by Janet Woods
Later, James saw another side of Angelina, and was surprised by her grasp of business matters relating to the estate. It reinforced his belief that females should be educated in their letters.
Hugh Cotterill was astute, and treated his mistress with the respect she deserved. He seemed a good and honest man and Chevonleigh was in good hands. His sister was happy and relaxed at home, and he wondered if he’d done a wise thing by taking her away in the first place.
When Rafe arrived at Chevonleigh he was shivering, and soaked through from a heavy downpour. Angelina escorted him personally to the chamber she’d had prepared for him.
She indicated a pale youth standing nervously by the bed. “This is Adam. He usually works in the kitchen and is not used to being a gentleman’s servant. I hope you’ll be patient with him as he’s expressed a desire to learn.” She gave Adam a reassuring smile. “Just obey the instructions of The Marquis of Gillingborn, Adam. I’m sure you will manage magnificently.”
Rafe could have done without a servant, but he wasn’t about to tell her so in front of Adam, who was gazing at him with expectant eagerness.
“I’ve filled a tub, My Lord,” Adam said in the voice of one out to impress his mistress. “May I remove your wet garments and assist you into it?”
“I think we might wait until Lady Angelina has gone.” Rafe curled a grin at his hostess, who was beaming encouragement at Adam.
A delicious blush tinted her cheeks and she suddenly busied herself with a bowl of flowers on a small round table. “If there’s anything else you need, Rafe...a glass of brandy to warm you perhaps?”
There was a jug of coffee on the table and a bowl of fruit. He managed to smile as a trickle of cold water ran down his neck. “The hot bath and coffee will suffice, Angel. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
She turned and smiled, shyly aware of him, of her responsibility to him as a guest. “It’s my pleasure, Rafe.” For a moment she stood there, not knowing quite what to do.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” he prompted with a smile, knowing if he stood there much longer his dripping figure would dampen the expensive abusson rug.
“Goodness, yes.” She appeared slightly dismayed. “I’d quite forgotten. Celine has overtired herself. She and James will be taking dinner on a tray. If you’d prefer to do the same I’ll inform the cook.”
“And deprive myself of your company?” He raised an eyebrow. “I was counting on you to lift my spirits whilst we’re here.”
“Then I’ll do my utmost to accommodate you.” A mischievous grin flirted at her lips. “I intend to challenge you to a game of chess after dinner.”
“I’ll probably beat you,” he warned.
Her eyes slanted a warning at him. “I would not count on it, Rafe Daventry.” Dropping him a mocking curtsy she was gone in a rustle of skirts, leaving a faint aroma of perfume in her wake.
Dinner was a delicious repast of trout baked in herbed butter sauce, served with delicately flavoured vegetables picked that day from the kitchen garden. To follow came an apple pie sweetened with honey, and topped with cream, and carried in by the cook, who grinned from ear to ear as she set it on the buffet. “It’s your favourite, My Lady.” Afterwards came a selection of cheese and slivers of thin golden pastry, served with coffee, which Angelina poured from a silver jug into tiny porcelain cups.
Later, when a manservant offered him brandy and a pipe to round off a perfect meal, Rafe declined out of deference to Angelina.
“You need not stick too rigidly to convention, Rafe, especially after such a tiring day. If it pleases you to have a glass of brandy and a pipe I will not mind. I find the smell of tobacco pleasant, and beg you to allow me to try it whilst James is absent. I’ve often wondered what it tastes like.”
Rafe chuckled when her eyes began to water after her experimental inhalation. Giving a strangled cough she handed the pipe hastily back to him, saying hoarsely. “For once, I think James was right. Smoking is no pleasurable pastime for a lady and the taste of tobacco is not so aromatic as I imagined. “
“One needs to acquire the taste.” He grinned as she hastily took a sip from a glass of wine. “Would you like to try again?”
Her smile turned into a gurgle of laughter. “I’ll content myself with watching you enjoy it.”
“After which, I’ll beat you at chess.”
