Angelina (32 page)

Rosabelle’s face paled. “You should have let me rob the man, then Frey would have been freed. I shall not risk discovery again.”

William’s mouth twisted in a smile as he casually asked. “What did you do with the gold you relieved your victims of?”

“It’s hidden under a flagstone in that ruined cottage.” She attempted a laugh, but it had a hollow sound. “I took to the highway only because I craved some excitement. You’ve got no idea how boring being a woman can be, especially when stuck in the country.” Her eyes assumed a scornful light. “Men are such cowards when faced with a loaded pistol. Except for George,” she amended, excitement flaring in her eyes. “I had the feeling he might have disarmed me given the chance.”

“And if he had?”

“I’d have thrown myself on his mercy.” Her expression became sultry. “The man’s in love with me, he’ll do anything I ask of him.”

“You’re softening towards him.” He gave her a frown and said sharply. “How did you manage to get him to drop the charges against Frey?”

Rosabelle’s teeth worried at her bottom lip, then she shrugged. “Nothing too shocking. I allowed him certain liberties and then had a fit of the vapours. He was nearly frothing at the mouth.”

“Be careful of him, Rosie,” William warned. “He has a strong appetite when it comes to women and is full of confidence now you’re betrothed. Don’t push him too far.”

“Pah!” she said. “I can handle the old goat. I just wish I had the same power over Nicholas Snelling. Now Frey has been transported to London, Angelina will have to marry the wretch to clear his name. I bet she wishes she’d never heard of the Wrey family.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” He moved to the window, and gazing down at the sunlit garden, murmured. “She deserves better than Nicholas Snelling. She shows all the signs of being in love with Rafe, yet she’s turned him down. I believe Angelina will go through with her plan to marry Nicholas. She’s got great strength of character. We must find some way of helping her out of her predicament.”

“Rafe’s made an offer for her?” Jumping to her feet Rosabelle crossed to where he stood, staring at him in shocked surprise. “That underhand little snit has been working behind my back with him, and you expect me to help her? Never in a thousand years! She can marry the devil himself, for all I care.” 

He gave a pitying smile. “You’re not still harbouring hopes in that direction, are you, Rosie? Forget Rafe. Haven’t you noticed how he is around Angelina? “

“Yes…and I hate her. She’s so insipid.’

He laughed, and kissed her on the forehead. ‘No she’s not, Rosie. She’s delicate, fresh and lovely. No wonder Rafe is enamoured by her.

Rosabelle pushed him away with a pout on her lips. ‘I could take his mind from her if I put my mind to it.’

William shrugged and his own mind went to the gold Rosabelle had stolen. He must find it and cache it in a safer place - bury it in the woods perhaps. Later on it could be found and returned to its rightful owners. Once James found out about the horse the village would be the first place to be searched. He wasn’t about to allow Rosabelle’s stupidity to jeopardise his plan to seek his fortune in America. Besides that, he had the family name and reputation to consider.

Chapter Eighteen

The memorial service for the late Marquis and Marchioness of Gillingborn was a dismal affair. The church was nearly empty, the locals who attended looked dour, as if they were there under sufferance.

Mathew Locke and his family sat tight-lipped throughout the service. Their muttered condolences were barely civil when they left. The reverend drew Rafe aside engaging him in a short, terse conversation. Rafe accepted a document the man placed in his hand, shoving it inside his coat before joining the others outside.

   It had rained on the journey from Hampshire, a light, but persistent drizzle which shrouded the day with gloom and dripped dismally from the overhanging canopy of trees. The carriage was spattered with mud. The men, who’d chosen to ride astride so the women could be more comfortable, were soaked to the skin.

They didn’t linger after the service. Making a detour to where Monkscroft Hall had once stood, they gazed upon the gutted, blackened shell. Though the fire was completely extinguished the acrid odour of wet ashes came to their nostrils.

Rafe stared at the ruins for a long time without saying anything, then engaged Celine’s eyes.

“Locke has made me a generous offer for the land. His intention is to resurrect Monkscroft from the ashes. It was your home too, Celine. Would you mind if it was sold?”

