Angelina (24 page)

Elizabeth’s eyes were blazing when she turned. Her voice shook with the effort of controlling her fury. “Perhaps you’re right, Angelina. At this moment I wish I’d never set eyes on you.”

It seemed to Elizabeth that Angelina crumpled before her eyes. In a wounded voice, she whispered. “If the sight of me offends you I shall return forthwith to my estate in Sussex.” Turning her face into the corner, she burst into tears.

 Aghast at the callous way she’d crushed this most precious and vulnerable of her daughters, Elizabeth wavered between self-righteous indignation, anger, and guilt. Finally, she was forced to admit what Angelina had said was true. Frey’s existence was not her shame. The boy had been given no choice in his parentage.

As for having a heart of stone? She’d been forced to learn to control her feelings over the years. Once she’d been as passionate as Angelina, and now? Her lips twisted in an ironic smile. Unfortunately for Angelina, the girl had unleashed something she thought she’d conquered years ago - her own fiery nature.

Ruefully, she listened to Angelina’s gulping sobs, remembering a time when she’d also suffered such torment. There had been no mother to comfort her when she’d been wed to Thomas Wrey. Giving a murmur of distress she indicated to Celine to change places, then gathered Angelina into her arms.

“Hush, my baby,” she whispered, rocking her back and forth. “I spoke out of anger, not from the heart. I’d rather die than lose you.”

   After a little while Angelina’s sobs quieted and she raised her head. “I shouldn’t have spoken so rudely. I’m sorry, mama. I was so happy to see Frey again I did not stop to think how my action would affect others.”

“You spoke only the truth.” Elizabeth hesitated, deciding it wouldn’t hurt her to be more charitable. “If Frey truly saved your life I shall write and thank him for doing so.” Marvelling that she could finally bring herself to utter the boy’s name after all this time, she surprised herself even further by requesting. “Pray tell me of what occurred.”

“It will not pain you to hear me praise him?”

“It may,” she said, “But I have a feeling it may be good for my soul.”

* * * *

Elizabeth heard herself moan. The pain shafting through her body was jagged, it

knifed through her pelvis, gripping at her entrails. The smell of blood was warm and sweet in her nostrils. It was her own blood, and it stained the apron of the woman who stood between her splayed thighs. She arched her back, straining against the pain as the woman took her leg against her shoulder.

“Push, My Lady.”

Elizabeth grunted, her head thrashing from side to side with the effort. Perspiration poured from her body, slicked her shaking thighs. She’d not realised childbirth was such a long and messy business. Her fatigued body was given no quarter by the agony of her pain.

“Push!”

The pain became so strong that Elizabeth screamed out loud. Then there was a hot, slithering gush between her legs and she fell into blackness.

Later, the child she’d delivered was quiet in her arms. Her hair was a wisp of gold, like sunlight. Elizabeth knew her eyes would be green. She experienced a surge of deep love and her senses whirled with indescribable happiness.

“Rosabelle,” she whispered, then became confused. “No, she is called Angelina.” She gazed up at the woman and saw it was the gypsy. “Amber. Where’s my other daughter?”

“You have only one true daughter,” the gypsy said. “Your heart knows it.”

“You’re wrong.” Afraid to admit to the truth she closed her eyes against the gypsy’s power. “Angelina has a twin sister, her name is Rosabelle.”

“You have only one true daughter,” the gypsy insisted as Elizabeth cuddled Angelina to her. “Look at your child and tell me what you see now.”

Afraid to look, somehow she found the courage. Her eyes filled with horror when she gazed at the infant cuddled in her arms, and she shuddered with revulsion when she saw bold, black eyes staring back at her. “The child is a changeling,” she cried out. 

Turning her face from the child she saw Thomas standing in the doorway. He was smiling oddly at her. “Thomas where is Angelina,” she screamed over and over again. “What have you done with her?”

“Hush, mama, I am here.” 

Elizabeth jerked awake, and saw Angelina standing by her bed. Behind her the maid held a candle aloft. Her face was pale, her eyes frightened. “You was screaming something awful, My Lady. I couldn’t rouse you.”

“I was dreaming,” Elizabeth said vaguely. Gazing about her, she was relieved to discover she was safely in her own chamber. As the horror of the dream came back she reached out to grip Angelina’s wrist. “They took you away from me, Angelina. They took my dear, sweet baby, and gave me another in your place.”

