by Janet Woods
From their vantage point, the house still seemed to be intact, except for a few missing slates. The figures of the mythical gods still kept vigil at the edges of the roof.
Rafe shrugged as he wheeled his horse about. “It doesn’t appear to have suffered severe damage. If we get no more rain the water will abate. I’ll return to inspect the bridge and clear away the debris. The foundations may have been undermined.”
Angelina looked at the overcast sky and said a small, silent prayer. Rafe had suffered enough trauma of late, she reminded God, it would be unfair of him to place another burden on his shoulders.
They parted ways with Rafe at the crossroads, and continuing on, were greeted by Elizabeth who came rushing from the front door as the carriage, drew up, her face wreathed in smiles.
She looks younger, Angelina thought when Elizabeth embraced her, and happier. The reason became obvious when the earl joined her. Linking hands like two young lovers they exchanged affectionate smiles. The intimacy between them spoke of love.
Angelina’s breath caught in her throat. Unless she could persuade Rosabelle to confess to the crime of highway robbery, she was destined to marry Nicholas Snelling, and love like this would be forever denied her.
Though she kept a spark of hope alive in her breast, deep down, she knew Rosabelle, having already ignored the opportunity to do so, would never confess to her crime.
Angelina would never reveal what she knew to save herself from a loveless marriage. She couldn’t stand by and see either of her siblings put to death, not when she had the power to save them. But neither would Rosabelle emerge unscathed. She intended to tell her sister exactly what her foolish actions had brought about.
Rosabelle was in a temper when she went to confront her. Her maid, Ellen, was crouched in a corner, shaking with fright whilst Rosabelle shouted abuse at her. There was a welt across the maid’s arm and tears in her eyes.
Crossing to the maid, Angelina assisted her to her feet, calmly instructing her to go and compose herself. She turned to Rosabelle, who was staring at her with unbelieving eyes.
“How dare you come into my chamber and dismiss my maid,” she snarled, her face flushed from her exertions. She was unattractive in her anger, Angelina thought, gazing at her in distaste.
“What I’ve come to say to you is best kept private.” Keeping her voice a discreet murmur, she informed her without preamble. “When I was away I remembered who the highwayman was. It was you, Rosabelle.”
Rosabelle’s complexion changed from red to a chalky white. Her eyes were enormous black holes in her face, her expression terrified. Angelina felt no pity for her when she began to tremble.
“Please do not tell anyone,” she begged. “They’ll hang me.”
Taking up position in front of her, Angelina stared at her with merciless eyes. “What about Frey? He doesn’t deserve to die for crimes he didn’t commit. How can you let such a thing happen? Have you no sense of decency, no conscience?”
Rosabelle’s tongue flicked over her lips and a sly expression appeared in her eyes. “You couldn’t prove it, you know. They’d say you made it up, that you were jealous of me, and accused me unjustly.”
Angelina smiled at that. “I have no reason to be jealous of you, Rosabelle. There’s nothing about you I admire, nothing you have that I want.”
“Except Rafe Daventry.” Recovered from her shock, Rosabelle gazed at her with malicious amusement. “I know he proposed marriage to you, but did he tell you he really loves me, and wants you only for your wealth? We were laughing about it together, just the other day.”
Hand on hips, she swayed towards the mirror to preen herself before it. “Rafe made love to me for the first time on my sixteenth birthday. I enjoyed it immensely.”
“I do not believe it.”
“No?” Rosabelle whirled towards her, “I’ll tell you exactly what your precious Rafe Daventry did to me.” Taking her arm in a firm grip, Rosabelle poured such vile words into her ears that she gasped.
“You’re lying,” she stammered, tearing herself away and taking a step backwards. “You’re disgusting and vile, and you tarnish the very name you were born with. I’ll not listen any more.”
“You stupid infant,” Rosabelle scorned. “Why don’t you forget your romantic notions and grow up. Once you’re married to Nicholas Snelling, Rafe, no doubt, will offer you the same favours he does to every married woman.” She smiled a little. “He’s a wonderful lover, Angelina. Shall we share him between us and compare notes?”