Celine smiled as she gazed at James. “I didn’t know what a home was until I married James and now have everything I’ve ever wanted from life. But I beg you, Rafe, do not be too hasty in selling your birthright, especially to a man such as Mathew Locke. You may have sons to inherit the land one day.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked to Angelina before he strode to where his horse was tethered. “I’ll call on the man and find out his terms before I follow you to Chevonleigh.” Before he cantered away his glance slid to Angelina once again, his smile was wistful. “I’ll only promise to consider his offer.”

Angelina caught her breath for a second. Obviously, he’d not abandoned hopes of  a marriage with her, and at this moment he looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. She watched him disappear from her sight, her heart riding with him.

Chevonleigh was a two hours journey from Monkscroft Hall, and it was a welcome sight. A messenger had been sent ahead to warn the small household of their arrival, and the staff lined up in the hall, their faces wreathed in smiles of welcome.

There was a relaxed atmosphere about the house, James thought, watching Angelina greet her staff. She knew each one by name and enquired after their welfare with genuine interest and delight. She sought news of her old nurse, Bessie. When a maid said a letter had arrived from Bessie’s brother that very week, she sent someone in search of it and read it out loud.

Afterwards, there was a scramble to take the baggage up, with the servants vying for the honour of carrying Angelina’s.

James and Celine found themselves in a large, comfortable chamber with a fire burning merrily in the grate, a pot of hot chocolate to warm them, and a manservant laying out a dry set of clothing for him to change into.

Celine gave him an exhausted smile. “It has been a long and trying day, James. Would anyone mind, do you think, if I didn’t go down for dinner? I’m not in the least bit hungry.”

Instantly, he was by her side. “You must rest now. I have a meeting to attend with Angelina and the steward. Afterwards, I’ll have a tray sent up for us both. Promise me you’ll try and eat, a little broth, perhaps? You would not seek to deprive our infant of sustenance, surely.”

She smiled at that. “And what of Angelina and Rafe? Would you deprive them of your company?”

“I’m sure they can entertain each other without me, my dear.” 

“Angelina will surely be embarrassed to dine with Rafe alone after what has happened.”

He choked on a laugh. “You underestimate her. Angelina is her mother’s daughter in more ways than one. They are like chameleons, which change to fit in with their environment. Angelina is very much the mistress here. She’ll play the hostess to perfection, and Rafe will be dazzled by her.”

Later, James saw another side of Angelina, and was surprised by her grasp of business matters relating to the estate. It reinforced his belief that females should be educated in their letters.

Hugh Cotterill was astute, and treated his mistress with the respect she deserved. He seemed a good and honest man and Chevonleigh was in good hands. His sister was happy and relaxed at home, and he wondered if he’d done a wise thing by taking her away in the first place.

 When Rafe arrived at Chevonleigh he was shivering, and soaked through from a heavy downpour. Angelina escorted him personally to the chamber she’d had prepared for him.

She indicated a pale youth standing nervously by the bed. “This is Adam. He usually works in the kitchen and is not used to being a gentleman’s servant. I hope you’ll be patient with him as he’s expressed a desire to learn.” She gave Adam a reassuring smile. “Just obey the instructions of The Marquis of Gillingborn, Adam. I’m sure you will manage magnificently.” 

Rafe could have done without a servant, but he wasn’t about to tell her so in front of Adam, who was gazing at him with expectant eagerness.

“I’ve filled a tub, My Lord,” Adam said in the voice of one out to impress his mistress. “May I remove your wet garments and assist you into it?”

“I think we might wait until Lady Angelina has gone.” Rafe curled a grin at his hostess, who was beaming encouragement at Adam.

A delicious blush tinted her cheeks and she suddenly busied herself with a bowl of flowers on a small round table. “If there’s anything else you need, Rafe...a glass of brandy to warm you perhaps?”

There was a jug of coffee on the table and a bowl of fruit. He managed to smile as a trickle of cold water ran down his neck. “The hot bath and coffee will suffice, Angel. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

She turned and smiled, shyly aware of him, of her responsibility to him as a guest. “It’s my pleasure, Rafe.”  For a moment she stood there, not knowing quite what to do.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he prompted with a smile, knowing if he stood there much longer his dripping figure would dampen the expensive abusson rug.