The glance she shot him was challenging, but all she said was, “As you will, Rafe.”
Used to James’ defensive game, Rafe was hard pushed to keep up with
Angelina’s aggressive attack with her chess men. He’d been prepared to indulge her a little, but soon realised she read the board brilliantly. Every risk she took was backed up by a manoeuvre that left him wondering how she’d managed it. He gazed at her through narrowed eyes, watching her sharp, white teeth worry her bottom lip as she studied the board. Then she smiled slightly and flicked him a glance before moving one of her remaining pawns. “Check.”
Rafe gazed at his king, then at hers. She’d castled it in the centre of the board. He took the pawn she’d checked him with and watched in dismay as she pounced with a second pawn.
“Had you forgotten I’d queened that pawn?” she enquired sweetly.
He gave a rueful laughed and knocked his king face down on the board. “Who taught you to play?”
“My French tutor.”
“He must have been an excellent player. You had me flummoxed.”
Her giggle was one of pure delight. “He was a she, and she advised me that men have a tendency to underestimate a woman’s power of observation. I have watched you play with James, and have studied your game. You’re used to attacking, he defending.”
“So you reversed the procedure to throw me off.” Rising to his feet he gave her a lazy smile. “You took quite a risk.”
Her eyes were all at once winsome and appealing. “I fail to see why. There was no wager on the game.”
“If there had been, would you have been more cautious?”
She half-turned in her chair and watched him cross to the fireplace. “It would depend what the wager was. Aunt Alexandra told me never to gamble unless I’m prepared to risk losing.”
The woman under discussion was hanging over the fireplace. Her eyes were bird-bright and seemed to be watching them. “She was a lady of good sense,” he murmured. “What would she say if she knew you were contemplating marrying Nicholas Snelling, I wonder.”
Angelina knew she would have denounced him as a fortune-seeking coward, and forbidden such a marriage. Frey would have been condemned to an untimely death without remorse if her beloved Chevonleigh had been at stake.
For a moment Angelina felt unaccountably lonely. A lump gathered in her throat, threatening to choke her. “She would not have been happy about it.” Rising from her chair she crossed to where Rafe stood, gazing at him with troubled eyes. “Perhaps James will find something to clear Frey’s name.”
“And perhaps he’ll find himself in the position of having to protect one family member at the expense of another,” Rafe murmured. “Has he told you William possessed a horse such as the highwayman rode.”
“William explained about the horse being taken from the paddock.”
“It’s not that horse I’m referring to. William bought a black stallion a few years ago, sire to Frey’s gelding. William didn’t mention he once owned a black stallion when the horse was being discussed, or indeed, may still own it. Why, do you think?”
Uneasily, Angelina shifted from one foot to the other. “Perhaps he’d forgotten. I’m aware of the animosity William bears for Frey, but I’d swear on the Bible that neither William or Frey was the person I saw.”
Rafe’s eyes sharpened. “They’re your brothers, Angelina. Perhaps your mind refuses to allow you to accept what you saw.”
“I’ve examined that theory already.” She smiled a little sadly. “Why is my mind clear on that one point, yet it refused to release what my eyes actually saw, when my father asked it
of me?”
“The circumstance of your interrogation may have been a little too intimidating,” he said. “Perhaps if we talked it through now you’re relaxed...” He led her to the couch and poured her another glass of wine whilst she thought the matter over.
She was quiet for a while, her eyes gazing into the flames. With the rain had come an early dusk and the shadows flickered and danced upon the dark timber panelling.
Feeling at one with her, Rafe took the seat next to her and contented himself with admiring her delicate profile. The tender curve of her mouth and the long sweep of lashes that guarded the ever-changing jewels of her eyes seduced his senses. He feasted on her perfection whilst he was still in a position to do so.
Presently, a servant came to light the candles and draw the curtains across the windows. His presence drew Angelina from her pensive mood. She smiled at him. “I believe your wife has presented you with a son in my absence.”
