Almost an Angel

by Katherine Greyle

  She shook her head, fighting the tears. "They are not delusions."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I lived them. Every life, every breath, every death, just like I'm . . ." She cut off her words, seeing the trap he'd laid for her.

  "What, Carolly?” He leaned forward, eagerly pressing his point. "Just like you live them now?"

  "It's not the same as being alive as you are!"

  He stood, advancing on her. "Why not? What is different?"

  She pushed away from her tree, her sight wavering with those hated tears she couldn't stop. "Because I always die!" she cried. "I try to fix things, and then I die. One month, ten

  months, a year and a half, it doesn't matter. I'm someplace, I do what I can to help, and then I die."

  He caught her, his movements quick and sure as he gathered her into his arms. "We all die, Carolly. One way or another, we all die."

  She wanted to shake her head, but he held her so tight that she couldn't move. "It's not the same. It's not."

  "It is," he whispered, and as he spoke, she felt him tremble as if he, too, remembered dying. As if he knew the pain of losing everything because of his own failing. If only she'd been a better person. If only she'd said or done the right thing, then maybe she could have saved those she tried to help. Maybe they would have found happiness, and she would at last rest in peace.

  But she'd failed. And she'd died. Only to live again, repeating the miserable process another four times. "I'm not crazy," she whispered to the enveloping comfort of his strong chest.

  He stroked her spine in a mesmerizing caress. "Tell me what you remember," he coaxed.

  She wanted to do it. She wanted to lie in his arms, to hear the steady beat of his heart, to feel relaxed and content and oh so safe. She would even tell him all her secrets, catalogue every one of her failures for him just so she could remain tucked tightly in his embrace. But then how would she earn her wings? She couldn't turn him toward Miss Hornswapper if he lavished his time and his attention on her.

  And yet, for all her strategizing, Carolly remained quiet in his arms, allowing her tears to soak into his shirt, selfishly hoarding his every touch.

  Guilt finally forced her to push him away. "I won't fail you," she said. She directed his attention up the rise to where Margaret and Miss Hornswallow walked in the opposite direction, butterfly nets in hand. "You will be my first true success," she continued, her voice growing stronger with every word. "I will help three lives in one masterful stroke. Then I'll get my wings. I’ll really be an angel."

  He spoke softly, but he left no doubt in his voice. "I will not marry Miss Hornswallow."

  "I can't leave until you do."

  James sighed, and Carolly was surprised to realize the sound seemed almost happy—as if he wanted her around. Still, his voice remained devoid of emotion when he spoke. “Then we are at an impasse."

  Carolly leaned forward, her tears drying as she saw an opening. "Not necessarily. I just need to find you love. If you have a ball, you can meet all the eligible ladies you want. You'll have your pick of hundreds."

  "Carolly—"

  "You don't have to love Miss Hornswallow, although I think she'd be a good choice. Think of it. Now that your heart is opening up to Margaret, I'm sure there's room for a woman, too."

  James shook his head. "How did we get back on this topic? I thought I already—"

  "You wish to end this impasse, right?" she coaxed. "Merely fall in love, and you shall be rid of me."

  "No!" They both seemed startled by his sudden exclamation, but James was the first to recover. He moderated his tone even though his face remained flushed. "Perhaps that was the problem. You were shuffled from one relative to another until each departure seems like a death to you, each new situation another life."

  "It's hard to confuse heavy stones cracking your skull with a tearful good-bye at the front door," she said dryly.

  "But that is exactly my point. Maybe they were not cheerful goodbyes. Maybe they chased you away with torches—"

  "No." Lord, he was like a dog with a bone. He would not leave off this line of inquiry.

  "Maybe they threw rotting vegetables at—"

  "No."

  "Maybe—"

  "Damn it, James, I'm not confused. I'm not a lunatic, I'm not schizophrenic, manic-depressive, or delusional. Hell, I don't even have athlete's foot. James, I'm just dead. And I'm trying to make up for my miserable first life by helping you find happiness. When I do, maybe God will release me from this purgatory and let me be an angel. In Heaven. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to help Mags catch grasshoppers."