“Goodness, yes.” She appeared slightly dismayed. “I’d quite forgotten. Celine has overtired herself. She and James will be taking dinner on a tray. If you’d prefer to do the same I’ll inform the cook.”

“And deprive myself of your company?” He raised an eyebrow. “I was counting on you to lift my spirits whilst we’re here.”

“Then I’ll do my utmost to accommodate you.” A mischievous grin flirted at her lips. “I intend to challenge you to a game of chess after dinner.”

“I’ll probably beat you,” he warned.

Her eyes slanted a warning at him. “I would not count on it, Rafe Daventry.”  Dropping him a mocking curtsy she was gone in a rustle of skirts, leaving a faint aroma of perfume in her wake.

 Dinner was a delicious repast of trout baked in herbed butter sauce, served with delicately flavoured vegetables picked that day from the kitchen garden. To follow came an apple pie sweetened with honey, and topped with cream, and carried in by the cook, who grinned from ear to ear as she set it on the buffet. “It’s your favourite, My Lady.” Afterwards came a selection of cheese and slivers of thin golden pastry, served with coffee, which Angelina poured from a silver jug into tiny porcelain cups.

Later, when a manservant offered him brandy and a pipe to round off a perfect meal, Rafe declined out of deference to Angelina.

“You need not stick too rigidly to convention, Rafe, especially after such a tiring day. If it pleases you to have a glass of brandy and a pipe I will not mind. I find the smell of tobacco pleasant, and beg you to allow me to try it whilst James is absent. I’ve often wondered what it tastes like.”

 Rafe chuckled when her eyes began to water after her experimental inhalation. Giving a strangled cough she handed the pipe hastily back to him, saying hoarsely. “For once, I think James was right. Smoking is no pleasurable pastime for a lady and the taste of tobacco is not so aromatic as I imagined. “

“One needs to acquire the taste.” He grinned as she hastily took a sip from a glass of wine. “Would you like to try again?”

Her smile turned into a gurgle of laughter. “I’ll content myself with watching you enjoy it.”

“After which, I’ll beat you at chess.”

The glance she shot him was challenging, but all she said was, “As you will, Rafe.”

Used to James’ defensive game, Rafe was hard pushed to keep up with

Angelina’s aggressive attack with her chess men. He’d been prepared to indulge her a little, but soon realised she read the board brilliantly. Every risk she took was backed up by a manoeuvre that left him wondering how she’d managed it. He gazed at her through narrowed eyes, watching her sharp, white teeth worry her bottom lip as she studied the board. Then she smiled slightly and flicked him a glance before moving one of her remaining pawns. “Check.”

Rafe gazed at his king, then at hers. She’d castled it in the centre of the board. He took the pawn she’d checked him with and watched in dismay as she pounced with a second pawn.

   “Had you forgotten I’d queened that pawn?” she enquired sweetly.

   He gave a rueful laughed and knocked his king face down on the board. “Who taught you to play?”

“My French tutor.”

“He must have been an excellent player. You had me flummoxed.”

Her giggle was one of pure delight. “He was a she, and she advised me that men have a tendency to underestimate a woman’s power of observation. I have watched you play with James, and have studied your game. You’re used to attacking, he defending.”

“So you reversed the procedure to throw me off.” Rising to his feet he gave her a lazy smile. “You took quite a risk.”

Her eyes were all at once winsome and appealing. “I fail to see why. There was no wager on the game.”

“If there had been, would you have been more cautious?” 

She half-turned in her chair and watched him cross to the fireplace. “It would depend what the wager was. Aunt Alexandra told me never to gamble unless I’m prepared to risk losing.”

The woman under discussion was hanging over the fireplace. Her eyes were bird-bright and seemed to be watching them. “She was a lady of good sense,” he murmured. “What would she say if she knew you were contemplating marrying Nicholas Snelling, I wonder.”

Angelina knew she would have denounced him as a fortune-seeking coward, and forbidden such a marriage. Frey would have been condemned to an untimely death without remorse if her beloved Chevonleigh had been at stake.

For a moment Angelina felt unaccountably lonely. A lump gathered in her throat, threatening to choke her. “She would not have been happy about it.” Rising from her chair she crossed to where Rafe stood, gazing at him with troubled eyes. “Perhaps James will find something to clear Frey’s name.”