“Yes, My Lady.” The servant gave a pleased smile at being singled out for her attention. “He’s a strong lad.”
“You must be very proud of him. What’s he called?”
“Luke, My Lady.”
“A nice name. I should like to see him before I leave. Perhaps your good wife would not mind if I called on her tomorrow?”
“She’d be right honoured, My Lady. I’ll tell her to expect you.”
“We will not need you any more tonight, Jeffrey. Go home to your wife and son before the darkness sets in. I’ll ring for a maid should we need anything.”
“Thank you, My Lady.” Giving a bow, the man left as unobtrusively as he’d arrived.
“You treat your servants well,” he murmured. “No wonder the house has a
welcoming feel.”
“Servants are human. They work hard and earn little enough for their labours. A word of appreciation will never go amiss.”
“Sometimes you’re wise beyond your years, Angel.”
“And sometimes, I’m not.” She gave him a rueful smile.” I wish you hadn’t told me about the stallion, Rafe. Now my mind is filled with disquiet. James has indeed been placed in an unenviable position.”
“And so have you, Angelina, which is why we should talk over the incident together. It may be enough to jolt your memory.”
“I’ll do my best to remember.” She took a sip of her wine and turned her eyes up to his. The green depths were troubled, like a turbulent sea. “Where shall I begin?”
Rafe replaced the glass in her fingers with his hand, curling it around hers protectively. “Lean back against the cushions and close your eyes. Go over the episode in your mind. When you’re clear about the event, nod your head, and I’ll ask you some questions.”
At first, Angelina was self-conscious, but she allowed her mind drift back to her first journey to Wrey House. Everything had happened so quickly. She pictured the forest, dark with shifting shadows, the carriage coming to a halt. The highwayman had been terrifying, a black, silent, menacing figure.
“How tall was he?” Rafe asked softly when she nodded her head.
She saw an image of the man behind her closed lids. She’d thought the man to be large, but now she remembered the way James and Rafe rode, and saw that the felon’s stirrups had been quite short in comparison. “The horse was big,” she reflected,” which made me think the man was also large. In truth, I believe he may have been quite short. He rode with his stirrups long and his knees straight. His feet were not quite level with his mount’s belly.”
“Can you remember anything about his voice?”
“It was odd, high-pitched, and muffled, as though he wished to disguise it.” She gave a chuckle. “He sounded like my old nurse, Bessie, when she suffered quinsy. When I brought the cane down upon his horse, he cursed, and his voice went up in pitch so he sounded almost like a woman.”
“What exactly did he say, Angel?” His mouth curved in a smile as he watched her face rearrange itself into a scowl.
“Lucifer’s oath!” she hissed, throwing herself into the role with surprising enthusiasm. “Then later, when I pulled the mask from his face, he said. You’ll pay for that, little lady.”
Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “He sounded exactly like that?”
“Exactly.” She chuckled again. “The highwayman was not very strong, though he hit mama, he barely bruised her.”
She pictured the man raising the cane above his head. His wrist had been almost has slim as her own. There had been a glint of gold. “I’ve just remembered something unusual,” she offered. “He was wearing a gold chain around his wrist.”
Then she remembered something else, something that had lain at the back of her mind and could not be recalled until now. When the man had lifted his arm above his head to strike she’d clearly seen the swell of breasts under the cloth of his coat. His countenance came into her mind, the soft youthful skin twisted into a scowl, the furious black eyes.
“Lucifer’s oath…” she whispered. Her face suddenly paled and her eyes snapped open in shock. Although she hadn’t known the voice then, she did now. And the chain worn around the wrist - twin hearts - Rosabelle wore such a bracelet, and she used the vulgar expression sometimes. The highwayman had been her sister! “Dear, God!” she moaned, her face completely draining of colour.
“What is it, Angelina?” Rafe urged. “What have you remembered?”
“Nothing.” She swiftly veiled her eyes with her lashes, but couldn’t disguise the nervous quaver in her voice. “I cannot remember anything else, Rafe. I’m tired. Would you mind if I retired?”
