The Solemn Bell (20 page)

Angelica yelped, and accidentally overturned her wineglass. With everyone’s attention on the spill, Mr. Lawton laughingly withdrew his hand. The tender place where he’d hurt her throbbed. She’d have a bruise—how would she ever explain that to Captain Neill?

The table was in an uproar. The servants rushed to mop up her graceless blunder. Everyone talked over one another, yet only Captain Neill’s voice cut through the clamor.

“My God, Angelica, are you all right?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s just a spill. Don’t worry about that.” He stood to help her out of her seat. “But…are you all right?”

She clung to him. Her cheeks burned red, and her thigh stung. She wanted to get out of that room before anyone saw her cry, but she couldn’t find her way alone. “Please, take me upstairs.”

Captain Neill escorted her from the dining room. When she was out of earshot of the others, Angelica burst into tears.
 

“Oh, come now,” he said, holding her as she sobbed. He petted her hair and rocked her like one would treat a child with a skinned knee. He could never, ever know what that dreadful Mr. Lawton had done to her.

“Brody, I’m so humiliated!”

“Everyone upsets their wine glass. I’ve done it. It’s not the end of the world.”

She shook her head against his jacket-front. “No. They’ll assume that because I’m blind, I am clumsy, or that I cannot comport myself at table.”

“You’ve had a very trying few days. Why don’t you have a lie down? I’ll wake you for tea.”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

He sighed. “Angelica, I can’t stay in your room with you. It won’t look right.”

“Then take me somewhere where it
will
look right,” she said. “The library, or…or…”

Captain Neill guided her into the library, and helped her down onto the sofa—the same sofa they’d copulated on the night before. Angelica flushed, swearing she could still feel the press of him against her lips, the rough way he’d fisted her hair, and called out her name as she worked him toward release.
 

She never felt shame for the things she’d done with him, or even with her previous lover. She’d been game. She’d been safe. She’d been free to give and take, and enjoy herself in whatever way felt best. What Mr. Lawton had done frightened her. Angelica felt guilty of the purpling bruise between her thighs. She was going to have to hide it like a dirty little secret, when she had not done anything wrong.

Captain Neill wrapped her in an Afghan rug, and tucked her back into the pillows. He took a seat in an armchair nearby, idly turning the pages of some magazine. His breathing was relaxed and even. She took refuge in the mundaneness of the moment. She was safe—for now.

“Read to me,” she said.

He laughed huskily. “
Nimrod’s Hunting Experiences: Memoirs of Masters of Hounds, Notices of the Crack Riders and Characteristics of the Hunting Counties of England
…”

“Nevermind,” Angelica said, laughing. “That doesn’t sound at all interesting.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” He got up and crossed the floor. She could hear him thumbing through the shelves. After a moment, he returned to his seat. “How about this one?
A Cup of Tea, by Katherine Mansfield.
Seems like something a woman your age would enjoy.”

“Alright. Go on.”

He cleared his throat and started the story, “
Rosemary Fell was not exactly beautiful…
”

Captain Neill’s strong, soothing voice reminded of her of when she was a child, and Father would read to her. Her understanding of the world was limited—still limited, truthfully—but she’d enjoyed the words, the cadence, and the rhythm of language. Now, she enjoyed the easy, unhurried way Captain Neill read.

It was a nice way to pass the time from luncheon until tea, when she would have to face Peter Lawton and the Neill family once again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Angelica sat on a blanket spread out on the grass. The sun was warm on her face, and everything smelled fresh and green. No one mentioned her episode from earlier in the day—it was as if it never happened. Not even Mary Rose bit on that one. Perhaps Captain Neill had told them all to leave her be. To them, it was only a spilled glass of wine and a little chaos. To Angelica, it was something slightly more sinister.

The sound of Mr. Lawton’s voice, as he cavalierly ate smoked salmon sandwiches and flirted with both Cynthia Cartwright and Mary Rose, grated on her nerves. Once, when he’d addressed a question to her, she flinched at her name on his lips. Thankfully, Captain Neill didn’t notice her discomfort. He sat beside her on the blanket, letting their shoulders touch, and their hands occasionally brush like two shy lovers at a church picnic.

