Angelina (6 page)

He applauded Rafe’s forbearance on this occasion. Rafe could be proud to the point of arrogance sometimes and his laconic manner concealed a man of great passion. He had managed to avoid matrimony in the past, despite a surplus of suitable candidates and the need to restore Ravenswood. Women usually found Rafe attractive. His absolute discretion in matters of love ensured he was never without female companionship when the need arose.

   And that, thought James gazing at his sister’s delicate face, was the reason he couldn’t understand Angelina’s reaction to him. Nor for that matter Rafe’s reaction to her. Angelina seemed almost scornful of Rafe, and Rafe, far from retreating behind a barrier of hauteur, seemed to find her flashes of temper and lack of sophistication entertaining.

James heard Rafe’s stomach growl when a tray of steaming broth was carried in. The sound must have reached Angelina’s ears, for her general demeanour softened when she glanced at them again.

“James. Perhaps you’d send a maid to fetch some sustenance for Lord Lynnbury whilst Bessie and I administer to Celine’s needs. I doubt if he’s eaten either. Two invalids in one week are enough, and your friend does not look as though he’d make an agreeable patient.”

“I’d be contented enough with you caring for me,” Rafe murmured. “Were I your patient, you might unbend enough to call me Rafe.”

“It’s more likely I should not.” Angelina’s voice was tart despite the faint rush of colour that came to her cheeks. “I hardly know you, sir.”

“But your brother and guardian does.” Rafe was gently teasing, extracting from Angelina a confusion of shyness and determination that was altogether charming.”Is that not recommendation enough?”

“I hardly know James, either,” she reminded him, sending a glance both  apologetic and appealing his way. “You will not think too badly of me for saying that, James? It doesn’t mean - “  

A groan from the bed brought Rafe in two strides to his sister’s side. “What is it, Celine, are you in pain?”

James laughed when Celine said in a weak, but determined voice. “If you do not stop baiting our host I’ll disown you, Rafe. You’re a rogue, and I’m ashamed of you. Leave us this instant, and do not return until you’re sent for.”

“As you say, my dear.” Rafe planted a kiss on Celine’s cheek, at the same time managing to slide a smile in Angelina’s direction. “I leave you in capable hands I think. Lady Angelina seems to be a paragon of feminine virtue.”  

If Rafe’s grin was designed to disarm, it failed miserably. Angelina’s eyes became a tumult of provocation, her face flamed red, and her mouth opened as if she’d been about to answer. Then she thought better of it and turned away to busy herself at the bedside.

Rafe’s expression was self-satisfied when he joined him. James gave him a steady glance. The shrug Rafe gave was almost imperceptible. James knew it was the only acknowledgement Rafe would give that his behaviour had left much to be desired.

Over the next two days Celine regained her strength, and the two girls became good friends and confidantes. Much to Angelina’s relief, once Lord Lynnbury was convinced his sister was safe, he announced his intention of departing.

Angelina had hoped to avoid Rafe’s departure by escaping from the house early that particular morning. Luck furnished her with the duty of visiting the wife of one of the estate workers who’d been delivered of a son the day before.

There was a fine mist rising from the ground when she slipped out of a side entrance with Bessie. By the time they reached the tiny hamlet of workers cottages, spider webs laced into the hedgerows were hung with milky pearls of dew and fields sparkled with diamonds of light as the sun absorbed the moisture.

Angelina’s gifts of a soft woven blanket for the child’s cradle, a pot of mutton broth, bread, and a crock of honey for the table, were appreciated.

 “Do not give the estate workers gifts that are not useful, and do not embarrass them by prolonging the visit.”

   Angelina, heeding the late Lady Alexandra’s often repeated advice, admired the red-faced infant, then thankfully made her escape from the stuffy abode and the darkly curious stares of two grubby children, who played on the hard-packed dirt floor beside their mother’s bed.

She took a deep breath, enjoying the sun on her face, the soft breeze soughing through the branches above her head and the sounds of the birds singing in the trees. Despite Lady Alexandra’s demise, life had been good to her of late.

“James is a wonderful brother,” she said, giving Bessie a radiant smile and no time at all to comment. “And am I not lucky to have a good friend like Celine?”

“You are that, my bonny,” Bessie got in.

