The child flushed a dusky purple, flashed Carolly a grin, then scrambled out of her seat. "Well, I best be getting back to my lessons. I will see you later, shan't I?"
Carolly grinned, amazed at Mags's bright spirit. It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had been little more than a sulking lump two months ago.
"Carolly?” Mags prompted.
"Of course I'll be here, sweetheart. I guess I'm going to be your mother now."
"Oh, it will be wonderful!" enthused the girl. "I shall be your bridesmaid, and we shall have the most beautiful gowns. And Uncle will be the most handsome man alive, and—"
"I believe you mentioned studies," interrupted James.
Margaret grimaced, then dropped a quick kiss on Carolly's cheek before she dashed away.
Carolly laughed, her spirits fully restored despite James's glower. "She's going to be a handful in a few years," she commented, inordinately pleased at the thought.
"She is a handful now."
Carolly turned to James, wondering at his foul mood. Surely he didn't regret last night, did he? She took worried bites of her toast, then finally dredged up the courage to ask, "James, do you wish perhaps to withdraw your offer? I understand if you've changed your mind about marrying me." She wouldn't, of course, but she had learned there were some things one had to accept gracefully.
She waited in silence, closing her eyes when the moment stretched to minutes. Her heart beat faster and faster within her; then she jumped as she felt a hand gently lift her chin. She opened her eyes to see James poised above her, pulling her upward into his embrace.
"James?” Her voice trembled as she stood.
"Nothing between us has changed. And I could never regret last night. Ever." He sealed his statement with a kiss. It was powerful, intense, urgent, and Carolly responded with the same fire James always seemed to ignite within her.
Then he pulled away.
"It is just these damned bells." He wandered to the window, his frown back in place.
Carolly watched him for a moment, seeing the rigid set to his shoulders, the concentrated stare as he scanned the lawn for some clue, and she felt the first tiny shiver of misgiving. "Are you afraid that it truly is Waterloo?" she asked.
"Do not be ridiculous."
She stepped forward, searching his face for some hint that she was wrong. But all she could see was his clenched jaw and the determined focus of his eyes. It was as if he tried to force the truth away by the power of his will alone. "You are afraid," she breathed. "You have had it in your mind that I am delusional—"
"What?"
"That I make up stories, and they become too real to me. But now it may be that I am right. That everything I have told you is correct, and you can't handle it."
He shifted, moving his body so he faced her more fully. His gaze remained steady and firm, almost as if he intended to force her to agree with him. "You cannot see the future, Carolly. I thought we established that last night."
She shook her head, fear rising in her throat. "No. You established that. I . . . I merely went along with it."
He grabbed her, gripping her arms almost desperately. "Carolly—"
"Your newspaper, my lord."
James's reaction was immediate. He dropped Carolly's arms as if she were poisonous, his entire attention drawn to the paper that Wentworth placed facedown on the table. "Thank you, Wentworth. You may go."
The butler's gaze flicked rapidly between her and James, no doubt memorizing the scene before he bowed and withdrew. Carolly didn't move.
"Don't touch it, James," she warned, her voice flat and hard. "Not unless you can accept that I was not wrong."
He ignored her, as she knew he would. Carolly watched him, her world suddenly moving in slow motion. He walked around the table and reached for the paper. Then he opened it. She heard the sharp intake of his breath as his eyes slowly widened and he began to read. She even saw the slight tremor in his arms as his hands began to shake.
She didn't have to see the words to know. Waterloo had occurred. Napoleon was vanquished. Wellington was a hero.
She was totally sane.
What a morning after, she thought with rising hysteria. No flowers. No good-morning kisses. Just the firm belief that she was daft despite mounting evidence to the contrary. What kind of man wished for his wife to be crazy?
"How did you know this?" His voice was harsh and uncompromising.
"I have already told you that."
He whirled toward her, his face contorted. His confusion made him angry. "Are you some sort of spy?"
She gaped at him. "A spy?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she said, "That's right, James. I'm a French spy sneaking about in Staffordshire predicting Napoleon's humiliating defeat. Too bad my carrier pigeon died, otherwise the grand emperor would have known to go to Spain."
James's hands clenched, crumpling the newspaper. "How could you have known this?"
"How could you not know it?" She bit her lip, fighting back tears. "You say you love me, and yet you could not accept the truth I spoke all along."
"You are not what you said!" he roared.
She nodded, her tears flowing freely despite her efforts to restrain them. "Yes, I am." She angrily wiped her tears away, her hands shaking with emotion. She loved him. She had given up everything for him, and yet, despite all they had between them, he couldn't accept who she was.
"You'd think I'd have learned by now," she said bitterly. "After so many lives I should know people can't accept anything outside of their little realities."
He looked away from her as if shielding himself from the sight. "I cannot discuss this right now. I need to think."
"Think? You need to think?” She stepped forward, her hands clenched. She beat the table between them. "How are you going to explain this, James? What other logical explanation will you find for this? For me?"
He shook his head, still turned away from her. "I do not know, but I will find it."
She stared at him, seeing his averted face, hearing the ragged edge to his voice as he fought with her reality. She didn't even wait to see the end. She knew she would lose.
