Angelina (21 page)

“Thank you, God for restoring to me this most precious of gifts,” she said humbly.

* * * *

“I’m sorry, My Lady.” Clara was near to tears as she picked up the hairbrush. “I couldn’t get here any sooner.”

Angelina stilled the strokes of the brush. “You’re upset. Has my sister been rude to you?”

Her maid flinched when she reached out to touch a red mark on her face. Her eyes darkened. “Did she do this?”

Clara sniffed. “She said she didn’t like the style and made me do it all over again. It took ages to do all them curls again because her hair’s frizzy at the ends. Still, she wasn’t satisfied.” Clara began to weep. “She said I was making her look ugly on purpose so you’d outshine her at the ball. I told her nothing would make her better looking than you.”

“And she slapped you.” Handing her a handkerchief, Angelina smothered a grin. “I’ll make her apologise to you.”

Clara eyes widened in fright. “Beggin’ your pardon, My Lady. I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, and if I don’t get you ready on time I’ll be in more trouble.”

“You’d better arrange it in my usual style then, Clara, I doubt if there’s time for the one we planned.

“I can manage,” Clara muttered, her fingers deftly divided her hair into sections. “I’m not about to give that madam the advantage, not while I still live and breath.”

There were two minutes to spare when Clara finished. Angelina gave her reflection an approving glance, and Clara a smile of thanks. Her hair had been curled, then drawn up into a circle of creamy silk-petalled flowers at the crown of her head. Small tendrils curled around her face, a longer one was arranged to curl about her shoulder and neck. Shaking her shimmering skirts into fullness she made her way to the door.”

“Your birthday gift, My Lady.”

 “She planted a quick kiss on her servant’s cheek as the necklet was clasped around her throat and the ring slid onto her finger. Then she was speeding through the corridor and down the stairs.

Her mother frowned when she hurried into the ballroom so she slowed to a sedate walk. She grinned in triumph when the clock chimed the hour, and was the recipient a faint congratulatory grin from Celine.

Her family looked splendid, the men cut handsome figures in their wigs and fine attire. Her face suddenly fell and she exclaimed. “I’ve forgotten my fan.”

“You’ll have to survive without it then,” Elizabeth said tartly.

Her father glanced around him in annoyance as the first guest was announced. “Where’s Rosabelle?”

“I’ll go and find her,” William offered.

“No” He exchanged a greeting with the guest before introducing Angelina. “She can account for her lack of manners later. I’ll not have Angelina’s introductions spoiled.”

Angelina could have done without the introductions, which seemed to go on for ever. She doubted if she’d be able to remember a single name, except for those she’d met previously in London.

Nicholas Snelling was embarrassingly voluble in his praise of her appearance. He recited a long and tedious poem which he’d composed especially for her birthday.

“Thank you, My Lord,” she managed to interpose when he paused for breath. “I’m honoured, and very pleased you could come.”

Nicholas made no move to go, even though the line of guests waiting to be

announced at the top of the marble staircase was growing longer. “You’re lucky to see me at all. I was set upon by a vicious rogue on my way here, and robbed.”

“The highwayman?” The earl’s face lost its long-suffering expression. “I trust you were not hurt.”

“I managed to fight him off,” Nicholas said with false modesty “The fellow did not get all I carried.” He tapped the side of his nose with the silver-topped cane. “The bulk of my coin was secreted in a compartment in my saddle.”

“That was cunning of you,” the earl signalled the footman to announce the next guest. “We will talk about this later, My Lord? I must not keep the other guests waiting.”

“Of course.” Thrusting the poem into Angelina’s fingers Nicholas placed a hand over his heart, gave her a soulful look and passed into the ballroom.

“Sweet Jesus!” William whispered in her ear. “Make sure I do not have a surfeit of wine. I might be tempted to ask the popinjay to dance.” 

Angelina’s quiet giggle earned an amused glance from the earl. “You know, Lord Lynnbury of course, Angelina.”

Rafe looked wickedly handsome in dark blue brocade and ruffled lace. Her eyes widened when she stared at him and warmth filled her heart. “How splendid you look, My Lord.”

Rafe gazed at her with pained amusement. “Are you saying I usually resemble a vagabond?”

The regard in his eyes made her feel breathless and confused. “Indeed not. I was merely complimenting you.”