“It’s a pity her brother is so disagreeable.” She frowned. “He doesn’t appear to be rude, but he has an uncomfortable way with him. Oh!”  

Rafe appeared suddenly, as if he’d materialised from inside the tree his mount was tethered to. Heart pounding, she placed a hand against her chest. “I thought I had missed your departure.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you by leaving without saying goodbye.” A flicker of an eyebrow gave a nuance of irony to his words. “It’s bad form for a guest to depart without presenting his host with a small token.” 

   His smile was beautifully timed, coming at a moment when she realised it was equally bad form for a host to allow her guest to leave without a farewell. There was nothing she could do but appear gracious.

“James probably informed you my financial state is not one to encourage the bestowing of expensive gifts, so I hope you’ll accept this small token of my regard, along with thanks for your hospitality.” His eyes held as much mischief as his smile when he plucked a posy of wildflowers from his saddle to present to her with a flourish. “Your servant, Lady Angelina.”

“Thank you.” With a sense of shame Angelina realised she’d been impossibly rude to him. She didn’t deserve his thanks, let alone a posy as reward. He didn’t seem the least bit annoyed though. A ghost of smile curved her lips. “I’ll admit I have not been the most gracious of hosts.”

“Like good wine, you will improve with age.”

She spread her fan across her blush, wishing his smile didn’t have such an effect on her. “You’ll forgive me, I hope?” 

“No doubt I deserved every unkind word you uttered.” 

How despicable of him to point it out. Prickles of anger raced up her spine and she snapped her fan shut. “I do not recall being that unkind, Rafe.”

“You were perfection. I’m the most arrogant of men sometimes, and need to be made aware of it.” Taking her hand he bore it to his lips, kissing each finger in turn. Etched on the classic lines of his face was the gently sardonic expression she hated. He chuckled when he plucked an embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve and slipped it inside his waistcoat. “A memento of the first time you called me Rafe,” he whispered. “Adieu, Angel. Don’t think too unkindly of me.”

“I doubt if I shall think of you at all, Lord Lynnbury,” she snapped, totally flustered.

“Then you’ll break my heart.” Bestowing another of his mocking smiles upon her he spurred his horse into motion and cantered off without so much as a backward glance.

“I despise that man,” she said furiously as he disappeared from sight. Her

glance went to the posy.There were satiny yellow buttercups, deep red poppies, tiny blue forget-me-knots, orange marigolds and a sprig or two of lavender. Still sprinkled with dewdrops, they were freshly picked, the stems bound in an initialled handkerchief. Hotly, she dashed the bouquet to the ground, then changed her mind and picked it up again. “It’s a pity to let them die so soon,” she explained to Bessie.

“Yes, my bonny.” Bessie smiled. “His Lordship is a fine looking man, and has quite a way with him when he wants. He’ll be popular with the ladies no doubt.”

Feeling a curl of dismay in the region of her heart, she gave Bessie an irate glare and flounced ahead faster than her maid could go. She held the posy to her nostrils breathing in its scent. It was the first time a man had given her a gift, and the fact that he’d taken the trouble to pick them himself made them all the more precious.

No, she thought firmly, her finger tracing the gold embroidered initials on the fabric. It was not a romantic gesture. Rafe couldn’t afford food for his sister, let alone a gift. It was a token of his appreciation, nothing more, nothing less. Besides, as Bessie had said, Rafe would be popular with the ladies, and must be well practised in the art of flirtation.

Slowly she came to a halt, waiting for Bessie to catch her up. She slipped her arm through Bessie’s and laid her head against her broad shoulder.” What am I going to do in London without you?”

“You’ll manage. I’m not getting any younger, and your brother is right when he says you must have a maid who knows how to do the latest hairstyles and such. If you’re to take your rightful place in society it stands to reason.”

“I’ll miss you.”  

Bessie smiled. “I’ve got it into my head to retire to my brother’s place in Dorset if that’s all right with you. He’s a widower, and I’ve got grown up nieces and nephews I ain’t never seen. Imagine that?”

“Oh, Bessie.”  Tears filled Angelina’s eyes. “I’ve been selfish all these years. Of course you may go. I’ll instruct Hugh Cotterill to book you a seat on the coach, and I’ll arrange with my brother that you receive a generous pension. That way you’ll not have to rely on anyone’s charity should you not wish to.”

