Angel Of Windword

by Maggie Dove

  Grabbing the delicate vase, Clarissa smashed it against the wall.

  * * * *

  “Champagne!” Angelique rushed toward the glorious mare and hugged the large animal, pressing her cheek against its shiny golden mane. “Oh, Nicholas—Nicholas!” she exclaimed, glancing over her shoulder at her beaming husband. “When Janie said you had a surprise for me—I never dreamed …”

  She tore herself away from the mare and walked over to Nicholas. “Victoria insisted that Champagne stay in France, knowing full well the horse was given to me by my father. How did you manage to convince my stepmother to let us have her?”

  “Actually, it was quite simple. I told the old witch that I would not take Tante Mattie without Champagne. The likelihood of having to spend the rest of her days with dear old Tante Mattie convinced her soon enough.”

  “Nicholas, you didn’t! You are so—”

  Nicholas’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips curved devilishly. “Cunning, clever, crafty?”

  Filled with tenderness, Angelique placed her arms around him. “Oui, all those things and more … much more,” she admitted, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. I enjoyed besting the old crow.”

  Angelique watched him as he led Champagne beneath a shaded tree and secured the reins around the wide tree trunk. Unfolding a blanket, she placed it down on the cool earth and sat down. Patting the ground beside her, she beckoned him to join her.

  Nicholas obliged, placing a soft kiss on her brow. “I’m glad I was able to please you.”

  “You always please me, Nicholas—especially when we are alone.”

  “Don’t you tempt me, minx. Not here.”

  “Why not?” Angelique drawled suggestively. “What is wrong with Hyde Park at noon, with so many of our acquaintances at hand?”

  Laughter tugging at his lips, Nicholas lay back with his arms crossed behind his head, staring lazily at the cloudless blue sky. “You know damn well what’s wrong.”

  “You should be ashamed, monsieur—using poor Tante Mattie as a bargaining chip.”

  Chuckling, Nicholas turned on his side to watch her. “I can think of a few other times when a little friendly persuasion has benefited my cause.”

  Champagne stirred at the rattling of leaves and the sudden screeching of birds. Angelique turned to glance at the horse, then back to Nicholas. “You must not jest about Henri—and how you forced him to break off our engagement. How we betrayed him. We are so happy, Nicholas, and he will be miserable once he learns the truth.”

  Nicholas sat upright. “Now, why the devil would I bring him up?” he snapped, his lips thinned with irritation.

  “Nicholas, don’t be angry. I shouldn’t have mentioned Henri,” Angelique quickly apologized. “But now that I have … there is something you must know.”

  “What is it?”

  “The night I was to elope with Henri, I entered your bedroom with a note, warning you not to appear at the chapel the next morning. Thinking you were not in your chambers, I walked in and to my mortification, well,” she hemmed. “We do not have to go into everything … only that shortly afterwards, I found myself longing to marry you. You can’t imagine the relief—the happiness, I felt when Marcus gave me Henri’s letter, dissolving our engagement. I wanted you, Nicholas. I betrayed Henri—all on my own, with no assistance from you.”

  His hard features softened. “It means everything to me to know that you came willingly on our wedding day—that you were not forced to marry me,” he admitted, gruffly.

  “I wish I could say the same for you,” Angelique said, dropping her lashes quickly to hide the hurt.

  Nicholas’s eyes darkened with emotion as he raised her chin to meet his gaze. “I’m crazy in love with you, Angelique. I married you because I wanted you and for no other reason. Don’t ever forget that,” he said huskily, before his mouth took hers in a passionate kiss.

  A short while later, he whispered against her cheek, “I never saw the note.”

  “I know.” Angelique’s lips twitched with the urge to laugh. “I ran out before I had a chance to leave it.” She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying in vain to suppress her giggles. “You can’t imagine what I felt when I discovered you asleep on your bed.”

  “I suppose the sight made you want to run and forget the purpose of your visit.”

  “Au contraire,” Angelique confessed. “I wanted to stay. I liked what I saw, Nicholas—I liked it very much.”

  A low groan escaped his lips. “Let’s go home, Angelique.”

  Chapter Ten

  The heavyset woman rubbed her big fleshy hands. “I’ll have no part of it, Edgar. She is an impostor. We would be wise not to trust her. For three years, she allowed us to believe she was the Viscountess Kent. Now, she is blackmailing us into cooperating with this hellish plan of hers … to harm the real viscountess. Edgar, are you listening to me?”

  Thirty years of his wife’s hysterical blabber had prompted Edgar Mason to perfect a technique to block her completely from his mind. Unfortunately, he could not afford to do that now. Without her assistance, there could be no plan.

  “Gertrude, we have no choice. The messenger has already reached the viscountess, and the French girl is on her way as we speak.”

  “I won’t do it, Edgar—I won’t help her destroy this poor girl from France. Edgar, I think the woman is completely mad!” Gertrude fretted, saliva sputtering from her mouth.

  Repulsed, Edgar narrowed his eyes in odious contemplation of the portly woman whom he had foolishly married years ago. He spoke evenly, trying his damnedest to control his irritation. “It makes no difference to us if she is mad or not.”

