Angelina Page 11

  “Perhaps I misunderstood.” The earl, whose eyes had impaled her all this time, suddenly smiled. “You must think ill of a father who welcomes you home one minute and chastises you the next.”

  “Indeed, I’m glad to discover I have a father, My Lord. I’ll do my utmost to conduct myself in a manner you’ll be proud of.”

  The earl gazed reflectively at her. “That’s well said, child.” Stooping, he brushed her forehead with his lips. “Let’s be done with formality. As I’m your father it’s fitting you should address me thus.”

  “Thank you...father.” How sweet the word tasted on her lips. Her father…at long last! All the time she was growing up, how she’d longed for a family. Without thinking she crossed to where he stood and laid her head against his shoulder. “Dearest, father, how I’ve longed for this moment.”

  His hand awkwardly patted her shoulder.

  “How touching, Papa!”

  The earl stiffened and moved away when a flurry of rose coloured taffeta pushed between them. Luminous dark eyes swiftly assessed her. This must be Rosabelle.

  “Strange that we look nothing alike.” Her sister’s eyes narrowed as she took possession of the earl’s arm. Her exotic beauty was flawed by the hostility in her eyes. I am Rosabelle,” she drawled.

  “I’m Angelina.” The instant surge of dislike she felt for Rosabelle dismayed her. They were as unalike as two people could get, and she sensed it had very little to do with looks.

  Her mother took her hand, squeezing it in comfort. Not by word or gesture did Angelina betray her feelings. Her smile remained serene. “I’m happy to meet you at last, Rosabelle.”

  They stared at each other, she and her sister, with nothing else to say. The

  silence deepened, yet neither broke it. Rosabelle clung to the earl’s arm. There was a closeness between the two she’d never enjoy. It was a closeness of familiarity, of the love a father bears for a daughter.

  I’m your daughter too, her heart cried out. It was not my fault your love was denied to me.

  The silence was broken by the door clicking open. Footsteps echoed across the floor, and with the sound came tension. Rosabelle smiled slightly. Where the tension came from, or why it was there Angelina couldn’t guess.

  A man moved into her vision, a deep voice said quietly. “I’m sorry I was not here to greet you, Angelina.”

  For some reason prickles crept slowly up her spine, as if an unseen menace existed in the room. The man was big and strong, his hair and eyes dark, his appearance handsome. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, which were disconcertingly direct and never wavered from her face. She wondered if this direct gaze was characteristic of the Wrey Family.

  “You must be William.” She couldn’t understand why she whispered, except her throat had become unaccountably dry.

  “That’s so.” His eyes searched every inch of her face as if to imprint it on his memory. A small intake of breath hissed from between his teeth. “You are very much like your mama. I expected some resemblance to Rosabelle.”

  Angelina wanted to step back when William embraced her, but was prevented by the pressure of his fingers on her arms. She managed to keep her voice light. “Both you and James resemble the earl, but in different ways.”

  “If you think that you haven’t met Frey.” William’s glance flicked to the earl, his mouth twitched. “Frey is the image of the earl.”

  “Frey?” She was so tense she staggered off-balanced when William let her go. Her mother’s hand against her elbow steadied her.

  “That’s enough, Will.” Her father was having trouble keeping his temper under control. Rosabelle gave a soft giggle when Will threw him an insolent glance.

  “Angelina has to know sooner or later, father. After all, your bastard is her half brother too.”

  “Your behaviour is unfit for a gentleman, and inappropriate for this occasion.” The earl bowed stiffly to his wife, his eyes unable to conceal the humiliated rage he felt. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. Perhaps you’ll take our daughters upstairs where they may become better acquainted. I wish to speak to William alone.”

  It was a silent trio who left. Halfway up the stairs they heard voices raised in anger, then the sound of a blow.

  Rosabelle turned on her mother and hissed, “See what you’ve done by bringing this creature into the house. If Will is hurt I’ll never forgive you.”

  “Control yourself. William should not have spoken to his father so.”

  “You’ve never understood, Will. Never!” Gathering her skirts together Rosabelle fled up the stairs. She turned at the top, accusing. “And you have never loved me.”

  “That’s not true,” Elizabeth protested. “Without knowing it I was grieving all this time for Angelina.”

  “Well now you have her back,” Rosabelle spat out. “But don’t think anyone will like you any better for it. You’re cold-hearted, mama, and have always been so. Will hates you, and I despise you. Even your husband seeks his pleasure in another woman’s bed.”

  Angelina gave Rosabelle a shocked glance when Elizabeth gasped. Rosabelle swaggered back down the stairs, smiling at her mother’s ashen face “Mary knows how to make your husband happy in bed. The Earl cannot bring himself to enjoy you like he does his mistress, not even out of duty.”

