A Night of Angels

by Andersen, Maggi

  “Perhaps she wished to impress her family with the fine clothes. People do.”

  “Perhaps,” she agreed doubtfully.

  “Did you like her?” he asked. “Were you friends?”

  She blinked. “Friends? No. She was the governess…” She met his gaze with defiance. “I liked how she was with Andreas. She could manage him because there was something childish about her, too. She loved him and I trusted her for that reason. But we were not close. To be frank, I found her a rather silly person. We had little to do with each other beyond daily discussions about Andreas’s needs.” She swallowed. “But I am sorry she is dead. So sorry…”

  She frowned, her wayward mind taking her back to a previous point. “She was coming back to us, surely, if she got as far as Whalen. Perhaps she just wanted a spell of luxury, of being treated like a princess.” She sighed. “And she was. We were both attacked, although she paid the ultimate price.”

  “You think she was killed in your place? Why?”

  “To get to Andreas.”

  Lampton leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees “Who would want to hurt a child?” he said intensely. “Who would follow you here from Vienna just to murder your son?”

  She took a deep breath. “Rheinwald is a small principality, but it is wealthy and uniquely untouched by the late war. My father-in-law and my husband saw to that by changing sides whenever required. It will be given to one bigger country or another as spoils or compensation and our independence will be gone. But not our wealth. The title of prince is an old one; it was not bestowed by Bonaparte, and so Andreas will probably keep that along with considerable personal wealth. If he lives.” A shudder shook her. She strained her ears for sounds of his high, childish voice, his running footsteps in the passage outside.

  She met Lampton’s gaze. “I went to the emperor’s hunting party with Alfred, my brother-in-law, on his advice, in order to bring my son to the notice of those who make those large decisions. Little countries like ours, or even larger ones, have no say in the peace congress that will affect us all. I needed the backing of the great powers to maintain Andreas’s patrimony in some form. By then we had given up on maintaining an independent principality, but he could still be a wealthy nobleman.”

  “A hunting party,” Lampton repeated. “Then you were shot by accident?”

  She shrugged, then wished she hadn’t as her wound complained. “So everyone told me. But honestly, if you had been there, you would have seen exactly how unlikely that was. All the kings, emperors, and princes were there in the Vienna woods, lined up in a row, with guns, most of them bleary-eyed and nauseous from the excesses of the night before. Then the animals were released from cages to be shot by their majesties and highnesses. More slaughter than hunt, but the point is, I was behind them. How could they have shot me by accident or design?”

  Lampton didn’t blink. “Then who did shoot you?”

  “I don’t know. Alfred, perhaps. My brother-in-law. I wasn’t watching him at the time, but I doubt he would have risked that. More likely one of his minions. In any case, for the reputation of the congress, it was all brushed under the carpet. I was assured of the emperor’s support, and that of the kings of Saxony, Prussia, and Bavaria, for Andreas to retain his lands. But I could not stay in Vienna. Or go home.”

  “And so, you came to England…why here? Why Blackhaven?”

  “For the waters. I thought they might help me heal.”

  Dr. Lampton curled his lip. “Even in Vienna the myth of the Blackhaven waters is perpetrated?”

  “An English lady told me about them when she advised me to come here. It’s nonsense, of course, she said, but it gives you an innocuous reason to be there and it is a pleasant place to lose oneself. If you go for the festive season, say ‘Merry Christmas’ to my brother, Lord Tamar.”

  “The mysterious Lady Anna,” Lampton murmured.

  “You know her?”

  “No, but she caused quite a stir when she visited Tamar.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “She walks through all the politics and intrigues of Vienna with a very sure tread. Some men—and women—call her dangerous. But she and her husband were kind to me.”

  For an instant, his eyes softened, almost as if he had seen just how much she had needed that kindness at that moment.

  “It was Sir Lytton Lewis who helped us escape Vienna,” she blurted.

  “Escape,” Lampton repeated thoughtfully.