“Then I forgive you.” He bore her gloved hand to his lips, murmuring with a grin. “What a tiresome creature you are. It’s my duty to compliment you, not the other way around.”

“Then pray do so,” she whispered. “You are holding up the queue.”

“Alas, your appearance is so exquisitely beautiful I cannot find words poetic enough to do you justice.”

“Thank, God,” William muttered, thinking how pretty Angelina looked when she blushed. “Nicholas Snelling has spouted enough poetry at her to last a lifetime.”

“Who am I to attempt to compete with such an accomplished bard?” His green-flecked eyes caught and held hers for few, delicious moments. “Don’t forget, Angel. I’ve booked at least ten dances, and insist on taking you in to supper.”

“You have only booked two,” she admonished.

“Then reserve me another eight.”

She tore her eyes away from his at her mother’s delicate cough. “Go away, Rafe. I always end up in trouble when you’re around.”

“Until later.” Bestowing on Elizabeth his slow, beautiful smile, and receiving a reproving shake of the head in reply, he passed on into the ballroom, leaving Angelina to be introduced to the Pallister family.

Just as the introduction was complete an audible stir rustled through the guests. Turning towards the staircase, breath hissed in Elizabeth’s throat.

Poised dramatically at the top of the stairs was Rosabelle, her gown a froth of scarlet flounces edged with gold. Its decolletage was revealing, the filmy gold scarf draped around it designed to draw the eye rather than detract. Her hair was swept into a cluster of blood red roses and threaded through with gold ribbons and rosebuds. Gazing with haughty languor at the crowd, her lips parted in a smile as she swayed to where the family stood and said. “I’ve arrived.”

“No one could doubt it,” William said under his breath.

The earl cleared his throat. “You’re late.”

Rosabelle shot her a narrowed-eyed glance as she took up station beside her. “I was dissatisfied with my hair, and had to engaged the services of Angelina’s maid to arrange it a third time.”

“Where did you get that gown?” Elizabeth muttered. “It’s totally unsuitable for a girl your age. And you’re wearing rouge!”

“Never mind that now,” the earl said testily. “Let’s get the guests in and start the dancing, or we shall be here all night.”

Angelina felt herself fade into invisibility with Rosabelle beside her. When the introductions were over her sister was quickly surrounded a crowd of young blades.

William offered her his arm. “Don’t look so crestfallen. Rosabelle is like a flame to the moths; the men she attracts are not the type I’d have you acquainted with.”

Angelina stole a glance at Will’s darkly handsome countenance. “Such brotherly solicitude is a little misplaced, Will. You’re the most enigmatic of men. I confess, I know you not at all.”

He returned her smile. “I don’t know myself well enough to enlighten you.”

Intrigued, she stared at him. “How can you not know yourself?”

 He led her on to the dance floor. “I seem to be in a perpetual struggle inside, like a storm. Sometimes I can love and hate the same thing with equal passion.”

“And you cannot control these passions?”

“Of course.” He smile was edged with sadness. “The problem is, I enjoy them.”

She shivered. “I hope you do not decide to dislike me.” 

“The truth is, sister, I’d rather have you for a friend than be your enemy.”

“So be it, Will.” Standing on tiptoe she gently kissed his cheek. “You shall be as dear to my heart as James is.”

Will’s expression became thoughtful as they continued the rest of the dance in silence. He gazed down at her when the music ended. “I hope you’re never forced to chose between brother’s then. I’m very different to James.”

“That will never happen,” she said quietly. “We’re bonded by blood ties.”

A sardonic smile played around William’s lips as he tried to squash the annoyingly warm feeling her words left in him. Obviously, she was unaware of the rancour existing between himself and Frey.

His glance played across the crowd as she began talking to a haughty looking dowager. It lingered on George Northbridge, who was gazing at Rosabelle and hardly bothering to conceal his desire. His eyes narrowed. If all went as planned the betrothal would be announced before the night was over.

Rafe Daventry was smiling politely at something Caroline Pallister was saying. The woman was as plain as sin, he thought dispassionately, then felt rather sorry for her as he watched her thin mouth open and close. Caroline was hung about with diamonds, as if to advertise her eligibility. The brilliant flashes she gave off when she moved were instantly assessable, and to his mind, totally vulgar. A man would have to be desperate to take her into his bed, despite her wealth. Would Rafe ever be that desperate?

When Rosabelle anxiously glanced his way, he smiled and patted the pocket where her note resided. After a while, he sauntered to where Rafe stood and drew him away from the braying Caroline.

