Angelina (7 page)

“And that would do the trick, eh?”

Will sighted down the barrel of his pistol. “It would if the gown was accompanied by a small trinket. Rosabelle is fond of rubies.”

 “She is, eh? What would you suggest as suitable.”

William shrugged. “What do I know about women’s trinkets?” He loaded the pistol and shoved it into a pocket under his coat. “She admired a pendant in Winchester not long ago. I’m on my way there now. If you like I could point it out to you.”

 George wondered if William had arranged a commission on it with the jeweller, but he couldn’t see how. “That’s uncommonly kind of you, Will.” 

 They both turned towards the door as Rosabelle came back into the room. Crossing to the window seat she picked up the posy, holding it to her nose in a pretty gesture.”I forgot these, My Lord.”  

She dropped a curtsy, just deep enough to draw his eyes to her wares. Her eyes shone with a mixture of excitement and avarice. She’d been eavesdropping. There was not even the suggestion of a blush as she allowed him to brush a kiss across the back of her hand, though she withdrew it as soon as possible from his caress.

Rosie was a born harlot, he thought dispassionately. She’d soon learn to welcome his attention.

* * * *

Mary Mellor pushed the brick back in the chimney piece and turned to her son. “If

anything happens to me there’s enough gold to pay for lodgings in London for a while.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Frey muttered, frowning in concentration as he signed his name at the bottom of the page. Task finished, he put the quill to one side and stoppered his precious supply of ink. “If I get this job I’ll stick it for a year or so. London isn’t cheap. I hope to be able to save enough to give us a good start.”

“His Lordship would drop a word in the right ear if you’d only let me ask.”  

An obstinate expression surfaced in Frey’s dark eyes. “His lordship can keep his fine words. I pay my own way from now on.” 

Mary knew better than to argue with her son. His resemblance to Thomas Wrey was more than just surface. It struck her as ironic that of the earl’s three sons, his bastard should be the one to most resemble him.

Frey had the dark brooding quality of his father, the same obstinacy. But the earl’s stubbornness grew from an autocratic sense of rightness. Frey had a determination born out of defiance.

He’d been about ten when he’d first realised that the man who visited them on ocassion was his father. Eventually, his childlish bragging had reached the ears of his half- brother, William.

At fifteen years of age William hadn’t been far off manhood. His adolescent blood surged hot and turbulent. The thrashing he’d inflicted on Frey had been merciless. Even the earl had paled at the sight of Frey’s bruised and broken body.

It had been a lesson well learned. Something had died in him that day. Naturally quiet by nature, he’d become almost brooding, displaying no reaction when he learned William had earned a flogging from his father for the deed.

The earl took it upon himself to point out to Frey what was already apparent to him. His position depended on acceptance of his circumstances.

Frey came to terms with his position in life that day, and applied himself to the education offered him with a humble acceptance that such a privilege should be afforded him. He’d never given William reason to thrash him again however much he was goaded. But neither had he forgiven him.

Mary knew the time of reckoning would come. When it did her son would stand up to William Wrey, whatever the consequences. It worried her. She hoped his need for retribution didn’t interfere with their plans to go to London. Another year and they’d have enough money cached to carry them over the lean times. Apart from Rosabelle, only Frey and herself knew of the plans.

As Frey rose to his feet he automatically bowed his head to avoid the low beam as he made his way to the door.

“You’re going out?”

“I want to slip this letter under Cruickshank’s door so he’ll get it first

thing in the morning. After that I’m off to see the rector for an hour or so. He has some Latin text he wants me to look at.”

“I was hoping you’d stay home. Rosabelle might be able to visit this afternoon. She’ll be disappointed if you’re not here.”

“She’ll survive.” Frey dropped a kiss on her head and opened the cottage door. Rosabelle had always enjoyed queening it over him, even as a child. “You shouldn’t encourage her to come here, Ma. If she gets caught there will be hell to pay.”

“She’ s too clever to get caught.” His mother’s eyes began to shine. “The Marquis of Northbridge has asked for her hand. Imagine that, my little Rosabelle a Marchioness.”

He gazed at his mother for long seconds. “Lady Rosabelle isn’t yours, she’s the daughter of Elizabeth Wrey.”  