  “Flee, if you prefer,” Elizabeth said tiredly. “I would not risk my son a moment longer there. No one should have known we’d gone for a few days. I think it worked, for even the secret police didn’t follow us, and neither did… Until now.”

  “Who left with you?” Lampton asked. “Andreas? Your two maidservants? Miss Hale?”

  She nodded. “And Hans the coachman. Although I sent him home when we entered France. He has family.”

  “And Miss Hale is the reason you all speak English so well.”

  She stared at him, suddenly realizing all over again what was going on. “And who are you to interrogate me, Dr. Lampton?” she asked with contempt.

  He met her gaze. For an instant, a storm seemed to rage behind his eyes and then his lashes came down, unexpectedly long and thick, and when he lifted them again, his expression was veiled and cynical once more.

  “No one,” he said.

  And then, at last, she heard the sound she’d been longing for, the excited, carrying voice of her son. She let out a sob before she could help it, and the doctor’s hand covered hers on her lap, preventing her from rising.

  There was a confused moment when she stared at him, thrown by the sudden intimacy, the firm warmth of his touch. She couldn’t breathe. And then the door burst open. His hand left hers, and Andreas hurled himself across the room.

  “Mama! Mama! It’s snowing!” he exclaimed. “May we go out again? May we?”

  She swallowed, catching him against her good side and thanking God with silent fervor for his safety. Beside that massive fact, any other problem faded to nothing.

  When she looked up again, Dr. Lampton had gone.

  Chapter Five

  Lampton left because he could not trust himself. Her story sounded like melodramatic nonsense, lies or mere fantasy constructed around an injury and a dead body no one could account for. And yet, he believed her.

  He could not trust that belief, that faith in her, for he had quite suddenly recognized her strange effect on him. Watching her troubled countenance as she told her story, watching the expressions flit across her lovely face, the occasional agitated movements of her hands, her full, rosy lips forming the words, an ache began to spread from his chest down into the pit of his belly, and he wanted very badly to hold her. To stroke her shining, midnight hair and kiss that seductive mouth. And more. Much more. Desire flooded him, forcing him at last to recognize his physical attraction to her.

  His lust was utterly inappropriate for so many reasons. She was his patient. And possibly a murderess. And around her, he couldn’t trust his judgment. He had been celibate too long. And even before that…there had been first love and disillusionment. Then there had been wild oats, and then Mary, only Mary…

  As he strode from the hotel, shame and disgust surged up from his toes, swamping him. He barely noticed the snow until some urchin threw a snowball at him. Without even turning, he swiped up some snow from a window sill, crushed it into a ball, and threw it over his shoulder. Someone squawked, but it wasn’t the boy he’d meant it for. Something very like laughter tried to force its way up his throat, and yet, none of this was remotely funny.

  His restless stride had carried him around Church Road, as if that was always where he intended to go. It would do as well as any other. He went to the vicarage to check on Kate.

  He found Grant first, busily writing in his study, though he looked up and smiled when Lampton walked in.

  “So, you are polishing your sermon,” Lampton accused.

  “Just adding a li
ne or two about patience with grumpy friends. Have you come to see Kate? She’s gone out with the ladies from the castle.”

  “Well, I suppose that answers my question. She is still well.”

  “Tired,” Grant allowed. “But refusing to give in. Which reminds me, I believe she was going to plead for your escort this evening. I am promised to the veterans’ shelter and won’t get there until the reception is finished. Probably.”

  “Loathe as I am to disappoint Kate—”

  “You don’t go to parties,” Grant interrupted. “I know. But you might go to this one, since you’ve already danced with our resident princess.”

  Lampton scowled. “What has that to say to anything?”

  “It is the princess’s reception,” Grant explained. “From five o’clock this afternoon.”

  “Is it?” Lampton said grimly, thinking of her wound before the meaning behind his friend’s words penetrated. He eyed Grant with dislike and threw himself into a wing-backed chair to scowl in comfort. “I’m sure Kate will come home with offers made on behalf of all the castle gentlemen to escort her.”

