elizabeth Wrey and her two daughters were announced.

  Elizabeth kissed him lightly on both cheeks. “We thought we’d call and make sure you’re settled in. You’re looking quite rested. The country air suits you.”

  Rosabelle’s appearance took Rafe’s breath away. He remembered a precocious, pretty child with bold eyes who’d flirted foolishly with him. She had become a woman of exotic beauty. Clad in a petticoat of deep lilac stripes over paler lilac, a gauze scarf was draped modestly around the neckline and secured with a bunch of violets. It emphasised, rather than hid the full swell of her bosom.

  Her eyes sought his as he automatically bore her hand to his lips to be kissed. They were still bold, seductive almost, and filled with a cupidity that made Rafe wonder if she were still a maiden. He dismissed the thought almost instantly. She would be well chaperoned by her family, the opportunity to confer her favours on anyone unlikely. He experienced a moment of revulsion mixed with fascination. Deciding to steer clear of the girl he turned to Angelina and smiled, immediately feeling comfortable.

  She was a breath of spring in a white dress embroidered with garlands of green flowers. Her tawny hair was piled high and topped with a frivolous straw bonnet tied under her chin with green ribbons. A mass of white daisies decorated the brim. She was grinning widely at him. Rafe’s smile widened. Damn it if he hadn’t missed her.

  “Hello, Angel.”

  “My Lord.” Mischief in her eyes, she dropped him a deep curtsy. “Your invitation to visit has been noticeable by its absence, so I persuaded mama to call on you. I intend to take you to task.”

  Rafe chuckled as he took both her hands in his, raising her to her feet. He’d have hugged her if Elizabeth hadn’t been present. Instead, he contented himself by kissing her silk-gloved hands. “Hasn’t your mama told you it’s unseemly for a young woman to take a man to task?”

  “I’ve not noticed any reluctance in mama to do exactly the same when needed.” Her eyes sparkled when she sent her mother a smile. “Besides, you’re not any man, Rafe. Now related to me by marriage you must consider yourself as almost a brother.”

  “Apart from the odd lashing with a tree branch, I didn’t notice you taking James to task,” Rafe observed, his eyes flicking to Rosabelle in a vain attempt to discover a shred of familial likeness between the two girls.

  Rosabelle’s full lips were parted slightly, there was an unmistakable invitation contained in her smile. Her dark, limpid eyes rested seductively upon his face, sucking him in like a velvet whirlpool. A tiny prickle of unease chased through Rafe’s body. Something in her repelled him. Tearing his eyes away from her disconcerting ripeness, he concentrated on what Angelina was saying.

  “James doesn’t need taking to task. Indeed, the only time he teases me is when he’s in your company.”

  “Then I plead guilty to only being a bad influence on your brother.” Rafe chuckled, peering at her creamy-complexioned face with mock seriousness. “I do believe you’ve garnered a freckle or two.”

  She looked totally crushed and placed her hands against her cheeks. Rafe wished he’d never mention it when Rosabelle gave a malicious laugh and said. “It must be tedious to be covered in unattractive brown blotches.”

  “I didn’t say they were blotches, nor did I indicate they were unattractive.” He managed to keep his voice even, though Rosabelle’s catty remark annoyed him enough to offer up a reproof. “One or two freckles add charm.” He bowed in Elizabeth’s direction. “I’ve always thought ladies of Angelina’s complexion to be exceedingly attractive.”

  The complexion under discussion turned a delicate shade of pink. Rosabelle’s reddened with annoyance.

  Having extricated himself as best as possible from an awkward situation, Rafe changed to a safer topic. “Will you stay and take some refreshment?”

  “We do not wish to detain you,” Elizabeth said firmly. “You’re dressed for riding and must have more pressing business to attend to.”