“You make me feel sick.” Face ashen, she backed away from her, biting back a sob. “I’m ashamed to call you sister.”
“Go away,” Rosabelle said, her face suddenly sullen. “Go and marry that strutting little peacock if you want to save Frey from the noose. I’ll dance at your wedding and smile upon your unhappiness. If I cannot have Rafe Daventry for a husband, then neither will you.”
“Rosabelle!” Face dark with anger, William strode into the room. Angelina quaked at the expression in his eyes. “Get out, Angelina,” he hissed. “Say nothing about what has occurred to anyone. I’ll deal with it, do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her shaking legs obeying him automatically. They carried her outside the door, where she was forced to lean against the wall to recover from the encounter.
She heard raised voices and the unmistakable sound of a slap. Rosabelle gave a short, sharp cry of pain, then there was silence.
Plucking up courage, she straightened up and moved back to the door. Her eyes widened at the sight of Rosabelle in William’s arms, sobbing against his chest. ‘Make her promise not to tell anyone, Will. It was fun, that’s all. It’s not as though I hurt anyone. I was just bored.’
‘Once she weds Snelling the problem will be resolved.’ William kicked the door shut behind them.
Neither of them had mentioned the fate of poor Frey. Experiencing a sickening disgust, she realised she couldn’t rely on William to deal with anything. If Frey was to be saved, there was only one way to achieve it. She’d have to wed Nicholas Snelling.
Picking up her skirts she fled back to her chamber. Safely inside, she took up a quill, and with shaking fingers drew a piece of parchment towards.
My Lord, she began. With regard to your recent proposal of marriage...
Chapter Nineteen
Eyes scanning the note the messenger had brought him, Nicholas Snelling crowed with triumph.
“Angelina has played right into my hands.”
“Our hands, Nicholas,” Constance said, and snatching the note from his fingers she scowled as she perused the contents. “I see we’re not considered good enough for the Wrey family.”
One leg crossed over the other, Nicholas gazed at his mother in perplexity. His eyes were soft and anxious, reminding her of a spaniel she’d once had.
“She didn’t say that, mama.”
“Don’t be a fool, Nicholas, she didn’t have to.” She gave an exasperated sigh. “Why does she suggest a secret marriage if you’re acceptable as a suitor? Because her guardian has already said no.”
Nicholas thought about it for a moment, then he smiled. “Angelina has a romantic nature. Her suggestion to elope is touching. Her initial reluctance was a ploy to gain my attention.”
His theory was so ludicrous that Constance gave an incredulous laugh. “May I remind you this marriage is a business arrangement. The girl wants to save her bastard brother from the gallows.” Her eyes became as sharp as her voice. “Surely you don’t harbour romantic notions towards her, Nicholas.”
Nicholas flushed a dull red. “I hold her in the greatest esteem. She has the elegance and purity of a Botticelli angel.” He gazed into an imaginary distance. “Such colouring...such eyes...they’re an inspiration to me! Angelina Wrey is to be set upon a pedestal and admired; no man shall ever defile her perfection.”
“I’m afraid someone will have to if she’s to be got with child,” she suggested dryly. “You will need to beget a
n heir.”
Distaste took residence in Nicholas’ expression. He shrugged, moving his glance away from her to murmur languidly. “Must you be so vulgar?” He pulled a sheet of paper towards him and picked up a quill. “I shall draft a retraction to the charges against her brother now she’s agreed to my proposal. After all, I never saw the rogue unmasked so how could I swear it was him? It will prove I’m a man of honour.”
Her hands curled into fists and she itched to smack the smile from his stupid face. She’d already been bested in an encounter with the wretched girl, and didn’t intend her control over Nicholas to be usurped because he harboured some idealistic notions about her. Snatching the pen from his hand she offered him and intimidating glare.
“Write it if you must, Nicholas, but she cannot have it until the vows have been exchanged. “If you’re not to become as impoverished as Rafe Daventry, we need control of her fortune. Angrily, she dashed the quill down in front of him
“I’d already reached that conclusion.” He picked up the quill, carefully examining the point for damage. His mother’s background was an embarrassment to him, as were her many lovers. He didn’t want Angelina to be tainted by her.