  “She would rather go with you.”

  Lampton raised one skeptical eyebrow.

  Grant smiled and put his pen back in its stand. “Very well. I would rather she went with you.”

  Lampton met his gaze. “She is well, Tris.”

  “I know. But this is a joy she—we—never expected. I could not bear it to be taken from her.”

  “No,” Lampton agreed.

  “Christ, I’m sorry.” Grant dragged his hand through his hair in frustration. “Are all your patients so damned selfish?”

  “Oh, most are considerably worse.” Lampton stood up. “And of course, I shall take Kate if she can bear the sight of my grumpy countenance.”

  “You don’t have to be grumpy,” Grant confided. “The princess is very beautiful.”

  Lampton curled his lip. “Are you getting your own back for Mary’s matchmaking in your bachelor days?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Grant said loftily.

  “Do you think she would take me as her lover?” Lampton mocked. “Because a village doctor is most certainly not husband material for a princess.” Supposing she even was a princess.

  The thought stopped him with his hand already resting on the study door. He stared back at Grant without seeing him. A physician was most certainly not an eligible partner for a princess. But for a governess…

  “What?” Grant asked.

  Lampton laughed, shaking his head. “Nothing. My brain is addled, and it’s all your fault.”

  Elizabeth only remembered about her reception when luncheon was brought up by the hotel servants and reference made to her catering needs for later in the afternoon.

  Lise exclaimed. “Oh, Madame, you will have to cancel!”

  “Nonsense,” Elizabeth said stoutly.

  “But the doctor said—”

  “The doctor said a lot of things,” Elizabeth interrupted. “None of which I like. The reception will go ahead. I shall merely recline on my sofa like an empress and oblige my guests come to me to be welcomed.” She turned back to the hotel servant. “I believe I will need anther of your liveried men, if one can be spared?”

  He bowed. “Of course.”

  Elizabeth sustained an interview with Mr. Winslow, which turned out to be much less taxing and much more civil than Lampton’s questioning. She gave the magistrate the address of Miss Hale’s brother in Yorkshire, and asked him to enclose the note of condolence she had written earlier, when he sent for Mr. Hale to identify the body.

  The afternoon wore on. The snow did not last and the bright, enticing white of the ground began to vanish in the rain which followed. Andreas stopped agitating to go out again and consented to be read stories by his mother and play jackstraws with his nurse. Lise rummaged among Elizabeth’s clothes to find a suitable, loose-fitting gown that could be worn without stays.

  In the end, they decided upon one of the lightest white muslin with gold embroidery around the hem. Lise left it unlaced, since Elizabeth did not plan to move while her guests were present, and draped her in a fine red and gold shawl.

  “There,” Lise said with satisfaction. “Even the doctor cannot complain. Now, let me dress your hair.”

  Andreas had been well-warned that he must stay in his own bedchamber with Gretchen, while Lise smuggled him delicious morsels from the trays brought up from the hotel kitchen. Even so, Elizabeth suffered a few nasty moments whenever strangers entered through the open door to the passage—especially the gypsy fiddler hired by the hotel at her request two days ago. But the fiddler showed no interest in anything but his violin and stayed in his corner playing jolly music and well-known carol tunes. And the unknown gentlemen all came straight to her, escorting ladies she did know, and all spoke with perfect English accents.

  Was it always going to be like this? In constant fear for Andreas’s life? Yes, probably, as long as Alfred lived. Unless she legally gave up all Andreas’s claims in Rheinwald. And that went against the grain. Not just because Rheinwald was his, but because he should not be bullied and intimidated out of his rights. It was simply wrong. As for leaving the people of the country in Alfred’s hands…perhaps there was a blessing in losing independence, though God knew what constrictions, if any, would be placed on him.

  All this flitted through her mind as she welcomed her guests and smiled and conversed with all her usual liveliness. Perhaps more, for nervous energy surged through her. All that kept her seated in one place was the knowledge that her gown was likely to fall around her ankles if she stood up.