“It was a bad dream.” Angelina stroked her mother’s brow to soothe her. “I’ll stay with you until you’re less agitated and able to sleep.” Gently, she loosened her mother’s grip, but kept hold of hand  “Close your eyes, mama. I’ll sing you a lullaby.”

“You’re treating me like an infant,” she protested, smiling at her daughter’s solicitude. Nevertheless, she did as she was bid, and soon Angelina’s sweet voice filled her ears.

   Thomas named this daughter of ours well, she mused as she began to relax. She sings like an angel.

The nightmare faded as another dream took its place. She was dressed in her bridal gown, and Thomas had an expression of great tenderness in his eyes as he gazed at her. He loved me then, she thought, her lips curving in a smile, so why did he stop loving me?

He loves you still. The voice was part of the wind that sighed in the chimney, and became part of the lullaby Angelina sang. Thomas Wrey loves you still …he loves you. Then the voice faded, becoming a joyous melody of sound.

Elizabeth opened her eyes to morning, saw in the branches of a tree outside her window a song-thrush warbling a refrain.

Angelina’s hand was still clasped, warm and comforting, in hers. She was curled up next to her on top of the covers. Knees drawn up under her robe, her bare feet were peeping from beneath it. Her hair was spread in wild abandon, her face barely visible through the silken strands.

“My one true daughter,” she murmured, gently brushing the hair from Angelina’s face. She regarded with sadness the child she’d held in her arms for one brief glorious moment and whispered. “I did not give birth to another.”

   The bird finished his song and gazed at her with its head cocked to one side. “So who is Rosabelle, and where did she come from?” she asked it.

The song-thrush had no answer. Fluffing up its feathers it gazed at her for moment longer, then with a swift, sharp movement, spread its wings and took flight.

Chapter Fourteen

I suggest we search the area in pairs, gentlemen, then take up positions upon the road just before dusk.

 “You do not expect me to go,” Nicholas Snelling cried out in alarm. “I spent the entire day wandering in the forest and I’m exhausted. The rascal came at me in broad daylight, wearing a great flapping coat, and fearsomely cowled. He chased me into the forest and robbed me a second time. He must have known the saddle concealed gold.”

“I’m not surprised,” William said caustically. “You crowed about it like a scalded turkey cock last night.”

“That’s enough, Will,” Thomas remonstrated. 

Subsiding on to a chair, the agitated young man closed his eyes and executed a delicate shudder. The rogue was so strong.”

“You may stay and amuse the ladies, no doubt they’ll enjoy having a London gentleman gracing the drawing room.” Thomas said.

William and James exchanged a grin at the dryness of their father’s voice.

Nicholas inspected his jacket. “I’ll do my utmost to bring them up to date on the latest gossip and fashions, but first I must advantage of your manservant, and perhaps partake of a little sustenance. I have no wish to insult the ladies by appearing in such disarray, nor faint from hunger in their presence.”

“God’s truth!” Thomas muttered to himself as he jerked at a bell pull. “Does this fop consider our women a spineless bunch who suffer the vapours at the sight of a little dust?” 

As soon as Nicholas had gone the men checked their weapons. They had a brace of loaded pistols apiece, as well as swords. One or two had stout cudgels as well. Quaffing a jug of mulled ale to fortify their spirits they set off with spurs jingling, shouting instructions to one another.

“The highwayman will hear them coming from a mile away,” Angelina said irreverently as she and Rosabelle watched the departure from the drawing room window. Both pairs of eyes were on Rafe, tall and relaxed in the saddle as he rode side by side with James.

Rosabelle’s sulky expression changed to one of sly amusement. “I doubt if they will catch him. The highwayman is too clever, and too brave.”

“A brave man would not have attacked our mother,” Angelina pointed out. “Nor held the Marquis at pistol point. That was the work of a knave.”

“A pity he didn’t kill George,” Rosabelle said bitterly. “If he had, I would now be betrothed to Rafe.”

Angelina smiled to herself. “If Rafe had any intentions towards you he would have claimed you before the ball.”

“Since you’ve only recently met, don’t presume what his attentions were?” Rosabelle gave a superior smile. “Rafe and I had arranged to meet in the pavilion, my dear sister. If the Marquis had not seized the opportunity to follow me it would be Rafe I’d be engaged to now?”

