Also by Victoria Whitlock
Awakening Amelia
Copyright © 2015 Victoria Whitlock
Cover Images © 2015 – Arrttuurr and meginn Depositphotos.com
All rights reserved.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
About the Author
“How much for the girl?”
The stranger’s words rang out around the empty, early-morning marketplace.
“I-I beg your pardon, Sir?” the scruffy old market trader said timidly, a polite smile fixed upon his florid face.
“I said, how much for the girl?” the imposing figure repeated, his accent betraying the fact that he was not from around these parts. He cast his steely gaze first at the old market trader and then across at the trader’s meek little daughter, Angelica, cowering in the corner.
Angelica had only just turned nineteen but looked and acted much younger than her years, still so much like a schoolgirl, her thin pale limbs poking out awkwardly from her raggedy dress, her unruly flame-red hair so thick and dazzling in contrast with her milk-white skin and pale blue eyes that often, strangers remarked upon her complexion unprompted.
Angelica gazed up at this tall stranger, looking down so intensely at her, and wondered what exactly he meant by such a statement. He was obviously wealthy – that much was clear from the way he dressed, the fine leather of his boots and the cut of the cloth of his jacket, both as immaculate as the day they were made. And his eyes – well, never had Angelica seen such intense eyes before! They positively burned at her, causing a rather strange feeling, one that she couldn’t quite describe, to travel all through her thin, slender frame.
Why, does he mean to buy me? Angelica thought angrily, trembling, waiting for her father to tell him to be gone and leave them in peace. As if I’m just the same as the cattle, to be bought and sold in this marketplace! I may be poor, but I am a human being, just as he is ...
But her father did not dismiss the haughty stranger. Instead it was Angelica who he bade leave, obviously intending to discuss matters privately with this gentleman.
“Now Angelica,” her father said in almost a whisper, leaning down and putting one hand softly on her bony little shoulder, while pressing a coin into her palm with the other. “Be a dear and fetch me a half an ale from Mistress Helen’s stall over on the other side of the market, would you, girl?”
“Very well, father,” Angelica said, taking the coin and heading off from her father’s market stall, leaving the two men to talk, for despite her trepidation at what the men were to discuss, she was an obedient girl.
But as she made her way across the half-empty marketplace, bathed in morning light, through the traders unpacking their wares, ready to start the day’s labour, her fears crystalized inside her. Although her father often sent her on errands such as this, there was definitely something strange in the way he despatched her so quickly and easily; something that suggested to Angelica that he wanted her out of the way to actually discuss this ridiculous proposition with the tall dark stranger.
But maybe she’d misunderstood.
Perhaps he had meant something else when he’d said it: How much for the girl?
But then she remembered his gaze, burning into her. She may have misunderstood his words, but there was no denying the look in his eye.
But how could he? she thought. Surely my very own father isn’t about to sell me off, is he? I know we are poor folk, but we are proud and we work hard. My father would never accept such easy money. It is not our way.
With this, Angelica shook the worrying thoughts from her head. No, if anything, the reason father probably wants a word alone with that strange man, she reasoned, is so that he can warn him off in stronger terms without worrying me or saying anything that might upset my delicate nature. After all, these things are not to be spoken of in front of a lady, which is what I am, poor or not.
Angelica bought the ale as her father requested, and as she made her way back across the marketplace that was now sparking into life, weaving her way through the growing crowds, she saw that her father and the tall stranger were still deep in conversation.
As she walked, the crowds parted, and at just that moment, the stranger’s eyes once more locked onto hers and she felt an unexpected flash of heat run right through her.
And with that, Angelica knew with certainty that her fate was not her own.
“But mother!” Angelica gasped in horror that very same evening, casting her pretty gaze up at her mother who sat sternly in her chair by the fire, her knitting needles never stopping for a moment their insistent clicking, even as Angelica knelt at her feet, clutching her mother’s skirts and weeping. “How can you let father do this?”
“Now come, Angelica,” her mother said softly but with a definite firmness to her tone all the same, “we all knew that this day would come for you sooner or later, my love. Nineteen is too old for a girl still to be living under her parents’ roof. You know as well as I that all your schoolfellows are married by now. Why, many of them have families of their own to look after!”
Her mother sighed, her knitting needles still clicking as she spoke.
“I wanted the same for you, Angelica, my darling. You were always such a pretty thing. So striking. Your beautiful hair and milk-pale skin. There was no one more beautiful in the whole village. Everyone knew that. But you’ve always been so strange in your ways. You attracted the lads, sure enough, but soon they would drift away, enticed by the easy laughter and pretty ways of your schoolmates. I told you many a time, my dear. No man is going to want a girl sitting so quietly with her nose in a book all day. But you never listened. So we have no choice, my dear, don’t you see? Times are tough, and money is tighter than ever around here. Last month, we sold the silver. And if we keep feeding you, we’ll have no crockery to eat our dinner off. Besides, you should be grateful. Your father has found you a fine position. To work as a maid for a fine English Lord? Why! You should be over the moon at such an opportunity, my dear!”