Cupping her chin in his fingers Rafe turned her face round to his and said gently. “You know the identity of the highwayman, don’t you?”
“No!” Her voice was edged with panic. “If you’re my friend, Rafe, do not ask me anything more.”
To her relief, Rafe didn’t persist with his questioning, but his steady regard of her made her feel ashamed. Twisting away from him she whispered in despair. “I don’t know what to do for the best.”
Rafe’s heart went out to her. Drawing her gently against his shoulder, he said. “I won’t press you, but if you ever need anyone to confide in I’ll always be here for you, Angel.”
She jerked away from him when the door opened and James strolled into the room.
If he observed anything amiss he didn’t comment, but Rafe casually rose from the seat beside Angelina and took up position by the fireplace.
“Celine’s asleep,” James said, his smile flickering from one to the other. “The day has been exhausting for her.” His glance settled on Rafe. “I was thinking of taking time to visit London. There’s a colleague I’d like to consult about Frey’s defence. I take it you won’t object to my company on the road when you leave for the hospital board meeting?”
Rafe inclined his head. “You’re not taking up his case yourself, then?”
James shrugged as he took a chair in front of the fire. “The conflict of interests wouldn’t work in Frey’s favour. The man I intend to hire for his defence is quite brilliant.”
Angelina gazed at James with anxious eyes. For a moment, it seemed to Rafe as if she were about to say something. Then she bit down hard on her lower lip and rose to her feet. “I feel quite fatigued. Is there anything you need before I retire? If not, I’ll send the maid to her bed.”
“A fresh jug of coffee will suffice.”
Her smile was distracted as she bade them goodnight. James waited until it closed behind her, then turned to him, a query in his eyes.
“Something’s playing on her mind,” Rafe said straight away. “I believe she knows who the highwayman is and I’m very much afraid that person is a member of your household.”
“Will?” Pain came into James’ eyes at the thought.
“She is adamant it was neither of your brothers.” Slumped into a chair Rafe gazed thoughtfully into the fire and related Angelina’s description of her encounter with the highwayman. “You know how well she mimics the voices of other people,
he said. “I could have almost sworn it was Rosabelle speaking.”
James looked frankly disbelieving for a few seconds, then his eyes lit up with amusement. “Rosabelle, the highwayman? Good God, Rafe, Angelina’s either spun you a tale, or that brandy you’re drinking is more potent than it looks.” He began to shake with laughter. “I’ll wager the clever little minx has been having fun at your expense.”
After his initial discomfiture at the thought, Rafe joined in the laughter. She’d been convincing, and he willing to be convinced. By now, she’d be safely in her chamber, and probably collapsed with merriment about the clever way she’d led him into her trap.
He shook his head, bemused by his own stupidity. The whole concept of Rosabelle being a highwayman was totally preposterous.
* * * *
They returned to Wrey House later than originally planned.
No sooner had the men returned from London when the skies opened, sending down rain in a steady torrent. Obliged to wait until the mud dried a little so the carriage wouldn’t get bogged, they were still forced to take up lodgings at an inn because the river was so swollen, one of the bridges was awash.
The nearer they got to Wrey House the more damage they saw. There had obviously been a great storm. Branches were ripped from trees and leaf debris littered the ground. In one place, an oak tree had been split asunder by lightning. Half its blackened trunk leaned drunkenly to one side, the other half stood upright. The grass around it was burned black, yet surprisingly, its leaves were still green.
“I hope Ravenswood is still in one piece,” Rafe remarked when they stopped to get a better look at the phenomenon. “The storm seems to have been severe.”
“We can make a detour if it will put your mind at rest,” James offered.”It will not take up much of our time.”
To Angelina’s surprise, the shallow-bedded stream she’d previously paddled along had become a swiftly flowing river that had risen above its banks. The bridge was awash and piled high with debris, which had been carried down with the water.