  “She frightens me, Edgar,” Gertrude continued stubbornly. “Have you noticed she never wants to see the child?”

  “For God’s sake, Gertrude. What business is that of ours?”

  “She despises the poor little soul. I don’t like it, Edgar. I don’t like it at all. I won’t lift a finger in this—I will not—”

  “You’ll do as you’re told!” thundered Edgar, raising a bony hand to strike her, causing Gertrude to cower behind the sofa. “All this time, unbeknownst to us, we’ve been harboring the grandson of the Earl of Windword under our roof. Do you know how furious the earl is going to be when he discovers the truth?”

  Gertrude came out from behind the faded sofa. “But, Edgar, we didn’t know. We took good care of the boy for three years. It is her fault, not ours. Surely, the earl cannot blame us.”

  “He will blame us, Gertie. We have kept his only grandson from him. One must not anger the powerful nobility. I’ve heard stories, Gertrude,” Edgar whispered, pausing for effect. “Simple folks have been jailed for lesser transgressions … never to be heard from again. We need the funds she has promised—so we can leave England for good. We must do as she asks—she has left us no choice.”

  Gertrude burst into tears, causing him to curse inwardly. “But Edgar—how can you be certain she will advance the funds? If we help her, and we are found out—they’ll hang our sorry necks!”

  “Do not fret about the funds. She’s bringing half this afternoon after we meet with the viscountess. The other half will be given to us later—after we—never mind.”

  “Today is August ninth, Edgar, coronation day. The viscountess will want to attend the event with the Windwords. She is not going to waste her afternoon visiting with the likes of us.”

  “Stop sniveling. She’ll come. I made certain of it.”

  Tears falling freely down her cheeks, Gertrude sobbed. “What we are going to do today is bad enough,” she said, shaking her head. “But what comes later is much too horrible.”

  Knowing that he needed her full cooperation, Edgar grabbed his wife’s hand, patting it gently. “Gertie, dearest, we need not go as far as all that. Let us take care of today, and the rest … the rest we may not have to do.”

  “From your lips to the lord’s ear, my husband.” S
he shuddered. “I do not want to burn in hell.”

  Edgar Mason watched his wife flee the room. He was pleased that he had convinced Gertrude to go along with him. Now he had only to prove to the young viscountess that she was married to the most cruel and evil of men. Those were his immediate instructions. He would worry about the other more devious deed at a later date.

  * * * *

  Angelique rushed through the bustling streets of London on the most festive, celebrated day in over sixty years. The streets were packed with buses, carriages and hundreds of people on foot trying to get a glimpse of the much awaited coronation procession.

  In her hurry, she had scribbled a note to Nicholas, explaining an emergency had come up, and she would meet him at the coronation ball later that evening. He would wonder what dire circumstance had kept her from witnessing King Edward’s coronation. Ever since he had shown her the invitation from the earl marshal, Angelique had expressed great eagerness in attending the event. Nicholas would be beside himself with worry. Mon Dieu, what could I have been thinking? she berated herself. She should have sought him out and shown him Henri’s urgent message, but at the moment, she had been too distraught to think clearly.

  Now it was too late—she could not turn back.

  Clutching Henri’s note in her hand, she waved it in the air for a passing carriage, but to no avail. For what seemed like hours, she continued to push and shove through the crowded streets, until finally, she was able to secure a ride.

  “The Mason poorhouse on Regent Street,” she instructed the driver as she unfolded the note for a second time that day. Her heart beat faster as she read the words. “Angelique, please come right away, mon amour—come alone—I need you—my life depends on it!” Without a second thought, she had quickly complied. Now she wondered why the letter had not been written in Henri’s own penmanship. Her mind raced with awful thoughts. Maybe he was unable to write it himself—maybe he was injured.

  She looked out of the carriage and saw the procession passing through Parliament Square while making its way to Westminster Abbey. With a heavy heart, Angelique wished she were at the Abbey, seated at a pew with Nicholas and his family, partaking of this wonderful day. Then her thoughts returned to Henri, and she urged the driver on.

  Thirty-five minutes later, Angelique entered the Mason poorhouse and was instantly revolted by the acrid smell of dried urine. She looked about the horrid surroundings for any sign of Henri.

  “Madame, where is Monsieur Bertrand?” Angelique inquired of the woman who opened the door. “I received an urgent message requesting my presence here—I’m very concerned.”

  The hefty woman wiped the sweat from her forehead with one big, clammy hand and closed the door behind them with the other. “Milady, I’m Gertrude Mason,” she introduced herself. “Now don’t go worrying yourself for naught, Mr. Bertrand is in no immediate danger,” she assured breathlessly.

  With a nervous smile on her face, Gertrude Mason led Angelique through a dark hallway into a small drawing room. “My husband, Edgar, is tending to the children. As you can hear for yourself, some can be a handful at times. He will explain everything to you very soon, my dear. Now please sit down. I have some tea brewing. I’ll get us some.”