Angelica sighed, her anguish rising to such levels within her now that she felt she might tear out great handfuls of her thick red locks and scream at the top of her lungs in frustration. It was true. Her mother had long begged her to change her ways. To laugh more easily, and to find herself a husband. But why should she give herself to the uncouth, boorish men of the village? They held no attraction for her, and it pleased her that they left her alone. Still, she had no idea that this would be the outcome.
“But this ...” Angelica continued, forcing herself to remain calm as she searched her whirling, skittish brain for the correct words. “But this seems more like ... slavery, Mother.”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” Angelica’s mother laughed, finally halting her knitting for a brief moment in order to turn a stern eye on her daughter. “Now that’s just your over-active imagination at work once again, my pretty darling. Isn’t that right, Jack? Hasn’t our silly daughter here just got the wrong end of the stick about things as usual? She’s only to work as a maid at the Lord’s house, isn’t that correct? Jack? Jack?�
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Angelica’s father, who had until this point in the conversation managed to remain silent, warming his feet by the fireside and drinking his beer, finally added his opinion.
“Aye, that’s the long and short of it,” he said gruffly, sipping from his mug, his eyes downcast, his cheeks florid and flushed, unable to quite meet either woman’s gaze, almost as if he wasn’t speaking the truth.
And from the sheepish way he was acting, and from Angelica’s memory of that stern strangers question back at the market stall that afternoon (“How much for the girl?”) Angelica couldn’t help but suspect that there was something more to it than that.
“Of course, we’re going to miss you,” her mother continued, unawares, a sad smile spreading across her chubby, kindly features. “Now don’t get us wrong about that, my dearest. We’ll miss you dearly of course. But you know how things have been in this family of ours. We’ve always struggled with money, and an opportunity like this ... Well, it would be rather foolish to turn it away, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so, mother,” Angelica said quietly, shooting another angry gaze at her father who was remaining suspiciously quiet throughout their discussion.
“Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’d better get some sleep, young lady,” Angelica’s mother added. “After all, didn’t he say he’d be coming for her bright and early on the ‘morrow, Jack?”
“Aye, that’s right,” Angelica’s father said, the blush deepening in his cheeks, his face full of guilt and misgiving.
Angelica couldn’t help but notice it as she took her leave of her parents and headed up to her tiny, spare, but clean little bedroom, and she wondered just what tomorrow lay in store for her ...
Angelica experienced a rather fitful sleep that night – if you could even call it sleep. For her poor young mind could hardly receive any rest from thoughts and worries about what might happen to her in this so called Lord’s house the next morning.
You see, dear reader, Angelica had already imagined her own plans for a life: she would escape the narrow bounds of village life. Her formal education was limited to what the tiny village schoolroom could provide, and although girls were schooled no later than the age of twelve, Angelica had kept up with her studies. And in the seven years since leaving school, she had spent every spare moment with her nose in a book. When she wasn’t helping her mother around the house, or her father with his market stall, she was teaching herself French, Arithmetic and History. She hoped to move to the city, and to find a position as a governess. Angelica had heard great things about the city. There were museums, and she longed to attend the opera.
But in truth, Angelica had no idea what any of these things really meant. For despite her wide reading, she was still just a child.
Working as a maid was a far cry from what she had dreamt, but Angelica was a dutiful daughter and despite her bitter tears she could never disobey her parents. If this was the path they had chosen for her, then so be it.
For Angelica could hardly have ignored the fact that money was increasingly scarce. It had been months since she had gone to bed at night without a hunger gnawing at her belly. So she knew that she must do her best to help out her poor parents, too. After the death of Angelica’s brother, Mark, she knew that the burden of expectation rested solely on her shoulders. It was all well and good that she had been helping out at her father’s market stall most days, but she knew that she could fetch far more money by working as a maid in a Lord’s house, sending home her wages each month. And her father was getting old, too; it surely wouldn’t be long until he was far too tired out to work long hours at his market stall any more.
Oh, darn it, Angelica sighed to herself, tossing and turning on her small bed, the thin ragged sheets barely covering her slender young frame. This life of cold and hardship was all she had known, and she couldn’t help but wonder what riches lay beyond the doors of a real Lord’s house.
He would most likely have full clean sheets that covered you as you slept, she thought, and the rooms would no doubt be warmer and without blasted leaks from the ceiling whenever it rained!