"Fine, James," she finally said, each word hard. "You go think. Go reason and plan and find some way to fit me into your little world." She whirled around, heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" His voice was as harsh as hers had been.
She spun back, glaring at him. "I'm going to church, James. I'm going there to pray for my sins. And then," she said, taking one step closer to him, "I'm going to decide if I ever want to come back to you."
She left, whipping past Wentworth to storm out the front door. Her steps didn't slow until she sailed past the circular drive and was firmly headed toward the church bells. Her feet pounded the ground, beating out a rapid tempo of hurt and frustration.
He had turned away from her! He couldn't even look at her.
She clutched at her chest and tried to suppress a sob. Then she gave up the struggle, letting her tears flow freely as she stormed her way toward town.
It wasn't until she was half a mile down the road that she realized she had been a fool. Not about James, but about her departure. She had left so impetuously, she hadn't stopped to think. She had no money, no transportation, and she hadn't even changed her slippers to boots. Each pebble, each tiny rut in the road ate away at her thin footwear until very soon she would have nothing but her bare and bleeding feet.
She sighed, feeling the weight of her existence as never before. Would she ever be able to toss it aside in favor of angel wings? Would she forever be doomed to fighting human misconceptions, and her own rash stupidity?
Kicking a stone out of her path, she winced at the pain it brought. At least the day was warm. And she was fully dressed, except for her absent corset. The villagers would not harm her, especially since they were probably in a good mood after her festival.
She resumed her dogged path toward the church, wondering what she would do now. She
doubted she could still become an angel. Despite James's reaction this morning, she still felt bound to him. She loved him. Despite his rigid nineteenth century mindset, despite his arrogance and his formality, despite everything, she still loved him.
And she was still irrevocably tied to him. She had been willing to give up everything for him.
Besides, her lascivious actions last night clearly demonstrated she was not quite ready to become a chaste heavenly creature.
So, what did she do now? Their marriage was apparently in her mind only. She doubted he would go through with the formalities of making it legal, especially when he couldn't even bear to look at her.
Carolly kicked another stone. As far as she was concerned, her only hope now lay in divine intervention. She prayed for it. She wished for it. She even begged for it, but she didn't truly believe she would receive it. If God were in the habit of explaining Himself, she would have had a number of conversations with Him over her last few lives.
Thus she experienced considerable shock when, moments later, a rescuer did appear. Especially since it was Garrett on his brown thoroughbred stallion.
"Caroline! Have you lost your wits?"
“That isn't funny," she commented dryly, continuing her steady pace toward the bells.
"You cannot walk to town alone. At least ride with me. I can carry you wherever you wish to go."
Carolly winced as she trod upon another sharp stone. His offer truly appealed, even though he'd been such a cad. Her feet were already sore, and she had a good distance to go. "I don't know, Garrett," she said slowly. Then she stopped and put her hands on her hips as she squinted past the sun at his eyes. "Are you going to try another seduction?”
She was gratified to see his face flush, turning even his ears a dusky red. "No," he said in a cold voice. "I shall not touch you other than is absolutely necessary."
Carolly nodded, greatly relieved. "Then I accept your most gracious offer."
His face broke into a boyish grin. She merely sighed, remembering her ride on Shadow, her arms wrapped around an entirely different man.
Still, Garrett was being most gracious, and she should treat him accordingly. Putting on her best smile, she grabbed hold of the saddle and lifted herself up. With Garrett's help, she soon sat in front of him, awkwardly perched half on his thighs, half on the saddle. It was incredibly uncomfortable, and she silently prayed the ride would go quickly.
Garrett started with a sedate walk as she anchored herself against him.
"Are you secure?" he asked, his mouth close enough to her nose that she could detect the brandy lacing his breath.
"As secure as possible."
"Good." Then, with a sudden laugh, he turned his horse off the main road and kicked it into a gallop. Carolly screamed, throwing her arms around him to keep from flying off her awkward perch.
"What are you doing?" she screamed. But he merely laughed louder, hauling her tighter against him as he pushed his horse to greater speeds.
Carolly groaned. She felt every pounding hoof as if it were beating itself into her rear. She thought briefly of releasing Garrett and just allowing herself to be bounced right off the saddle, but one look at the speeding landscape convinced her otherwise. They were riding too fast, too hard. She would be lucky to survive a fall at this speed.
Perhaps this was the divine intervention she had asked for, she thought with a weird sort of disconnection. She could easily end this incarnation now. She would fall backward, probably break her neck, and then she would start over. Another life, another chance to get it right. That was what she was being given.
But she couldn't do it. Last night, she had committed herself to James. She had promised to live out her life with him, for better or for worse. She couldn't abandon him or her life just because things were horrible right now.
She couldn't.
So she clutched Garrett, cursing him with every breath, while a partially planted field sped by.
"Slow down, Garrett!" she screamed. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"Not yet, my dear," he bellowed back, his voice exultant. "Not just yet."
"What?" His words made no sense.
They rode on, over meadows, through fields, skirting the woods but remaining close to their tall, dark presence. She could no longer hear the bells ringing over the heavy beat of his horse. "I was going to church," she yelled at him.