“I cannot take such a gift,” Bessie protested.

“You can, and you will.” Fiercely she hugged Bessie to her. “You’ve been almost a mother to me.” The tears spilled over on to her cheeks. “My life is about to change and my childhood must be put aside. I couldn’t bear to send you off and imagine you wanting in any way. If your brother is cruel you must let me know and I’ll come and get you. Swear you will do this.”

“I swear it.”

Wrapped tight against Bessie’s chest, Angelina sobbed away the last sorrowful tears of her childhood. After a while, Bessie joined in.

Chapter Five

“A little to your right.”

Rosabelle held the pistol at arm’s length, aiming it directly at the mounted figure of the Marquis of Northbridge.

“Fire.” 

Her finger tightened on the trigger and the hammer clicked. “Straight through the heart,” she whispered.

William laughed and plucked the pistol from her fingers. “Kill him after you’re married, Rosie, and preferably when you’ve given him an heir. If you don’t give him a son his distant cousin will inherit.”

She shuddered at his words. “I’ll never agree to marry that old goat. Having him touch me would make me sick.”

“Forty is not all that old. Consider, Rosie? George is not only stupid, he’s wealthy. He’ll give you everything you desire if you play your cards right.”  

William aimed the pistol at the centre of her breast.”Come here,” he said, then when she obeyed he circled her waist with his arm . “Rosie, when the time comes you’ll enjoy George’s touch. He’ll not leave you wanting for anything.” 

Her eyes hooded with the thought of pleasures to come. William observed her through narrowed eyes. Northbridge would exploit her wildness if he had any sense, give her no choice.

Her breast brushed against his chest. Damn her! He sucked in a swift breath when she laughed, and he pushed her away.

When the Marquis of Northbridge entered the room William was examining his pistol, Rosabelle gazing out of the window.

She looks flushed, George thought, his gaze lighting on her full breasts, which were barely hidden under the lace of her fichu. He couldn’t believe he’d been given permission to court her. He’d expected opposition from Lady Elizabeth.

If he succeeded in winning her hand the betrothal would be announced at the ball. If he didn’t? George grinned to himself, already regarding Rosabelle as his. He wanted her enough to abduct her if the need arose. Once compromised, Rosabelle would have no choice.

She turned, staring at him through hostile eyes when he greeted her.

“My Lord?”

Accepted his gift of a posy with a barely concealed sneer, she left it to wilt on the widow sill when she left the room.

“Excuse me, My Lord.” She pushed past him with her haughty nose up in the air.

Her behaviour didn’t put him off. George knew women, and Rosabelle Wrey was ripe for the taking. He could smell the woman of her as she brushed against him on the way out. She was aware of herself, teasing him with her swaying hips and thrusting breasts.

She would not be so hostile when she became his wife, he thought, his grin wolf-like. If she didn’t come to him willingly he’d flay the skin from her buttocks until she begged for mercy. His body reacted at the thought of Rosabelle Wrey humbled before him, sharing his bed. The girl had strong wide hips and would bear him many children.

His glance flitted to Will, who gave him a mocking grin as though he’d read his thoughts. George was uncomfortable with Will. The earl’s younger son had never been less than friendly towards him, but Will’s sly cleverness seemed to be one step ahead of his own thinking.

“Rosie’s out of countenance,” Will said. “Her mamma will not allow her to have the ball-gown she desires. She’s worried that our new sister might outshine her at the ball.” He smiled. “If you really wanted to impress her...” To George’s disappointment Will shook his head. “No, it would be too simple.”

George sighed. Will did nothing without recompense. “If I like your suggestion it could be worth something.” 

“Of course it could. Five guineas, say.”

When the money was safely in his pocket, Will said. “There’s a French dressmaker of your acquaintance in attendance at the Marley residence. She’s much in demand I believe, and is choosy about her clients.”  

How the hell had he known about the Frenchie?

 “Naturally, Rosabelle’s curious as to what other women will be wearing to her

ball, so I’m taking her to call on the Marley sisters tomorrow. Rosabelle wouldn’t be able to resist if she discovered the woman had been secretly commissioned to design her the most beautiful gown at the ball.”