And as Angelica tried to get back to sleep, she found her mind turning once more to the strange gaze of the man at the market stall – the man she assumed was the Lord himself. His dark eyes had burned straight at her, as if piercing directly into her soul, and his face, well, she’d had to admit to herself that it was rather handsome; dark and swarthy, his brows thick, his jaw chiselled, his lips thick and sensual, and his skin so smooth and clean, and his clothes! Angelica had never seen clothes so fine before, and she knew from her reading that his suit was probably cut in Paris, and that the leather of his boots had come all the way from Italy.
Why, perhaps it won’t be quite so bad after all, Angelica told herself, pulling the thin sheets over her shivering frame as she attempted once more to drift off to sleep.
The carriage arrived for Angelica bright and early the following morning, giving her barely enough time to wash and dress herself, and to hastily pack her few meagre possessions, before it was time to kiss her parents goodbye.
And despite her parents’ insistence that this was a great thing for Angelica, when the time finally came to say their farewells, her mother burst out in great wails and sobs, clutching Angelica tightly to her ample bosom and stroking her thick locks of hair, telling her just how much she loved her and just how much she would miss her, urging her to write to them at the very first opportunity.
“Of course, mother, of course,” Angelica laughed, herself feeling surprisingly confident now about setting off with this tall dark stranger who did not come into the house but instead remained standing sullenly by his large black carriage.
It would be the first time Angelica had ridden in a real horse-drawn carriage and again, she found herself rather excited at the prospect – just as she had felt herself grow excited last night when imagining the luxurious furnishings of the Lord’s house.
As she bade her mother a final farewell and then looked around for her father, Angelica noticed that he had gone out to the carriage to speak to her new master – and as she watched the two men talking, Angelica noticed the stranger surreptitiously draw an envelope from his pocket of his beautifully tailored jacket and hand it to her father, who quickly stuffed in away in his dirty old breeches.
And again, those odd words the stranger had uttered at the market place – How much for the girl? – echoed around Angelica’s pretty little head, and again the suspicion that this was not just a regular maid’s job struck her.
But before she could consider her predicament any further, it was time for her to depart. She gave her mother one more quick hug goodbye, then said her farewells to her father, too, who remained rather evasive and sullen, his cheeks flushed a deep dark red and his eyes once more downcast and shifty. They had always been close, father and daughter, particularly since the death of her brother. And working side by side on the market stall had given them an easy intimacy. So why now was he unable to look her in the eye?
Angelica gave the small tumble-down house she had lived all her nineteen years of life in a final sad glance before stepping up and into the carriage.
The stranger slammed the door shut, enclosing the two of them in the dark and silence of the wood-panelled carriage, and then he knocked on the wood in front of him, giving his driver the signal for them to set off.
Angelica turned to wave goodbye to her parents from the window, but realised that the curtain was drawn, and so instead she simply rested her hands between her bare bony knees, poking out from the hem of her threadbare dress, as she felt the carriage start up, taking them away down the lane, settling into a slow clopping pace.
The silence hung in the carriage, growing with each minute that the two remained unspeaking, both of them facing forwards, sitting just a few feet apart on the padded leather bench. Angelica became aware all over again of just how big this strange man was, in comparison to her tiny little figure. He must be we
ll over six feet, and the fact that he was dressed all in black gave him even more of an imposing countenance.
“I suppose I should introduce myself,” he said all of a sudden, his voice puncturing the silence, low and firm, each word enunciated so beautifully and clearly – so unlike the kinds of folk that Angelica normally heard speaking down at the marketplace or around the village. “My name is Lord Angus Sutherland. But you shall address me simply as My Lordship. Understand, girl?”
“Yes, My Lordship,” Angelica said in her best speaking voice, hoping she did not sound too common or unladylike.
There was something about this dark, handsome Lord that a certain part of her seemed desperate to please.
“And what is your name?” he continued. “Of course, your father has already told me, but I would like to hear you speak for yourself.”
“My name is Angelica Brook, My Lordship,” Angelica said, feeling herself blushing as Lord Sutherland turned his dark brooding gaze upon her, so intense and unflinching, he may as well have been stripping her clothes from her body.
“And are you as wild?”
At this strange question, Angelica found her head spinning. Whatever did he mean?
“I beg your pardon, My Lordship?” she asked timidly.
“I said,” he began with a disdainful sigh, “Are you as wild as the angelica that grows on my lands?”
Finally Angelica realised just what he was getting at. The poor young girl had heard mention of the herb that was her namesake, but had never come across it herself.
She opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say, a strange flustered feeling overcoming her, as she squirmed beneath the Lord’s cold hard gaze upon her. And further more, she found herself blushing, a sharp flush of heat rising to her cheeks, suffusing her pallid complexion with a rosy pink glow. For, Angelica realised deep within her, there seemed to be some other suggestion to what he was saying – something perhaps a little untoward. It had that same dark, animal, male quality to it: similar to the leers and whistles Angelica was used to from working at the market stall, on days when her father left her there alone ...
My Lord and Master Page 1