"Things change."
"But—"
"Silence!"
She looked back at him then. She twisted as far as she dared and stared at his face. He was different, and yet more true than ever before. His expression was fierce, ecstatic, and purposeful, all at once—a far cry from his usual vague charm. He looked down at her, and she felt a shiver travel up her spine.
"Garrett?”
He merely grinned at her, and suddenly she reconsidered falling off the horse. But he tightened his grip, and she was locked in place as firmly as if she were chained. Despite Garrett's dandy exterior, he possessed alarming strength.
Glancing about her at the shifting landscape, she felt the pieces fall into place. She assembled motive, opportunity, and means, and the concept left her more frightened than ever before. “Where are you taking me?" she demanded
He lifted his chin, jerking ahead at a dark, bare strip of land.
The mines.
"Someone will see you."
He shook his head. "You had James close it down completely for the week, remember? Because of the festival. Paid wages for the miners, too."
She swallowed, knowing he was right. And with everyone celebrating Waterloo, no one would think to look for one madwoman who had stormed out of the earl's house.
"Garrett, think about what you're doing. There has to be another way."
He shook his head, but his eyes gleamed. "I have been thinking." He grinned at her. "And this is the only way."
He reined in his horse just outside a black reinforced hole in the side of a hill: the mine entrance. Carolly was braced to run the moment his horse stopped, but she was too bruised, her muscles too slow. Garrett was on his feet, a pistol in his hand, as she fell to the ground.
"Get up," he ordered.
"I can't," she lied, pretending her legs were too stiff, too hurt. Maybe if he got close enough she could punch him or something. But he had known her too long to be deceived. He lifted his pistol and aimed.
"Get up now or I will shoot you here and drag your lifeless body into the mines. It matters not to me."
But it did matter to Carolly, and so she stood, her battered muscles protesting every inch of the way. "Why kill me, Garrett? I have done nothing to you."
He laughed mercilessly as he waved her into the black hole. "You are going to marry James."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," she said glumly. Good Lord, she realized with shock; her last conversation with James had been an argument. If Garrett killed her now, James would think she had run off and abandoned him.
"Walk!"
Carolly bit her lip, choking back a panicked scream. She never had liked dark, ominous-looking holes. She liked them even less when a man stood behind her aiming a pistol at her back.
"What if I promised not to marry him?" she offered. Given the way they'd parted, she thought that extremely likely.
Garrett's only response was a merciless laugh.
Carolly started walking. It was amazing what she noticed as she took those first few steps into the mine. She didn't see the darkness, didn't truly feel the cold, damp air that seemed to surround her. Instead, she noticed a single leaf. Some weed, actually—straggly, pathetic, and not very green. But she knew she would remember it forever as she wondered if it would be the last living thing besides Garrett she would see in this lifetime.
This lifetime. The word echoed in her mind as she turned to Garrett. "You can't really kill me," she said, latching on to the thought. "I'm already dead. See, I'm sort of a pre—" He shoved her forward, and she stumbled onto her knees in the din.
"Keep walking," he growled.
So much for that idea, she thought glumly. She rose slowly to her feet, then took only two tiny steps forward, resorting to the oldest line in the book: "You won't get away with this, you know. You'll be locked up. Jailed. But if you let me go now, I swear I won't have you arrested."
Garrett ignored her, his attention centered on lighting the candle perched on the top of a nineteenth-century equivalent of a hardhat. She considered running, but her only choices were to try and get past him—not a very likely scenario—or to run blindly into the black hole of the mine where she would certainly get lost. She opted to remain where she was, at least for the moment. Maybe she could still reach Garrett.
"I bet," she said conversationally, "that if we really thought about it, I'm sure we could work something out. What exactly do you want?"
He held the hat and candle before him, its light making his eyes almost maniacal in the surrounding darkness. His eyes were quite a beautiful blue, she realized, and yet she saw no soul there that she could touch. No remorse, no regret. Only a hunger for something that did not belong to him.
"What do I want?" he asked softly. "I want my inheritance. I want all of this . . ." His expansive gesture encompassed not only the mine, but the surrounding lands and more.
"But killing me won't get you that. James . . ." She cut off her words, but she could not stop the thought, and he must have read the horror on her face.
"That’s right. It all belongs to James. But not for long." Then he put on his hat and gestured with his pistol, pushing her forward. She hesitated, but she knew she would only remain alive as long as it was convenient for him. The moment she began causing too much trouble, he would quickly kill her.
She began walking. "Garrett, I'm sure James would not leave you penniless."
"Penniless? No. He will drop me some pittance as long as he is alive."
She pulled at her lower lip, thinking aloud. "But you want more than that?"
"I deserve more," he said softly.
She didn't have time to inquire exactly why he thought he was owed a living. He pointed her down a ladder braced against what looked to her like a hole into total darkness. But she didn't have a choice, and so she went, her every footstep as slow and cautious as she dared. And while she moved, he knelt over the hole, a bright spot of light gleaming off of a dull grey pistol, speaking casually to her as if they were sharing tea.
Almost an Angel Page 27