“Your assignation was with Rafe!” Angelina’s heart gave a painful thump. “That cannot be, Rafe is a gentleman.”

“Rafe is a man.” Her smile became malicious. “He’s renowned in London circles for his affairs with married women. I daresay I’ll become one of them when I’m wed. George is getting on in age. I’ll need a diversion to make life interesting.”

“You’re lying.” Angelina couldn’t keep the anger from her voice. “Rafe is too honourable a man to pursue another man’s wife.”

“Dullard,” Rosabelle scoffed. “Men are made ill by their needs if they’re not kept constantly satisfied. Why do you think papa maintains Mary Mellor in that cottage at the edge of the village?”

Angelina’s gasp echoed in the room. “You mean she is his mistress? Does mama know?”

“How can she fail to know when Frey is there to remind her? She shrugged. “If mama cared she’d have got rid of her. Mama must suffer from frigid blood, which prevents her from performing the duties of a wife. As you’re like her, I daresay you’ll suffer much the same affliction. Thank God my blood is warm. I shall enjoy many lovers once I’m married, and Rafe shall be the first.”

Shocked, Angelina wanted to slap the smirk from her sister’s face. Instead, she accused with what she hoped was crushing finality. “You have the mind of a gutter-snipe. I’m ashamed to call you sister.”

“Be that as it may,” Rosabelle taunted, enjoying her scandalised expression. “When you are betrothed yourself, you may wish to come to me to be educated in the way men like to be satisfied.”

“If you’re referring to the act of union between husband and wife I’m well aware of what is involved. There were many medical text books in the Chevonleigh library. I read them all.”

“Did they tell you the pleasure a woman feels when a man touches her? I cannot wait until Rafe - “ 

“I refuse to endure your vulgar company a moment longer.” Rising to her feet Angelina conveyed herself rapidly towards the door. She was about to pass through it when she collided with Celine and her mother, coming in the opposite direction. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I was just leaving.”

“So I deduce from the direction you’re heading in,” Elizabeth said with a touch of asperity. “Have you wings on your feet that you must flit about so?”

“I beg you to stay, Angelina,” Celine said. “We are to have a young man as company. If he’s not to bore us completely you must take a turn at the harpsichord between cards.”

Angelina’s heart sank when she saw Nicholas Snelling mincing in their direction. She looked about her for means of escape, but was restrained by her mother’s fingers gently closing around her wrist.

“It’s you he is interested in, Angelina,” she teased. “I do believe the boy intends to petition for your hand.”

“And he might get it,” she retorted. “Only it will not be in marriage. He’s an unmitigated bore.”

“You must learn how to handle such people.” Elizabeth turned when Nicholas came up behind them, her face smiling and serene.

Angelina observed how easily her mother assumed the role of the Countess. “My dear, Lord Snelling. I’m so sorry to learn of your encounter. You were not injured, I trust?”

She adopted the same expression as she cooed in a tone exactly like Elizabeth’s; “We are
panting
to hear of your heroic encounter, you must tell us all about it, dear Lord Snelling.”

Celine’s giggle turned into a discreet cough when Elizabeth’s narrowed glance encountered Angelina’s innocent, cherubic smile.

 “Shall we go in,” she murmured, trying to keep the laughter from her voice. “Rosabelle is waiting for us, I believe.”

“Ah, the fair Rosabelle!” Nicholas exclaimed, taking a stance in the centre of the room. He placed his hands dramatically against his chest. “How many hearts did she break last night?”

Rosabelle automatically fluttered her eyelashes at him.” I doubt if I broke your heart, My Lord. Your attentions seemed to lie in another direction.” Her glance came up to Angelina, stinging like a whiplash. “It’s my sister you wrote that poem to, I believe.”

“Ah yes!” Nicholas bowed towards Angelina. “But I composed another whilst I wandered in the woods. He took up a stance in the middle of the room.

“She was the queen of roses. Alas I was but poor. I lingered in my passion, by her chamber door. She passed me - cruel, cruel-hearted - passed me by. Twas thus we met and parted. The thorned red rose and I.”

“His Grace, The Duke of Amberley,” a footman announced, handing a card to Elizabeth. “He requests an audience.”

“Ask his grace to join us, then bring some refreshment.”

Angelina exchanged a glance with Celine and rolled her eyes. Celine smiled in