  She reached over and grabbed her butterfly net, but he stopped her, his large hand suddenly hard and inflexible on her wrist. "I will not stop, Carolly."

  She looked at him, her heart beating double at the determination in his eyes. "I know," she whispered.

  "We will talk more. Tonight."

  She shook her head, then slowly straightened, pulling away until he released her wrist.

  "I do not concede easily," he continued. "Some claim I never give in at all."

  Carolly looked up into the pure blue sky and wondered where in all that expanse was God. Where was He when she needed His guidance most?

  She didn't see Him, so she looked back at James and spoke the thought uppermost in her mind. "One of these days you'll realize I'm not lying. What's going to happen to your orderly world then, James? How will you feel then?"

  His expression flattened out. "It will not happen. It cannot happen."

  She sighed. "But it will, James. And the reasons I've failed before . . . You want to know about how I died? Each and every time, someone figures it out. Someone finally realizes I am so different that I don't fit into their world concept. So they kill me. Sometimes it's quick and in a rage. Other times I go slowly, by neglect or my own stupidity. But always, I die because someone finds out I am an angel—or almost an angel—and it frightens them so much they have to be rid of me."

  James's hands clenched into large, white fists. "I will not kill you."

  "It doesn't have to be with a gun, a knife, or even with your fists. You're a civilized man who will find some quiet way."

  "I will not kill you!" His denial echoed across the landscape, loud and startling in its intensity. And in that moment, Carolly saw the pain he kept locked inside. She did not understand its source, only that the wound ran deep. She wanted to touch him, to soothe the agony that had become like a wall around his heart, but she knew he'd never accept her comfort. Just as he'd never accept the truth about her. And so . . .

  "It's all right, James," she said softly. "That's the way life is for me. For angels, I suppose."

  "You're not an angel yet!" he said, the statement aimed like a blow.

  Carolly didn't care. She knew the truth. "No, I'm not," she responded calmly. Then she smiled, though the movement felt unnatural and awkward. "But I will be as soon as I find you a

  wife."

  Chapter Seven

  Dinner was a somber affair. Carolly sat in silence at one end of a long table while James gestured imperiously at the servants from the other. They sat like two strangers in a restaurant, eating in silence at separate tables. She wasn't sure where Margaret or Miss Hornswallow were. Carolly didn't even try to speak to James, and he certainly didn't do anything to bridge the gap.

  It wasn't until after the meal, long after the servants had been dismissed for the evening, hours after night had settled around the huge house, that she finally got up the nerve to approach him. He sat in the library staring at his brandy. He'd discarded his cravat on a nearby table and was apparently reading some book of Greek something-or-other—except that it lay ignored on his lap.

  She knocked lightly, though the door was already open.

  "James?"

  He looked up, his expression unreadable.

  "I, uh, I just wanted to apologize for that scene this afternoon."

  He raised an eyebrow in surpri
se, but made no other comment.

  "I've always had a stubborn streak." She gave him a wry smile. "No doubt you've noticed."

  He set his brandy down on the table beside him, his motions slow and precise.

  "Anyway, I hate it when people don't agree with me about something I'm positive is true."

  He looked up, his gaze sharp. "You are positive?”

  She shrugged, taking a deep breath. "I'm positive I'm right, and you're positive I'm wrong. But you know..." She wandered further into the room. "It doesn't really matter. Que sera, sera."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Whatever will be, will be. It's a song—uh, never mind. Anyway, we don't need to fight about it."

  James leaned back in his chair. His eyes remained hooded, his expression casual, but Carolly could feel the tension between them. It snaked up her spine, making her scalp tingle and her mouth go dry. But she stood her ground and tried not to twist her fingers in the folds of her skirt.

  "Tell me, Carolly, did you come here just to apologize? Or did you have some other purpose in mind?"