  “I was going to Ravenswood. There are some minor domestic details I must attend to.” An idea came into Rafe’s head as he moved towards the bell pull. He turned, smiling. “A man would be a fool to part company with the three most beautiful ladies in the district. The day is fair. If you’d agree to accompany me I’ll instruct the staff to pack us a basket of refreshments. We can picnic by the stream.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Angelina clapped her hands in delight. “Please say yes, mama. I’ve heard much from Rafe about Ravenswood and am eager to see it for myself.”

  “I have a headache,” Rosabelle said sullenly. Sinking against the back of the chair she pressed her fingers against her forehead, making a small sound of distress.

  It was obvious she was out to spoil Angelina’s enjoyment, but Elizabeth saw right through her subterfuge.

  “I’ll instruct the coachman to drive you home, Rosabelle,” Elizabeth said silkily. “I’ve never had the opportunity to visit Ravenswood, and I’m most interested see the house. There’s plenty of time for the carriage to come back for us.”

  Rosabelle withdrew her hand from the site of her pain. “I don’t want to spoil the outing. No doubt my headache will improve.”

  “I won’t hear of it, dear.” Elizabeth grasped her arm and encouraged her to her feet. “You must go home and rest, otherwise you’ll be disagreeable company.”

  Before Rosabelle had time to protest she was ushered gently, but firmly from the house, and into the carriage.”Ingratiating upstart,” Rosabelle snarled when the carriage turned towards home. “If you think Rafe will fall in love with a skinny little lap dog like you you’ve got a surprise coming.”

  She forgot her ire when she remembered the way Rafe’s eyes had kept coming back to her. He humoured Angelina, as if she were a child. Rafe was a man with a man’s appetites. Rosabelle knew very well what a man wanted from a woman, even if she’d not quite experienced it yet.

  Her mouth parted in excitement as she thought of the desire she’d seen in Rafe’s green-flecked eyes. He’d tried to disguise it, but it had flared up every time he’d glanced her way. It thrilled her. He would be able to satisfy the urges that plagued her.

  Rosabelle couldn’t put Rafe from her mind, and by the time Wrey House hove into view her blood was in turmoil. Changing into her riding outfit she sent for her horse. Once mounted, she turned towards the sea, heading for the village where William kept his stud. She rode the horse hard and recklessly, her lips parted in a smile.

  William was her confidant and friend. He would help her with Rafe. The liberties she encouraged from Will when she’d been younger had wickedly wrong. She’d encouraged him to teach her how to kiss, and that had led to other liberties, until he’d suddenly begun to control himself. If her father learned about that he’d throw Will out without a penny. He might even kill him.

  Her eyes widened with the thrill of finding a weapon to use against her brother, and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Oh yes, William would help her win Rafe Daventry. She’d give him no choice.

  * * * *

  “Ravenswood is a beautiful house. Were it mine, I couldn’t bear to live anywhere else.”

  The Wrey coachman had been dismissed,
Rafe having taken over the reins himself. Angelina was perched beside him. He’d drawn the carriage to a halt at the top of a rise and was gazing down at Ravenswood, a rueful half-smile playing over his lips.

  From this distance the decay was not apparent. The house nestled between gently swelling hills, and looked beautiful indeed. Between them and the house was a stone bridge, beneath which a stream sparkled in the sunlight.

  “The stream joins the Lymington River which flows through the New Forest,” Rafe told them.

  Elizabeth pointed. “What are those figures on the gables? I cannot quite make them out?”

  “They’re mythical gods. The one on the left corner is Pan. The pipes he holds are hollow and they have a legend attached to them. It’s said that if Pan’s pipes rouse a maid from her slumber, she’ll fall in love with the master of Ravenswood.”

  “Is the legend true?” Angelina asked in breathless anticipation.

  “I’ve not put it to the test.” Seeing the delight in Angelina’s eyes he gave her a teasing smile. “My grandmother vouched for the legend’s authenticity. She swore she heard a refrain played on the pipes, and immediately fell in love with my grandfather. They were very happy together.”

  Angelina had a wistful smile on her face. “A home must be a happy place when the occupants love each other.”