  After the highwayman, this was the last straw. The sound of the slap was so loud it shocked them all. Anger burning in her, Angelina knew it had been she who’d dealt the blow. Rosabelle stared at her, a hand held against her stinging cheek, tears of shock gathering her eyes. She’d deserved it, Angelina thought, feeling not one iota of guilt as she hissed. “Your lack of delicacy is so disgusting it shames and dishonours the name you bear.”

  The enormity of her behaviour suddenly dawned in Rosabelle’s eyes. She began to sob, though more from fear than remorse, Angelina suspected. Her father would surely be furious if he found out. It had been an unsettling introduction to her kin.

  Rosabelle hung her head. “I’m sorry, mama, I didn’t mean any of it.”

  “Go to your bed-chamber, Rosabelle,” Elizabeth said faintly. “Wait there until I send for you.”

  As Rosabelle turned and fled Elizabeth clutched at the balustrade. “I feel unwell, my dear. Help me to my chamber.”

  “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

  Rafe came up the stairs behind them, scooping Elizabeth up in his arms just as she collapsed. Following her to her mother’s bed-chamber, Rafe gently laid her on the bed. He turned her way and his eyes touched on her face, understanding and absorbing her distress. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  “Thank you, Rafe, but no. It’s only a faint, the maid and I will take care of her.” As he made his way to the door she said in a tremulous voice. “Did you observe what took place?”

  She could have blessed him when he answered. “I had only just come from the library. If I overheard anything...” He shrugged. “Rest assured, I’m the soul of discretion.”

  “Thank you, Rafe.”

  “If I do not see you tomorrow before I leave, sleep well, Angel.” Two strides brought him back to where she stood. His lips touched her nose, then he tipped up her chin and brushed them against her mouth. His kiss was soft, like the touch of a butterfly’s wings. It robbed her of her breath and her voice.

  She knew she should have protested and darted a swift glance at her mother, relieved to find she’d not come round from her faint.

  Rafe chuckled when she blushed. Giving her a small bow, he turned and strode off towards the stairs, leaving her open-mouthed with astonishment.

  Chapter Nine

  Thomas Wrey stared at Mary Mellor, his eyes brooding. If it hadn’t been for Frey he’d have terminated the association long ago.

  How different she was from Elizabeth, he thought, experiencing a mixture of guilt and revulsion. He loved his wife, every minute spent in her company was an agony of desire and he longed to recapture the earlier days of their loving. If he got her with child again she’d most s
urely die, as she almost had the first time. He just couldn’t risk it, not yet.

  Conscience churning as it always did, he pulled on his breeches and jacket, then fumbled in the pocket for some coins.

  Mary frowned when he threw her reward on the bed. “Frey has applied for a clerk’s position on the Marquis of Northbridge’s estate, My Lord. He’ll be needing a new suit of clothes if he’s taken on.”

  “If Frey wants anything he only has to ask. He knows that.”

  “And you know he won’t ask you for nothing.” Fisting her hands to her hips Mary’s voice rose. “Why can’t I have an allowance for him?”

  Thomas looked askance at her. “Frey has had more than most in his position. He has a decent roof over his head, an education, and food in his belly. He’s reached man-hood and has to make his own way in life.” He turned away in dismissal. “I’ll put in a good word for him with the Marquis.”

  “And the clothes?” Mary demanded.

  “Will’s servant can find something Will has outgrown. You can collect them from the servant’s hall.”

  “Charity,” Mary mumbled. “Frey won’t thank you for it.”

  “Frey has too much pride.” He turned, fixing her with a hard stare. The woman was getting above herself.

  “He takes after you in that. You give more to the daughter of a prostitute than you give to your own blood. What would Lady Elizabeth do if someone told her about Rosabelle?”

  “Never mention My Lady’s name again!” Two strides took him back to her and he gripped her arms. “Be careful, woman. If your tongue loosens it may be necessary to detach it from your mouth.”

  Face turning to ashes Mary struggled to get free of him. “You wouldn’t.”

  Of course he wouldn’t, but it wouldn’t hurt to frighten her a little. “Be warned, my dear.” He shoved her on to the bed and his cane descended with a carefully aimed thwack just an inch from her head. She gave a frightened squeal.

  The whole house shuddered when the earl slammed the door shut after him.

  Mary was trembling. He’d never threatened her with violence before. She should have just taken his money and kept her mouth shut, the way she always did. Why had she brought Lady Elizabeth into the conversation? She should have remembered the earl whispered his wife’s name in the heat of his passion, even though he pleasured himself between her thighs?

  Mary convinced herself she’d not meant to carry out the threat. She’d do nothing to harm Rosabelle. Hadn’t she cared for the girl as if she were her own? And Rosabelle had never forgotten her old nurse. The earl and his lady would have a fit if they knew about the clandestine visits..