  Carolly squirmed. How did he do it? How did he see so clearly into her thoughts and motives? She sighed. There was no going back now.

  "Well, now that you mention it, I did hope to ask you to reconsider about the—"

  "No."

  She took another step forward, trying to get him to understand. "James, it won't be so bad. It might even be—"

  "I said, no."

  Carolly held her breath a moment, desperately searching for a way to make him change his mind. Then she looked at his hard face, the angry clench of his jaw, even the smooth way he swirled his brandy. It all added up to one thing.

  No.

  With a heavy sigh, she collapsed into a chair. "James, you can be such a stuffed shirt sometimes."

  "A stuffed shirt?"

  "A prig, a killjoy, the guy who always looks down his aristocratic nose at the rest of us while we're having a good time. A—"

  "There is no need to elaborate further."

  She glanced up. If anything, his expression was even more forbidding. "No, I don't suppose there is."

  The silence descended between them, thick and heavy, stifling in its intensity, so that Carolly nearly choked on it. In the end, she settled for a mockery of a laugh. "I guess I'm not very good at apologies."

  There was a brief silence. Then, "Tell me about your first life," he said.

  Carolly blinked, then burst out laughing. "You're not going to give up, are you?”

  "Are you going to stop asking about a ball?"

  She thought long and hard, then finally admitted the truth. "No, I'm not."

  "And I wish to know about all your lives."

  She dropped her chin on her palm and chewed on a fingernail. "How about a trade? I'll answer any question about my previous lives if you let me host a Waterloo ball."

  He didn't budge. "I will not host a ball."

  "A card party?"

  "No."

  "A luncheon?”

  "No."

  Tea, then."

  "No."

  "You're a stubborn man, James."

  "Yes."

  "We're at an impasse." She sighed, her eyes wandering over his slightly disheveled appearance. She loved the sight of him in evening clothes, but even more than that, she loved it when he wore them in disarray. It truly brought out the pirate in him. It was hard to look at him and still argue. Just the sight of his curly chest hairs peeping out between his open collar left her insides weak.

  Her gaze wandered outdoors to the breezy night. Maybe a little exercise was what she needed to get a new perspective. She certainly felt like she had energy to burn. She hadn't fidgeted this much since her Aunt Grace's wedding in an un-air-conditioned church when she was six. Er, seven. Maybe she'd been ten.

  She sighed and pushed out of her chair. "I think I'll take a walk."

  He glanced at her in surprise. "Now?"

  She gave him her most devilish smile. "Of course now. You may recall, I'm fond of late night walks."

  He grumbled something unintelligible. "I trust you to keep both feet firmly planted on the ground this time."

  "Ground?” She waved him off, unable to resist teasing. "Ground, rafters, rooftop. Who knows?”

  He pushed out of his chair. "Then I believe I shall go for a walk as well."

  Carolly had been about to torment him some more, but the words caught in her throat as she saw him carefully straighten his injured leg. "Urn, perhaps you better stay put I—"

  "It helps to exercise it." His voice was low, cutting off her sympathy. "In fact, if I don't walk every day, it gets decidedly worse."

  She lifted her eyebrow. "You walked quite a lot this afternoon."

  He lifted his head and skewered her with his gaze. "I will go for a walk. With you."

  She clicked her heels. "Yes, sir! Anything else, sir?"

  He didn't crack a smile, but she thought she saw some glint of amusement in his eyes.

  "Yes. Get a coat. It is brisk out, and Mr. Wentworth says it will rain."

  Carolly laughed and left in search of a shawl, her good humor inexplicably restored.

  ***

  “Tell me about your first life."

  Carolly sighed happily and let the wind blow her closer to James. “That's what I like about you. You know how to enjoy a peaceful walk in the woods. You don't let some meaningless bit of information rule your every waking thought, pursuing it like a dog after a bone."