Unconcerned, Mary snorted. She’s never been a real mother to her.

“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if Lady Elizabeth decides she’s had enough,” Frey warned. “This latest indignity -”

“And what’s she going to do about it?” His mother’s words were little whiplashes of scorn. “It’s not my fault her child didn’t die like it was supposed to. The earl should have waited until the runt was dead before he -” Abruptly, she stopped her tirade.

Frey’s eyes were sharp on her face. “Before he what?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled. “What happened aint none of my business, nor yours either.” 

Two strides brought him back to her side. “Like hell it isn’t! You were there at the infirmary at the time.”  His hands clamped around her arms to stop her turning away. “I’m not so stupid that I don’t know the earl’s been giving you regular payments all these years. Everyone knows I’m his bastard so it isn’t that. He’s paying you to keep your mouth shut about something. You can’t tell me he pays you that amount of money for the odd tumble. He could buy something younger for less.”

She bridled at the sting of his insult. “You watch your lip, Frey Mellor,” she

snapped. “I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten how to make a man happy.” Her eyes lit up when the sound of a horse snickering came from the back meadow. “There’s my Rosabelle,” she cried out, trying to struggle free from his grip.

Frey jerked her back to face him. “So that’s it,” he breathed. “Rosabelle Wrey is your child. She was substituted at birth for the other one.” His mother’s eyes flew open in shock. “That’s it, isn’t it, ma? That’s what keeps the earl paying up. Your silence.” He dropped her arms and turned towards the door. 

Desperately she ran after him, and grabbing his sleeve held on tight when he tried to shake her free. “Rosabelle’s not mine, I swear. I hadn’t even met the earl when she was born. She was an orphan child he took a fancy too when he thought his own was dying. He wanted the infant for his wife. He wanted her to have a child.”

“Then why didn’t he give her one in the normal way?” he said harshly.

“The countess nearly died when she delivered that child. He loves his wife. He couldn’t bear the thought he might lose her in childbirth, so he left her alone and turned to me.”

Frey was prepared to believe her. “And you took advantage of him.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Tears came to her eyes. “Oh, it was at first. Then when you were born he was good to us and I grew fond of him. I know he’s not a generous man, but he’s honourable. He’s looked after us and has given you a good education. I’m grateful to him for that.” 

“And what about Elizabeth Wrey? Did you give no thought to what she might be suffering?”

“You’re not going to tell her, are you Frey.”

“Tell her. A lady like her wouldn’t give the likes of me the time of day.” 

His mother lowered her voice to a whisper when they heard a light tap at the back door. “Everyone thinks them girls is twins now, including the countess. If you tell anyone the truth, the earl will kick us out of this cottage and out of the county.” She gazed at him in mute appeal. “Think what it would do to Rosabelle.”

“Ah yes...Lady Rosabelle.” Frey gave an ironic grin as the girl he’d always thought as his half-sister came into the cottage. She looked flushed from her ride, her dark eyes were shining with excitement as she gazed at his mother.

“Walk my horse while I talk to your mother, Frey,” she said imperiously. “I rode her too hard and she’s lathered.”

“Walk her yourself,” he said quietly. “I’ve got business of my own to see to.”  

An astonished expression crossed Rosabelle’s face and her eyes jerked up to his. Frey smiled when her mouth opened slightly. She was the same as him, a lowborn bastard. No, she was less. At least he knew who his parents were.

Taking the hat from his head he swept it across his body, giving a parody of a bow before sauntering from the cottage and closing the door firmly behind him.

* * * *

It was almost midnight. A horse picked its way through the leaf litter on the forest floor. Its glossy sable hide was unrelieved by markings. Its rider, clad in a black voluminous coat despite the warmth of the evening, was in no hurry.

Now and again, the narrow gap between the low brimmed hat and the black cloth covering the lower part of the rider’s face, revealed a glimpse of dark eyes. Those eyes watched the track off to the right, where another horse and rider ambled aimlessly along. The object of the felon’s attention was singing lewd verses at the top of his voice. 

Presently, the highwayman turned the horse to the left, spurring it into a canter. Swiftly, the black covered the ground until the junction branching towards the stables of the Marquis of Northbridge was reached. There, where the track curved, the highwayman took up position in the middle of the track.