It was chaste, and sweet, and—in some small way—helped to wash the bad taste of luncheon out of her mouth. Captain Neill was a good man, and, beneath his corroded exterior, he had a pure heart. Moments when he laughed with her, or brushed a wild lock of hair from her cheek, letting his fingertips linger on her pinkening skin, made her forget there was cruelty, war, and addiction in the world. Troubles seemed a million miles away. Surely, not even a villain like Peter Lawton could ruin the day.

“How exactly did you two meet?” Mr. Lawton asked between bites of sandwich.

“Remember when I crashed my car?” Captain Neill replied. “Angelica gave me shelter until I could go for help.”

“You must be very brave, Miss Grey. Do you often take in strangers from the rain?”

Angelica didn’t care for his tone, or what he insinuated. “Never.”

“Well, fortunately for you, it was Brody. I shudder to think what could befall such a helpless young beauty if the stranger in question was not a gentleman…”

Clearly, he was remembering how easily he’d taken advantage of her during luncheon. Angelica shuddered. Instinctively, she leaned against Captain Neill’s shoulder, searching for his strength in the darkness. She wasn’t looking for protection, but for support. Knowing he was there gave her the courage to face Peter Lawton.

“I am not helpless.”

This time, the man laughed. “I hope not. I admire girls with a bit of…
fight
…in them.”

After that, he turned his focus back to Cynthia and Mary Rose. Peter Lawton knew he could have either of those girls—or both, if he wanted—but Angelica was something more sporting. Men like him wanted to chase, to capture. To possess. As long as women ran from him, he would pursue. He would never be a faithful husband, and would likely squander his wife’s precious dowry on whores and drink.

Would Captain Neill have been faithful? Angelica liked to think so. Despite his love for her, as his mistress, she held no claim to him. A man could have a dozen lovers spread all over Britain. Yet, if he had married her, she felt certain he would be a tender, faithful, devoted husband. She would have been a tender, faithful, devoted wife. Now that marriage was out of the question—he’d said so many times—Angelica could only hope that his love for her would keep him steadfast and true.

As if he could sense her thoughts, Captain Neill softly touched her arm. “Another sandwich, Angelica?”

“No, thank you. Between two salmons and a Victoria sponge, I’ve had plenty.”

He leaned in close, his voice tickling her ear. “I like to watch you eat.”

“Why?” She laughed.

“I don’t know. You were thin and starved when I first met you. Perhaps I like the idea of fattening you up.”

“Am I…fattening up?” Truthfully, Angelica wasn’t sure she could fit in her old, threadbare frocks, even if she wanted to. Too many more cakes, puddings, or trifles, and she might not be able to fit in her new frocks either. But, she
was
eating better than she had since before the war. She was having meats and sugar with every meal. Her stomach hardly ever grumbled now.

“To me, you’ve never been more beautiful.” Captain Neill laughed. “And, if we’re both honest, I’ve put on a bit of girth myself—eating, sleeping, and being happy can do that to a chap.”

“We are both happy, aren’t we?”

He ran his thumb down the length of her forearm, murmuring more to himself than to her, “For the very first time.”

“I thought you looked fat, Brody!” Mr. Lawton must have been eavesdropping. He wanted them to know it. “Come up to the room later. I have something that can help.”

Captain Neill squeezed her hand as he said, “You know I don’t go in for that sort of thing.”

Undeterred, Mr. Lawton only laughed. “Ah, right. Well, forgive me, old bean, if I prefer something that will keep me jazzing all night, not nodding off with my trousers open.”
 

Angelica was beginning to hate that laugh. She wondered what Cynthia, Mary Rose, or even Mrs. Neill thought of Mr. Lawton’s rude behavior. But, it seemed everyone was off in their own conversations. Marcus and his father discussed some business matter, while Mary Rose told Cynthia about her party plans for the hundredth time. Truly, was that all those girls thought of—parties, frocks, and men? Even Mrs. Neill seemed to delight in the girlish gossip when she could get a word in.

Suddenly, Captain Neill stood up. “I think I’ll show Angelica the gardens. According to you, Peter, I had better start walking off some of this bulk.”

