Almost an Angel (8 page)

As Carolly watched, Miss Hornswallow pulled a glass jar with a wet rag at the bottom from the picnic basket. She moved with innate grace, and Carolly was startled to see James watching the governess with a puzzled expression. Suddenly, Carolly felt her heart clench within her chest, seeing what James must now be noticing.

Miss Hornswallow was beautiful!

True, she still had hawklike features and a tight pinched look to her face. But right now, as she fiddled with the jar, the sun danced in her dark hair revealing blue highlights hidden beneath her tight bun.

Carolly narrowed her eyes, picking out the carefully obscured features of the woman's figure. Where before she had seemed iron-rod thin, Carolly now noticed the governess's slender bone structure. She'd thought the woman's face severe, almost harsh, but it also possessed pearly skin tones and a high aristocratic bearing.

All the poor woman needed was a little push—some new clothes, a new hairstyle, and a few lessons in smiling—and bam, she'd make the perfect countess.

"Uncle James, I dropped it! Get it!"

Carolly saw James start in surprise, his attention suddenly pulled to his niece who pointed at the grass near his knee. Quicker than she thought possible, he swooped down as he tried to catch one very terrified grasshopper. He very nearly succeeded, but then it jumped up over his hands, straight at his nose. James reared back, and Margaret squealed happily before chasing after it, bowling over her governess and uncle in her eagerness. Then came a rollicking, pell mell battle of three humans against one grasshopper. Laughter filled the air as they chased and tumbled over one another.

After a few moments, Carolly turned away, unable to watch the free-for-all anymore. She ought to be pleased, she told herself. In one flash of sunlight, she'd seen her goal revealed with sparkling clarity.

James and Miss Hornswallow were perfect for each other. With Margaret to bind them together, they could build a wonderful aristocratic family. It might not turn out quite as casual and bubbling over with hilarity as Carolly would have preferred, but clearly, they would be happy. And that should make her happy. She'd be able to get her wings.

But she wasn't happy. She was lonely.

For ten years, she'd been shifting around in time, trying to do good deeds, straining to make up for her very selfish first life. But ten years was a long time to be engineering other people's happiness without doing anything for her own. Sure, Carolly liked helping people, but she also wanted a rest, a place where she had friends, a place where everybody knew her name.

Carolly groaned and kicked a stone. She was spouting television slogans. She always did that when she got depressed. It reminded her of who she was, where she came from, and most of all, that she was as superficial as the boob tube that had helped raise her. She wasn't meant for long-term relationships. She'd known that growing up. She knew it now.

That's why she'd make a great angel. She would come in, be angelic while helping people, and then leave. Except for the last few lives. With each incarnation she'd found it harder and harder to escape her emotions. And this life felt the worst of all.

Glancing back at the happy trio of man, woman, and child, Carolly forced herself to be grateful she had this special gift. How many people got to affect others in such a profound way? She was going to make a great angel.

So why didn't the thought make her happy?

***

James saw Carolly wander aimlessly away. He glanced over at Margaret, who was happily chasing another grasshopper while Miss Hornswallow observed. A tolerant smile was on the governess's austere face. Odd how he had never noticed how beautiful, how very regal the governess was. She had natural dignity and the cool demeanor necessary for an aristocratic life. With the right clothes and lineage, she would make a perfect countess. And he had never even noticed before.

A whole world suddenly opened up to him, a whole life he had never bothered to see because it did not fit into his orderly—rigid, Carolly would call it—schedule. He could not even remember the last time he'd gone for a walk in the afternoon, much less had a picnic luncheon and enjoyed the sweet tempo of a spring day like he was doing now.

And it was all because of Carolly.

In just three days, she already had him cavorting around after grasshoppers and noticing the beautiful women who were his servants. What would he be like after a week in her disruptive, delightful, and totally confounding presence?

He watched her wander toward a copse of trees, idly kicking at the grass. Without thinking why, James stood up and strolled after her. He found her a few minutes later. She sat cross-legged on the grass, absently stripping wildflowers of their petals.

"Never let my gardener catch you doing that. He thinks every plant is his sacred charge."