  Remembering Angelina had been deprived of her mother’s love, Rafe told her as he set the carriage in motion. “Ravenswood certainly holds happy memories for me, but don’t expect too much, Angelina. Although its been added to, much of it dates back to the sixteenth century. The hall is mediaeval, and quite beautiful. The rest of the house has been added over the years and is full of narrow passages and steps. For me, it holds an unpredictability that adds to its charm, but damp has rendered some of the upstairs chambers unsafe, and until I can afford to restore them they must remain locked.”

  As Ravenswood drew closer Angelina could plainly see the neglect. The honey coloured hamstone walls were discoloured, ivy had taken a hold and had made inroads into the mortar. Slates had been dislodged by a storm and lay upon the ground or haphazardly on the slope of the roof. The windows were mullioned, the upper lights painted in heraldic designs.

  The arched gateway through which they passed revealed sagging rusted gates. The gatehouse was deserted. Weeds were everywhere. Amongst the neglect was a magnificent wisteria arch heavy with blooms, and a rose garden. The plants were choked with alien growth and old wood, gnarled from lack of pruning. Yet the garden was alive with colour, fragrant with perfume and humming with marauding bees. It was a garden of secret places and surprises and she was enchanted by the image of what it had once been.

  When Rafe helped her down from the carriage a couple of red-coated hounds came leaping through the open front door and barked with frenzied delight as they nearly bowled Rafe over. She became the subject of a variety of sniffs, then was whipped by furiously wagging tails before Rafe managed to subdue the dogs and send them packing.

  He was trying not to laugh when she straightened her skirts. “I should have remembered they were ill-mannered brutes.” He offered his hand to Elizabeth. “You may alight with complete safety now, Lady Elizabeth.”

  “Thank you, Rafe.” Her mother descended from her seat and came to stand beside her as an elderly man, still buttoning up his coat made his way towards them. He was out of breath and ill as ease at being caught unprepared. “I’m sorry, My Lord. If I’d known you were coming - “

  “It’s quite all right, Mr Eastman. We’re not staying long. How is your good wife?”

  “Well, My Lord.” Eastman gave him a dignified smile. “She’ll be pleased to see you, sir, very pleased.”

  “Tell her I’ll be along to see her presently.” Rafe escorted them both to the drawing room then excused himself, explaining that Mrs Eastman had once been his nurse and would surely box his ears if he neglected to pay his respects at once.

  Angelina gazed around her with curiosity. The room had a shabby comfort. The furniture was old and heavy but polished to a high patina, the upholstery was threadbare. Though the floor lacked rugs the bare boards were cleanly swept.

  A huge fireplace dominated one wall, the mantle was free of ornaments except for a French clock in the shape of a lyre and a bowl of freshly cut roses. Over the fireplace was a paler shape on the panelling where once a picture had hung.

  She crossed to a harpsichord, which was beautifully painted with scenes of dancers in various poses. The scale she played rang true. “How odd,” she murmured. “The harpsichord is still in tune.”

  “Not so odd,” Rafe said from the doorway. “Mr Eastman used to teach music when he was younger.” He took a sheet of music from a drawer and handed it to her. “Do you know this piece? It was my grandmother’s favourite.”

  “By heart. Johann Sebastian Bach was also a favourite composer of my...?” She gave a swift glance in her mother’s direction, noting the beginning of a frown. “...of mine.” She began to play the sonata, her touch light and sure.

  When the piece ended there was silence. She gazed nervously around her, wondering if her lack of practise had been apparent. Eyes closed, her mother rested her chin on one gloved hand. Rafe was staring at her, his countenance of such serious expression her heart grew apprehensive wings.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  “Nothing, young lady.” Mr Eastman was standing in the doorway with a smile on his face. “That was a particularly difficult piece, and you managed the counterpoint exquisitely. Your audience is too overcome by emotion to be properly appreciative.”

  As if becoming aware of his own temerity by addressing a guest Mr Eastman shuffled his feet and gazed at his employer, now frowning.