   “I have a missive for you from Rosabelle.” He slipped the note into Rafe’s hand, warning. “A tryst with her is not in your best interest.”

Rafe slipped the note back, his voice chilly. “I’m surprised you’d imagine I’d insult my hosts by indulging in a secret assignation with your sister.”

“I imagine no such thing. I’m humouring Rosabelle and hoping to prevent her petitioning you directly, thus making a bigger fool of herself than she’s done already.”

“I misjudge you then, William.” Rafe gave a small, ashamed smile. “Thank you for the warning.” 

* * * *

Rafe was not booked to dance with Rosabelle until just before supper. There had been much comment about her dress and demeanour and he wasn’t looking forward to the encounter.  

Strolling to where Celine stood with James, Rafe offered his arm. “Would the most beautiful married lady in the room care to take a turn with her brother.”

“There are at least ten unattached females in this room, just dying to dance with you,” Celine scolded.

“Only ten?” He laughed as he drew Celine into the throng. “I must be losing my appeal.”

“Or losing interest,” Celine said slyly. “Can it be you’re interested in dancing with only one?”

“But which one?” He grinned, refusing to satisfy her inquisitiveness. “They’re all as pretty as dragonflies.”

“And you are as elusive as a fox,” she grumbled, trying not to smile. “Very well then. I shall not confide my news to you.”

Searching her face for a clue, Rafe saw only radiance in her eyes. A smile crept across his mouth. “Let me guess.” His finger found her chin and tipped her face up. “You’re blushing, my dear. Am I to become an uncle?”

“You most certainly are not.” This time Celine did blush. “At least, I think you are wrong.” She bestowed a mock frown upon her brother when he softly laughed. “My news is this. Mama has won a large fortune at cards, and father has taken her back.”

“Good, God!”  It was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “No doubt the Marquis will throw Mercy out again once the money has been spent.”

“She’s recovered the deeds to Monkscroft, and father has vowed to reform.” 

This time his laugh was bitter and disbelieving.

“You must seek a reconciliation with him, Rafe.”

His voice was practically a whiplash. “Never! His brutality drove my mother to her death.” He gazed stonily at her. “I’m surprised you plead his case with me, Celine. Does James sanction this petition?”

She lowered her eyes. “James does not know of it. Mama’s letter begged me to keep the matter secret. Our father is ill from his excesses, Rafe. You must reconcile with him.”

“Celine, my dear.” He gazed at her with troubled expression, unable to believe she would ask this of him. “I know you act out of love for your mother, but you mustn’t allow her to encourage you to deceive your husband. You must inform James of this contact with Mercy as soon as possible. If he considers it his duty to approach me on this, I promise to listen to what he has to say.”

“You’re wrong, Rafe. I act only because of my love for you. Will you promise to take James’ advice?”

“I promise only to consider it.” As he led her from the floor, he said. “I won’t tell James you’ve spoken of this with me.”

“Rafe?” Celine whispered, when he turned to go. “There is more. Papa has reconciled himself to my marriage. He’s now resolved to legally disown you and name any son I might bear as his heir. I beg you, seek a reconciliation with him.”

Sensing Mercy was behind such a move, his smile became slightly bitter. “He seeks to divide us, Celine, but he won’t succeed.” He gently kissed her cheek. “My love for you will endure unto death, come what may.”

He left her, striding up the marble staircase, through the brilliantly lit hall and out into the darkness of the garden to be alone with his thoughts. Leaning against a trunk of a tree he waited for his anger to subside. Gradually, his breathing slowed, the red haze engulfing his mind becoming less chaotic.

“Damn you, Mercy,” he said softly. “How a conniving slut like you could have given birth to someone as sweet as Celine is beyond reasoning.” At first he wondered at his anger, but as it ebbed he came to realise the reason for it. For years he’d denied Monkscroft estate and the title meant anything. Now he discovered he’d been lying to himself.

It was a matter of pride, of honour. If his father legally disinherited him, it would be the ultimate insult. He’d be publicly shamed, and for what reason? He scowled. He’d done nothing to deserve such treatment but stand up to his father’s bullying. Whatever James advised, he would not seek reconciliation with his father, and if he was disowned...? He shrugged. It was not within his father’s power to strip him of  Ravenswood or his present title, which was inherited from his paternal grandfather.