  “How good of you to come! Forgive me for not rising,” she said to everyone. The liveried man at the door was under instructions to direct the guests to her with the words that the princess was a trifle indisposed but delighted to receive her guests. Gentlemen brought her glasses of spiced wine from the large, crystal punch bowl, and delicacies from the platters set out on the table.

  Sir Anthony Cairney, a gentleman she had met at the theatre and took to be a confirmed rake, leaned over the back of her sofa, murmuring amusing commentaries—and probably calumnies—in her ear. When opportunity rose, he took the place beside her on the sofa. He vied for the spot most frequently with another gentleman who seemed equally smitten if in a more respectable manner.

  Elizabeth dismissed them both summarily in order to speak with the amusing Countess of Braithwaite. Although not remotely interested in pursuing any kind of deeper relationship with either of them, neither did she feel threatened by their attentions. She was a veteran of the Vienna Congress, where intrigues of the heart were at least as common as those of politics. There she had managed to evade the attentions of such powerful men and notorious philanderers as the Tsar of Russia and Prince Metternich, so a man of Cairney’s stamp, however charming, barely intruded upon her notice.

  Until half way through the reception, when Dr. Lampton walked in with Kate Grant on his arm.

  Her heart seemed to jolt into her stomach. His was one face she had not expected or wanted to see here. For one thing, it distracted her from her carefully polished role of gracious princess. For another, she had most certainly not forgiven his suspicions, his interrogations, or his trick with the dead body. She was only surprised he had managed to force himself over her doorway.

  She held up her hand to Kate with a warm smile. “Mrs. Grant, how glad I am to see you here. Are we not to have the pleasure of Mr. Grant’s company tonight?”

  “Alas, he has duties to attend to,” Kate mourned. “But I hear you are indisposed? How wretched for you. But I have brought just the man to help in such circumstances.”

  Elizabeth barely spared him a glance and a distant nod. “Dr. Lampton.” She turned at once back to Kate, patting the seat beside her. “I’m sure he deserves an hour without the sick and indisposed. Come, sit by me and tell me how you will spend Christmas Eve.”

  Kate sat willingly enough and Lampton sauntered away.
Elizabeth suspected a contemptuous smile lurked on his lips, or at least in his eyes, but she refused to look. The man had upset her equilibrium enough.

  Sir Anthony Cairney appeared in front of them and clapped his hand over his heart. “What rare beauty to discover side by side,” he declaimed.

  “Ah, you are acquainted with the vicar’s wife,” Elizabeth said mischievously. “Mrs. Grant.”

  He looked startled as she had intended. “No, but…” He tailed off, frowning as he looked at Kate more closely. “Actually, yes, I am sure we have met, though I cannot recall where just at present.”

  “Neither can I,” Kate said kindly. “You seem like a man of London fashion, so I expect it was there.” She turned back to Elizabeth. “Our plans are simple, and I hope you will join us, if the very thought does not bore you! We are taking the children to play on the beach—whatever the weather!—then back to the vicarage for tea. The children might help us decorate it for Christmas. Tris and I will then go to a charity dinner before the midnight Christmas service in the church.”

  “What a round of dissipation,” Cairney murmured.

  “Oh, if it’s dissipation you want, you might try the tavern,” Kate said sweetly. “Or the slightly more refined Christmas Eve ball in the hotel. And, of course, the Assembly Room ball on the 26th, which is a charitable event.”

  “I’m not sure I could fit in such a hectic schedule.”

  “One wonders why you came to Blackhaven,” Elizabeth said. “Did you imagine it was some northern London?”

  “No. To be frank, I expected considerably less than I have found. I brought my mother to drink the waters and am quite determined to suffer for my selflessness for the entire Christmas season.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t help smiling at that. “What a paragon you are, sir. I shall allow you to fetch me another glass of wine. And one for Mrs. Grant.”

  As Cairney bowed and strolled off to do their bidding, Kate leaned a little closer. “I should be careful of his admiration if I were you. He is quite notorious. Not malicious but damaging all the same.”