"What?" Carolly looked down and flushed at the ripped petals in her lap. "Oh. How does he ever pull weeds?"

James leaned down and picked up one of her discarded stems. "Well, there are plants, Carolly, and then there are upstarts."

She looked into his eyes, her face soft and glowing in the sunlight. "My goodness, James. Was that a joke?”

He twirled the denuded stem, hating himself for how unsure he felt. "I cannot tell. Was it funny?"

She started to chuckle, and he felt his face flush with embarrassment. "Yes, James, it was funny."

They remained silent a long time, the awkwardness growing between them like a dark, twisted vine. He tried to break through it, searched for something to say, only to have his true thoughts escape his lips.

"I saw you walking away."

She looked down as her fingers shredded more flower petals, tearing them into minuscule bits.

"Why did you leave?" he pressed.

"I thought you three could use some privacy."

He frowned, both confused by her words and confounded by the sight of her long legs outlined by her skirt. "The three of us?" he pressed.

Carolly nodded, looking anywhere but at him. "Have you noticed how beautiful Miss Hornswallow is? With the right clothes and hairstyle, she would make a fine earless. Uh, wife of an earl—"

"Countess."

"Right. Well, she could be a fine one."

James studied Carolly's bent head. The sun seemed to sparkle in her hair, making it a shimmering crown. But, beautiful as the sight was, he did not like it. He wanted to see her face, needed to watch her eyes and study every twist of her lips. But she didn't look up.

"James? Did you notice her?" she asked again.

"Yes, I noticed." He also noticed the long curve of Carolly's neck. He had never thought a woman's neck particularly sensual, but Carolly's looked soft and creamy white. Would her skin be warm or cool to the touch, he wondered.

"The two of you have so much in common," Carolly went on. "She's very learned, or so I gather from Mags. How's her lineage?"

James blinked, startled. "Lineage?”

At last she looked up, and he could see the soft pink bow of her mouth. "Her parents and forefathers and that sort of stuff," she said.

He settled down on the grass beside Carolly, feeling a physical pull, drawing him inexorably to her side. "Mrs. Hornswallow comes from an excellent family, though her grandfather gambled their fortune away."

"How sad," Carolly commented. Her voice betrayed genuine regret. Then she turned toward the sun and, in the light, her blue eyes became the color of a bright robin's egg. They flashed merrily up at him even as she turned away. "She must have led a very hard life."

James grunted in frustration. Despite his earlier thoughts about her attractiveness, he had no wish to think about Miss Hornswallow. He wished to understand why Carolly suddenly sympathized with a woman whose name she could not remember ten minutes ago. He wanted to know her thoughts. He wanted her to laugh again, to tease him with her smiles, not to hide herself away.

"She truly likes Margaret," Carolly continued, shifting to look at the two. "Have you noticed that? I think she'd be a good mother, if given the chance."

James narrowed his eyes, this time forcing himself to focus on things other than the attractiveness of Carolly's body. As a deliberate choice, he watched not the exquisite curve of her neck, but the tight clench of her shoulders. He no longer wondered at the golden texture of her hair, but at the way her head seemed to droop, as if she carried a great weight.

"Carolly . . . " he began, but she forestalled him.

"Have you given any thought to your name, James? I mean, isn't it important that the title carry on?"

James clenched his teeth, at last realizing the direction of her thoughts. She wished to match him with his governess! He was not surprised. Indeed, Carolly had stated her interest in finding him a wife. And yet, an irrational anger flowed through him. Despite his own similar thoughts earlier, he had no wish to have Carolly match him up with Miss Hornswallow. "I have an heir," he stated. "A cousin with a squat nose and freckles, but he loves town life and is seen with all the right people. He will make a respectable earl."

Carolly's gaze returned to him, her eyes darkening. "He loves town life? What does that mean? That he gambles and wenches and goes to cockfights or something?"

"Er, essentially, yes." He felt his skin flush at such openness, but he was becoming accustomed to such with Carolly. Indeed, he found himself smiling with grim satisfaction. Then he shook his head at his folly. Why would he invite such an impertinent line of discussion?