  Dust prickled Angelique’s nose as Gertrude patted the faded, stained pillows on the russet sofa and motioned for her to sit.

  “Would you like some scones with your tea, Lady Kent?”

  Angelique responded with a gusty sneeze. “Madame, please do not bother with refreshments. Just tell me where I can find Monsieur Bertrand and I shall be on my —”

  The sudden heart-rending sobs of children coming from the rooms at the end of the hallway made it impossible for Angelique to continue. “What is he doing to them?” she demanded furiously.

  “Nothing, milady. I can assure you that—”

  “I don’t like what I heard,” Angelique interrupted the woman in mid-sentence. “Summon your husband immediately or I shall report him to the authorities.”

  Gertrude’s pudgy features contorted into a terrified frown. Without another word, she ran out of the room. Seconds later, a breathless and jittery Edgar Mason rushed into the drawing room. A vein throbbed frantically from his forehead to his gaunt cheek as he shoved back unruly strands of oily brown hair from his brow. “Lady Kent,” he said, his cadaverous face smiling at her. “Finally, we meet.”

  Angelique refused to take his thin, trembling hand. With aversion, she noticed it was swollen red, no doubt from the beatings he had just administered to the children.

  “Thank you for your visit.” He came closer. “On this special day.”

  Angelique looked away, cringing at the putrid stench of his breath. She swallowed once, overcoming a sudden attack of nausea, before speaking. “Monsieur, this is no visit. Where is Henri Bertrand? Is he not in America? Why did he summon me here?”

  Edgar Mason did not reply. Crossing the room, he took a frail-looking chair and placed it directly across from her. He sat with his legs crossed and his hands folded over his knees.

  “Did you not hear me? Where is Monsieur Bertrand?” Angelique demanded as Gertrude walked in with a tray and began to pour the tea.

  Shrugging, Mason smiled a sickly smile, allowing her a view of decayed, yellow teeth. “I really do not know. Bertrand does not concern me. He was just the means to get you here. Sweet lady, do not look at me that way. I assure you, if you give me a chance to explain I shall. Gertie, close the door behind you when you leave,” he said, giving his wife a stern look of dismissal.

  Angelique stood up. “Madame Mason, wait—show me the way out. Monsieur, you have brought me here under false pretenses,” she said, turning to Mason. “You have wasted my day and yours. I’m certain you know my husband is a very powerful man. He will hear of—”

  Mason’s brows drew together. “Do not threaten me with your husband, Viscountess. We both know Lord Nicholas would not take kindly to your rushing blindly over here because of another man. What I have to say mostly concerns him and Lady Clarissa Blake. Sit down, Lady Kent, there’s plenty I must tell you. Gertrude, bring the proof and make it quick.”

  Clarissa Blake … she might have guessed! Her curiosity piqued, Angelique decided to sit after all. “Go on,” she said coldly.

  Pressing a bony finger to his tight lips, Mason began, “Three years ago Lady Clarissa Kent came to us with a newborn baby boy. She informed us her maid had died shortly after giving birth to him. She could not keep the child with her because she was not mistress of her own house. Her husband, James, had recently passed away and her wishes or requests were never taken into consideration or were simply denied by her husband’s family. Out of loyalty to her servant, she brought the boy to us. He has been with us ever since.”

  This horrid man is obviously fibbing through his teeth! thought Angelique, biting back her anger and simmering in her seat as Mason continued to elucidate. Throughout the years, there had been many children born to the staff. Her in-laws would never have turned away a poor innocent child … simply because his mother had died in childbirth. “Enough, monsieur,” she cut him off. “How much did Clarissa pay you?”

  “Pay me? You insult me, Viscountess.” Edgar lit a cigar and purposely took his time, dramatizing the moment. “Lady Clarissa recently confessed to us that the baby was not her maid’s, but actually hers—a direct result of a misguided liaison.”

  Angelique stood, refusing to listen to any more. “You best stop now,” she warned. “If this is a ruse to extort monies from my husband’s family, it simply won’t work. What Clarissa Blake did or does with her life is of no concern to me.”

  “You’re wrong, dear lady.” Edgar stood, putting his hand on her sleeve. “This does concern you—it concerns you very much. Lord Nicholas is the father,” he whispered the name, suspending it in midair, allowing the shocking revelation to sink in.

  Stunned, Angelique stared at him blindly as her mind sifted through his words. Mon Dieu, the man was mad!
To make matters worse, Nicholas and his family had no idea where she was. Why had she come to this dreary place, and why was she here alone with these awful people?

  Before she could gather her belongings, the insidious Mason misinterpreted her look of distress, assuming her horror was directed at her husband and not at him.

  “He is perverse, my lady. When Lady Clarissa informed Lord Nicholas that she was carrying his child, he simply told her to get rid of it. This is no lie, Viscountess,” assured Mason, tapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shaking his head from side to side. “Your husband, dear lady, is a vengeful man. He was furious with Lady Clarissa when she refused to do as he asked. He told her he would inform his brother of their indiscretion. Lord James was so distraught over what Lord Nicholas revealed to him that he took his own life—threw himself down a flight of stairs, he did!”