When he married, he’d move into Pakenham House. It was in a fine position, he mused. There, he would royally entertain the more intellectual of his companions. He would hold court with the beautiful Angelina at his side, and be admired for both his wit and good fortune.
Realising his mother was bent over his shoulder, waiting to dictate every word, he gazed at her with genuine irritation in his eyes. “A poet needs solitude to write. I’d be grateful if you’d retire from my presence.” Slyly, he suggested, “Perhaps you should call on your old friend, Rafe, and renew your acquaintance.”
“Does he reside in the district then?”
“At Tewsbury Manor, I understand. It’s but twenty minutes ride from the Inn. I believe his father died recently, so it would be quite in order for you to visit the Marquis to offer condolences.”
Her hand fluttered up to cover her heart. “I think I might do that. Now the question of your marriage is settled, it will not harm for me to be seen abroad.”
Such pretty, artificial gestures, he thought disparaging after she’d gone. She could act the lady almost as well as she acted the whore, with her many lovers. The finer sensibilities of love, those which grew from the heart and soul, had somehow escaped her greedy little clutches.
Dipping the quill into the ink pot, Nicholas drew two hearts entwined with ribbons and posies in the corner of the paper, then embarked on an answer to Angelina’s acceptance note. He decided to write the retraction later. Her brother’s life would be his gift on their wedding day.
When he finished, he summoned the Wrey servant who’d delivered the good
news. He gave the man an arch smile. Nicholas had recognised at once that he was of a more sensitive nature than was usual for servants. As he’d earlier expressed a desire to work in London, Nicholas intended to offer him a place once he was married.
Gazing into his eyes, Nicholas murmured. “You’ll make sure this note gets to Lady Angelina direct. Let none intercept. It’s of the utmost importance.”
“Yes, My Lord. Viscount Romsey left with the Earl of Wrey for London this very morning. They intend to stay there until after the bastard’s trial. Only the missives sent with the messenger from the Inn are intercepted.”
That was why Angelina wished them to wed so soon? The dear soul truly loved him and had chosen a time when her guardian was absent. She would love him all the more when he saved her miserable brother’s neck. She wouldn’t be sorry she wed him, he vowed. He’d treat her like the precious creature she was. She was too delicate for the carnal, even had his inclinations towards her been thus.
His fingers curled around the servant’s when he placed the letter in his hand. “Such strong hands,” he murmured languidly, “Do you know the art of body massage? My shoulders ache abominably, my body servant is useless in the ministrations of such comforts. I will have to replace him one of these days.”
The man’s eyes met his. “I have some time to spare...if I can be of service...”
Forgetting about the urgency of his missive, Nicholas stood.
The servant placed the letter on the dresser and moved towards Nicholas with a small, smile on his face. Carefully, he began to remove his lordship’s garments.
* * * *
Rafe was pleased that John Masterson had not lost his stewardship skills. He and his wife had settled into the steward’s cottage with a minimum of fuss, and now, barely two weeks later, it seemed to Rafe as though he’d always worked at Tewsbury.
Moreover, John was able to manage the clerk’s position for the time being. Rafe was loath to take on another clerk until the outcome of Frey’s trial was decided, and John relieved him of the monotony of doing a chore he hated. His own sprawling handwriting looked like a race of leaping hounds compared with the rest of the book.
He’d spent the past few days working in the library; today he was going to escape outside. He intended to inspect the Ravenswood bridge now the water was down to a decent level. If the bridge needed repair he’d have to employ a stonemason to carry out the work and make it safe, before it was damaged further.
About to call a servant to fetch his hat, he was forestalled by the sound of a single horse coming up the carriageway. A feminine voice drifted to his ears and he hastened towards the hall with a smile on his face.
“You!” he exclaimed, jolted out of his usual urbanity by the unlikely sight of Constance Snelling. “I was not expecting you here.”