“What’s the point of showing the girl the gardens?” Mr. Lawton asked, cruelly. “She cannot see them.”

“No, but I can smell, and touch, and listen. There is more to the world than what one can see.”

Captain Neill helped her to her feet. “Well said, Angelica.” To the others, he added, “Don’t wait for us. I think we’ll do the full circuit. I cannot remember the last time I walked it.”

With that, they set off into the gardens. They walked for a long time, talking quietly about nothing in particular. They were in some sort of ornamental orchard. The fragrant trees had been planted in neat rows, and Angelica felt certain they looked breathtaking in bloom. Many of them she knew from home—plum, apple, cherry, and pear. Others, Captain Neill identified for her. Some of the trees had even been imported from faraway lands, and planted a hundred years ago.

“I am sorry about Peter,” he finally said. “He’s an absolute ass.”

Though she agreed, Angelica shrugged it off. “But he’s your friend…”

“He
was
my friend, but, today, I think I outgrew him. I cannot tolerate someone who treats you unkindly. And, honestly, it’s for the best that I stay away from people who still live like I used to.”

“You’ve gone a long time without your morphine,” she said. “Are you worried you’ll always be tempted?”

He warned her of a low-hanging branch, and then explained, “I don’t trust myself. There are times when I feel that my own mind—my own body—is my enemy. I’ve learned to distract myself from thoughts of taking drugs, but I’m afraid that one day it won’t be enough, and I’ll be right back to where I started.”

“But you cannot live your life isolated from all temptation. It isn’t healthy.”

“So says the girl who never stepped foot outside her property for fear of being carted off.”

Angelica stopped walking. “Perhaps that was irrational. I tested that fear, and am no longer afraid.”

“Yes, well, I’m still afraid. Every morning. Every night.”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. “And for that, you are the bravest, strongest man I know.”

“God, Angelica, where were you seven years ago? We wouldn’t have had to suffer through any of this.”

“We would have suffered in other ways. Perhaps you weren’t ready for me all those years ago. I know I wouldn’t have been ready for you,” she said. “I have to believe that everything happens for a reason, and every terrible thing is only preparing us for something greater. Now, we know what we’ve got. We know it’s special. We’re willing to fight for it, when maybe we wouldn’t have before.”

For a long moment, there was only the humming of bees, and the calling of birds overhead. The curtain of fragrant blossoms made Angelica feel dizzy. She wanted to laugh and cry, all at the same time. Mostly, she wanted Captain Neill to say something so she didn’t feel quite so foolish.
 

Finally, he took her in his arms, and whispered, “I will never, ever stop fighting for you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

She truly was an angel. His father simply didn’t understand. What was money, when one had the true love of a good woman? If the old man ever cared for him at all, he would see that her lack of fortune did not matter. Brody was happy, healthy, and in love for the first time. Angelica Grey was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Surely, saving him from a life spent slowly killing himself was worth a ring on her finger and a livable allowance.

He and Angelica stood in the walled garden. They’d passed the orchards, the lily pond, and the sloping hills full of hundreds of yellow daffodils. As a boy, he’d escaped here often when his parents’ misery bubbled over into the nursery, or the schoolroom, or wherever he and Marcus happened to be.
 

Mother and Father had never been happy. They’d married for money, and looked for love elsewhere. Because they placed no importance on marital love, they did not expect their children to, either. But, surely, no parent would wish their offspring to make the same mistakes they did…

Brody looked around. “Tell me what you see.”

Angelica tilted her head, letting the scents and sounds of the garden wash over her. “I see…a stone wall that’s warmed in the sun. Wet bark, and clipped grass. Lilacs, I believe—I always loved lilacs.”

“That’s not fair. What you described could be any English garden. How do I know you’re not just making it up?”

“Blue sky, green grass, trees, and flowers—all very common, I agree. But it’s the way in which these components are arranged that makes them unique. You have a heart, and a brain, and teeth, and hair. Does that mean you’re just like every other man?”

“Well…no.”

She laughed. “Of course not. You are individual, just as this garden is.”

“You’re pretty unique yourself, you know.”

Angelica wrapped her arms around his waist, beneath his tweed jacket. “So you keep telling me.”