  Angelina dimpled a smile at Rafe and took it upon herself to rescue Mr Eastman from his predicament. “Why, thank you Mr Eastman. Lord Lynnbury has informed me you’re a talented musician yourself, so your praise is appreciated.”

  Placing a decanter of madeira and three glasses on the table Mr Eastman bowed slightly, then backed from the room.

  “Eastman is right.” Rafe’s eyes were slightly moist when he crossed to her side. “I had not realised you were quite so accomplished. For a moment I imagined it was my grandmother playing.”

  Elizabeth rose to her feet and enveloped her in a hug. “Even though that woman deprived me of your love, I’m thankful she educated you in the proper manner.”

  “She did indeed, mama.” Angelina frowned in disgust. “Lady Alexandra was disagreeably obdurate when it came to my education. As for depriving you of my love, I prefer to think the pleasure was postponed, because my eyes touched upon your face and I experienced a love I’d never known.”

  “Dearest, child.” Elizabeth’s voice trembled with emotion as she gently touched her daughter’s cheek. She gazed at Rafe with tearful eyes. “Ravenswood must be enchanted. See how maudlin we’ve become.”

  “Your happiness touches my heart.” Rafe turned towards the decanter. “Will you take a glass of madeira before I show you the rest of my humble home? Near the river is a sheltered glade, once my grandmother’s favourite place. At this time of day it’s shaded from the sun, and perfect for a picnic.”

  “I’ve no head for madeira. Let’s inspect Ravenswood then proceed to your grandmother’s glade before the sun encroaches upon it.” Her mother sounded determinedly gay. “The difficulties of handling a parasol whilst trying to eat are almost insurmountable, do you not think so, Angelina?”

  “Undoubtedly.” She wondered if her face reflected the happiness she felt here. “And I promise you, Rafe, I’m so hungry I shall probably eat an entire pie all by myself.”

  Rafe chuckled as he ushered them from the room. “Be careful, Angel. The pie is as big as a carriage wheel. You may be forced to don a larger gown to accommodate it if I hold you to that promise.”

  The day passed pleasantly, but too quickly. Angelina was charmed by Ravenswood’s gentle shabbiness. There was a sense of quiet hope about
the place, of longing. It breathed with a magic all of its own and touched her spirit, drawing her into the unmistakable warmth of its welcoming aura.

  When she and her mother returned to the more formal, and much larger Wrey house, Angelina realised, with a touch of sorrow that it could never feel like home to her.

  Chapter Ten

  “You’re giving her Moonlight?” Rosabelle gazed with storm filled eyes at her brother. “I thought you disliked Angelina as much as I do.”

  “I can’t recall saying I disliked her.” William gently drew a brush through the mare’s silky mane. “She’s our sister, after all.”

  He grinned when Rosabelle gazed furiously at him. “Moonlight is a pretty horse. Why didn’t you give her to me?”

  “Your temperaments wouldn’t suit.” Rosabelle’s tantrum was beginning to bore him. “Moonlight had a placid disposition, but she’s shy of the whip and you’re heavy-handed. You’d lose patience with her.”

  “And you think that whey-faced little cat will be able to manage her?” Her laugh was malicious. “By her own account, she cannot keep her seat on a rocking horse.”

  “I intend to teach her to ride,” he murmured, slipping a ladies saddle on the horse.

  “That’s a new saddle. Where did you get the money?”

  He shrugged. “Father bought a horse from me for Frey’s birthday.”

  “From you?” She suddenly grinned. “I wager you sold him a broken down old nag.”

  William said casually. “None of my horses are broken down old nags. Have you ever considered where Angelina’s fortune would go if some mishap befell her?”

  Her face lost a little of its colour. “What are you suggesting, that you’d kill her to get at it?”

  He offered her an amused glance. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Rosie. I just thought it might pay you to swallow your pride and be nicer to her. She seems a pleasant little thing, and with all that wealth at her disposal she might prove to be generous to those she likes.”