“Who were you expecting, Rafe?” She was outfitted in a fetching blue riding habit crowned with a high veiled hat. Giving a flirtatious laugh. she swayed past him into the drawing room and looked around her.”
Her eyes missed nothing. Within seconds, he had the feeling she’d inventoried every piece of furniture and fitting, and priced every ornament and painting. She turned to gazed at him, her expression both coquettish and calculating. “No kiss for old times sake, Rafe?”
Stonily, he said. “The old times are over, Constance. Why are you here?”
She gave a small pout and smacked her riding crop against her skirt. “It’s not like you to be so brusque. Am I not to be offered refreshment after my ride?”
Rafe’s good manners automatically reasserted themselves. “You prefer black coffee with a dash of brandy, if I recall.”
“I think I’d prefer just the brandy. Why don’t you join me, Rafe? Relax a little and talk over old times. I’ve been holed up in that dreadful inn for over a week, listening to the furry-tongued dialect of the natives and the dreary love odes of my son. I’ve been deprived of civilised company.”
He gave a faint grin as he moved towards the decanter. He knew very well what she was hinting at. Her libido was such that she couldn’t go a week without a man in her bed. He allowed his gaze to run deliberately down her figure and watched her eyes narrow. Once he’d have been unable to resist her, now he felt nothing. She compared badly with the fresh and piquant elegance of Angelina.
He wondered, had she come to the district to dissuade Nicholas in his quest to win Angelina’s hand, or had she come to help him? The latter, he suspected.
The glass of brandy he poured for her was generous in proportion when compared to his own. Constance seemed not to notice. Her hand was trembling as she bore the glass to her mouth, and she drank it swiftly. His eyes narrowed at her haste, recognising in her the signs of the craving that had afflicted his father.
He smiled as he poured her another. This time she sipped it slowly, all the while giving him sensuous little smiles. Finally, she patted the seat beside her, inviting archly. “Come, sit beside me, Rafe.”
Disgust rose like bile to his throat. How had he ever considered her attractive? But then he thought, men made them so when they took advantage of the comfort they offered, then reviled them.
Refilling her glass again, he s
trolled to where she sat, and twisting sideways, fitted his hips in the small space beside her. It was too close for comfort. He was ashamed of what he was about to do, but he wouldn’t let that stop him - not with so much at stake.
Constance drained her glass with reckless abandon and her tongue moistened the fullness of her mouth. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you, Rafe,” she whispered, picking up his hand and carrying it to her breast.
He resisted the urge to snatch it away, smiled down at her. She was fast losing her looks. Her cosmetics had been applied to conceal rather than enhance, and made her look clownish.
“I’d not noticed you lacking in admirers,” he murmured carefully. “Your assemblies are always very much in demand, as I remember.”
“They were until that episode with Angelina Wrey. That girl is a vixen, Rafe. She slandered me in public. Now, anyone who is anyone keeps their distance.”
Rafe’s blood began to boil at the slur on his love’s character. He took a steadying sip from his glass. “I cannot believe it, Angelina struck me as being such a sweet child.”
Constance took the glass from his hand and drank from it. Her eyes had a glassy look, her voice slurred a little. “You’re sweet on her, Rafe. I thought so the first time I saw you together.”
Rafe managed to feign astonishment. Gently, he moved his hand from her breast to caress the hollow of her throat. She arched back her head, and a low satisfied murmur came from her throat. “What would I want with a prissy little child when there are women who know how to please a man?”
“Money,” she whispered. “The vixen is drowning in it.”
“I’ve recently inherited enough to restore Ravenswood, and feel no need to tumble a maid straight out of the schoolroom,” he lied, for he felt every need. I’ll leave her for the younger, less experienced fellows to play with.”
“Kiss me, Rafe,” she whispered, seeking his mouth with her own.
Complying with her demand was harder than Rafe had imagined. Her breath was thick with brandy fumes, and he nearly gagged when she thrust her tongue into his mouth. Her eyes were drooping when the kiss ended, her mouth slack with the desire of her own wanting.