  James didn't answer except to take her arm to help her over a thick tree root. They were wandering through the woods near his home, listening to the toads and the whispering leaves. When he finally did speak, his voice was pleasant and urbane, its low masculine notes blending perfectly with the higher-pitched gurgle of a nearby stream.

  "I wonder why you so studiously avoid speaking of it. Is it perhaps because there is nothing to tell?"

  "I avoid talking about it because I don't like thinking about it." She sighed, swinging herself around an aging birch. "Very well. I'll talk, but only because I feel good tonight."

  He seemed vaguely startled. "You do?”

  "Yes. It's a beautiful night, I'm in a deep, dark, enchanted wood, and I'm with a rakishly handsome pirate. How could I refuse anyone anything?”

  He stiffened slightly. "I am certainly no pirate, Carolly, and I sincerely doubt the Traynern wood would be so un-British as to be enchanted."

  Carolly felt laughter bubble out of her, flowing easily from her heart. "My goodness, James, I believe you have a sense of humor."

  "Only when conversing with Bedlamites."

  She swung back around the tree trunk to come nearly eye to eye with him. “Then I hope you are surrounded by madwomen until the end of your days."

  He pressed his hand against his lips in horror, then let it slip to his heart as he began an earnest plea to heaven. "I swear, my Lord God, I swear by all that is holy, that I will donate five thousand, no ten thousand pounds to the church if only you will keep this wretched fate from me!"

  This time there was no stopping Carolly's laughter. It surrounded them as sweetly as the night air as they continued meandering through the wood.

  "You still have not answered my question," he said.

  "Answered your question? Why don't you just say, ‘Tell me what I want to know or I'll break your legs?’ A threat should work."

  James slowed, clearly insulted. "I am a gentleman, Carolly."

  "I know. Mote's the pity." Then she sighed with more feeling than she wanted to admit having.

  Realizing she was joking, James chuckled and put his arm around her waist, guiding her over a rough part in their makeshift trail. "Carolly—"

  "Oh, all right. What do you want to know about my past life?”

  "Anything. Everything. Did you have any brothers or sisters?”

  "I know what you're doing, you know. I warn you, James, you're about to get more than you bargained for."

  "I will ende
avor to survive."

  The hazy moonlight played in his dark hair while the wind tousled it from its customary perfection. He seemed relaxed. More relaxed, in fact, than he'd been all day. But Carolly knew his easiness was deceptive. He had never been more alert, never more dangerous than now.

  She tugged at a maple leaf, yanking it off a tree. Could she tell him everything? She had never told anyone everything before. Not since her second life when they'd locked her up in a loony bin for it.

  But there was something about James, something that got to her down deep and made her want to explain. Actually, it was more than that. When she was with him, she wanted to tell him all about everything so that together they could figure out her entire messed-up, confused life. Lives. Except she also wasn't sure she wanted to expose all her failings to him. His opinion mattered much more than it should.

  She glanced at James. He waited patiently for her decision, his face stoic, but his eyes—those hard, black eyes—challenging her to tell him everything.

  She looked away. She'd already told James she was going to be an angel—what harm could there be in the rest? It might be nice, after ten years, to finally have a confidant.

  "I had a sister," she began. "Her name was Janice. She reminds me of you." She paused. "Or you remind me of her."

  He cocked an eyebrow at her, so she elaborated.

  "She was so serious and shy. Always studied, never played."

  "And what did you do to torture her?"

  She grinned. "Same thing I do to you. I forced her to go to parties."

  "She did not like them?" He seemed surprised a girl would refuse parties.

  Carolly turned so that she faced him. "Actually, James, once I got her there she always had a great time. It was just the 'getting there' part that was a pain in the tookas."

  “The what?"

  "Pain in the ass, James. Tush. Butt. Hindquarters." She started walking along, shaking her rear for emphasis. She grinned when she heard his strangled choke.

  "Your language is most colorful." His voice was clearly strained.

  "You should have heard me in my last incarnation," she said over her shoulder. "I was downright disgraceful."