As he puzzled at his own illogic, Carolly continued to focus on him, frowning in disgust. "So, cockfights and wenching trains one to be a good earl?"

James shifted, stretching out his bad leg. "I really could care less. I shall be dead when he inherits."

She cut off a sigh. "But, James—"

"Let us be clear, Carolly. Are you perhaps suggesting I marry my governess?"

His cold and implacable tone didn't seem to bother Carolly. And there, James realized, lay the source of many concerns. If he, with a reputed coldness, could not discomfit or discourage this woman, then what had bothered his odd charge? What could possibly have led her to wander off alone and disconsolate?

A spark returned to her eyes, and she challenged him, "Why not marry Miss Hornswimper? Just because she's a governess doesn't mean—"

"To be honest," James snapped, "I would not care if she were my bootblack or the queen." His eyes focused on the way Carolly clenched another flower, rending its tiny petals with her fingertips. "I will not marry her."

"But—"

"Enough!" James pushed up from his seat, intending to stomp away, his irritation getting the better of him. What was it about this woman that always had him running, his composure in tatters?

"I didn't mean to insult your honor," she said, her voice carrying a clear note of pique. "I just thought she'd make a good wife."

"She would, if I were looking for one," he admitted. Then he sighed, still wondering at his own ineptitude. Why did he seem to bungle every conversation he had with this woman?

Carolly exhaled loudly. It sounded very much like the word "pooh," but James chose to ignore that. Instead, he shifted, kneeling down in front of her so he could take her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. She resisted, but he was relentless and finally he gazed into her wide blue eyes.

"I do not want love or a wife," he said firmly.

"Everyone wants love, James."

He looked closer, finally seeing the small red blood vessels in Carolly's eyes and the slight puffiness in her cheeks. Just as he feared. She had been crying. "What about you?" he pressed. "Do you want love?”

"I'm dead, James. Dead people don't love."

"You breathe," he whispered. Then he lifted his thumb to caress her beautiful neck. "Your skin is warm." He pushed aside her high collar to stroke the pulse at her throat, wishing he could press his lips to it instead. "Your heart beats. You are alive."

She pushed away from him, but not before he saw new tears form in her eyes. He moved to follow her, but her obvious pain kept him from doing so. He did not wish to hurt her by forcing his attentions on her, and so he watched helplessly as she walked unsteadily away from him, half falling into a large maple before steadying herself with one hand on its rough bark. When she spoke, her voice held such flat certainty that part of him wanted to believe her.

"In the last ten years, I have died six times. First in a car crash, then I died of TB. I've been beaten, stoned, and shot in the back. And I've suffocated from pneumonia." She turned, pinning him with her angry, wounded gaze. "I'm dead, James, and I will keep dying until I become an angel. And nothing you or I can do will change that."

They stared at each other, and James had the sudden feeling they stood on opposite sides of a huge gulf. Perhaps a gulf large enough to incorporate life and death.

"Carolly—"

"Don't." The tree she leaned on seemed to support her entire body. "Don't say anything. Just go back." She gestured wearily toward the top of the rise where Margaret and Miss Hornswallow were bent over some poor insect. "Your life is there, James. Live it. Now, before it's too late."

James followed her gesture, seeing the sunlit hill, hearing the earnest voices of the two people up there. He felt an urge to follow Carolly's command, not because he wanted to, but because she wanted it. And he wanted to make her happy.

But then he saw Miss Hornswallow stand, her body stiff and cold, her whalebone corset making her movement awkward. He remembered Carolly's body as it had been the night before, warm and yielding beneath him. She hadn't worn a corset. Indeed, the thought of encasing her energy, her passion, in cold whalebone seemed criminal to him. If anyone was dead, it was the excruciatingly correct Miss Hornswallow, not this strangely compelling Bedlamite.

"You are not dead, Carolly."

She did not answer, only turned away. He knew she was crying. He could hear her tiny gasps and could see the tiny spasms that shook her shoulders. The compulsion to go to her, to hold her, nearly overwhelmed him, but he did not. He could not. Emotion would not help her.