“Whoa, nag.” George peered owlishly at the figure baring his way. “Stand aside fellow, or I’ll shoot you.” He fumbled for his pistol, then realising he wasn’t wearing one roared with false bravado. “Damn and blast you for a knave. You have the advantage over me. I am unarmed.”

A scarf muffled the highwayman’s voice. “I’m relieved, sir, I have no desire to kill you.”

“You don’t eh? If it’s money you’re after I have none. A man must pay for his pleasures and I enjoyed the company of a couple of Winchester harlots.’

“And won a small fortune at the gaming house afterwards if your reputation does you justice.” The highwayman indicated with the pistol. “Throw me your purse, My Lord.”

Reluctantly, George did as he was asked. Rapidly sobering, he was embarrassed by the indignity of being caught without a weapon to see this rogue off with. It was the first time he’d heard of a highwayman operating in these parts, and he’d make damned sure he never ventured abroad without a loaded pistol again. He scowled as he watched his winnings disappear inside the thief’s coat.

“Empty your pockets.”

“Damn it man, isn’t that enough?” His hands tightened on the reins. “Out of my way...God’s truth!”

The pistol jerked, a ball cut through his reins and he tumbled over his mount’s rear to sprawl in the dust. Spooked by the shot, his horse bucked a few times then trotted off up the track. It stopped at a patch of succulent grass and quietly started to graze.

The highwayman brought his horse under control as George scrambled to his feet. A second weapon appeared in his hand. “Your pockets, sir. Empty them into your kerchief then hand it all to me.”

George scrambled to obey. The highwayman sifted through the contents. He removed a silver snuffbox and a jewellery case. The rest was tossed to the ground. Flipping open the jewellery case, the felon whistled. Within seconds, an exquisite ruby pendant dangled from a black-gloved finger. “A handsome bauble.”

‘Now look here, my man,” George bristled. “That’s a gift for a lady. Take my horse instead.”

 The highwayman chuckled. “Your horse is a noble beast, but doubtless, he knows his way home. I’d not have him long. Tell me about this lady-love of yours. She’s your mistress, sir?”

“No, damn it! She’s a maid of barely eighteen years, and I intend to wed her.”

 “Her name?”

“Lady Rosabelle Wrey.” The Marquis’s face burned when the highwayman gave a high-pitched laugh.

“Perhaps this bauble will tip the scales in your direction, but I doubt it.” The outlaw threw the pendant back. “Lady Rosabelle will keep you dancing attendance on her only while it pleases her.” 

“I’ll thank you not to speak of the lady thus,” George growled.

“Take my word for it, she will be hard to catch.” He wheeled the stallion around. “Word has it that she’s set her sights on the Earl of Lynnbury.”

“Rafe Daventry hasn’t a penny to his name,” the Marquis sneered. “Nor ever will have.”

“I’ve heard the earl is sought after by the ladies and his prowess in the bed-chamber is equalled only by his discretion in matters of love.”

“I’m not without expertise in that area myself,” the Marquis muttered. “And her dowry will not be enough to catch the earl.”

“One hears Lady Rosabelle has lost her heart to the earl. And it’s said he is not immune to her charms.’ 

“The devil take him!” George said. “That snippet of information is worth the loss of my purse. I’m indebted to you.”

“Glad to be of service, My Lord.” The highwayman gave a mocking half-bow before touching heels to his mount and melting into the darkness of the undergrowth.

“Rum fellow,” George muttered to himself, and his brow furrowed in thought. He’d been well spoken for a felon, and young from the pitch of his voice. He knew the forest well, and the local gossip.

His nerve ends twitched when an owl hooted nearby. A mist rose from the ground, darkness pressed in on him. Picking his goods up from the dirt, he set off after his horse at as brisk a pace as he could muster.

Chapter Six

“James, you must come and help us decide.” Angelina started when Rafe Daventry uncoiled from the chair nearest to her.

“Oh!” She cursed the colour that suddenly bloomed in her cheeks. “I didn’t realise you had company. Please forgive the intrusion, My Lord.”

Rafe’s sardonic good looks relegated anything else to the shadows. She’d forgotten how large he was, how dark, how powerful of body and feature. Most of all she’d forgotten his grace, until he covered the space between them in two lithe strides.