  Pulling on a patched gown she re-braided her hair. She smiled as she tied a strip of rag around the end. She’d not lost her looks, and if she’d gained a bit of flesh...well a man liked a bit of padding in the right place. No wonder the earl preferred her to that thin wife of his. Elizabeth Wrey was insipid with her milk white skin and pale hair. She was probably as frigid as she looked.

  “And who would want eyes that horrible green colour,” Mary muttered. “They’re downright peculiar if you ask me.” Now the sickly child had turned up! She grinned, imagining the expression on the earl’s face when he’d been informed.

  Voices in the garden drew her attention. She moved to the open window. Frey had arrived back from town just in time to meet his father. The pair stared at each other, mirror images, both as prickly as a pair of fighting cocks.

  She wanted to laugh when Frey stated firmly. “I’d prefer to gain employment by my own merit, sir.”

  “At least let me buy you a suit of clothes, Frey. Damn it, my boy, blood is thicker than water after all.”

  “No thank you, sir.” Frey’s aggravated politeness bordered on insolence.

  Stubborn young fool, she thought.

  The earl, his face a picture of haughty affront, mounted his grey. “I could find you a position on the Wrey estate.”

  “The position would be untenable, sir.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” He leaned down to pat Frey on the shoulder, frowning when Frey took a step backward. He cleared his throat. “The rector informs me you applied yourself diligently to your lessons.”

  “The rector is a learned man, and as he pointed out to me,” A bitter smile curved Frey’s lips as he mimicked: “Opportunities for education seldom occur for persons such as yourself, Mellor. You must apply yourself rigorously, making your benefactor proud of you.” He stared straight at his father. “I hope the expense of my education was justified. I’d prefer you didn’t feel cheated in any way.”

  “Quite so.” The earl’s face turned a mottled shade of red when he glanced up and saw her watching from the window.

  “You’ll have to excuse me, My Lord. I need to complete some Latin translation before the daylight goes.”

  The earl took a purse from his pocket, weighing it in his hand as Frey strode, stiff-backed, towards the house. He placed his finger over his mouth in a gesture of silence. She nodded, then deftly caught the purse when he threw it up to her.

  The grey gave a shrill startled whinny when the earl dug his heels into its side.

  She watched his back retreating out of sight before feverishly tipping the contents of the purse on to the rumpled bed. She smiled triumphantly when she saw gold gleaming amongst the silver.

  * * * *

  Thomas regretted his over generous gesture as he rode away from the cottage. Encountering his bastard son had been a shock, impinging on his judgment. Although his two legitimate sons bore the unmistakable stamp of the Wrey family, the likeness of Frey to himself was unnerving.

  Frey and Mary were becoming a problem, he realised, nodding at a couple of villagers who doffed their hats. The village women resented Mary. She was not from these parts, and because of their relationship she’d never earned either their trust or respect. Frey was in the unenviable position of being of neither class, and was scorned by both.

  Will and Rosabelle had befriended Frey when they’d been younger. Thomas had discouraged the friendship. As a result, Will had soon begun to despise Frey and his violence towards the boy on one occasion had earned him a severe thrashing. Thomas had not enjoyed administering it and his relationship with his second son had deteriorated since then. Will was inclined to hold a grudge, and had never forgiven him for taking Frey’s side.

  Frey had exceeded all his expectations with regards to his education. He experienced a flare of pride. Like James, Frey had taken Latin in his stride, could pen a good hand and had an aptitude for figures.

  Priding himself on the fact that Frey had inherited more of his traits than just looks, Thomas, as always, decided to discount the problem for the time being. The purse he’d given Mary would effectively silence her, even if his threat had not. As for Frey? Once he’d matured a little he’d realise how well off he was. He had a birthday soon. The nag the boy rode was almost on its knees and the gift of a fine horse would soon bring him round.

  Pushing Frey to the back of his mind he gave thought to Rosabelle’s birthday and a suitable gift. He’d considered buying her the ruby pendant she so desired, but with the expense of the ball and the possibility of a dowry. He frowned. Rosabelle fared badly when placed against Angelina. He’d spoiled the girl over the years. She was no longer contented with the trinkets he usually presented her with. Still, she was eighteen, and would soon be wed. Something of value would be appropriate for the occasion. Something from the family jewel collection?

  Rosabelle has no Wrey blood, a voice in his head reminded him. Angelina is your true daughter.

  He concentrated on the miracle of Angelina, finding pleasure in the fact she’d survived, despite his initial shock. She was such a dainty and well-mannered girl. He experienced a grudging respect towards Alexandra Pakenham, who’d raised her well, then salved her conscience by making the girl her heir. There would be no trouble finding Angelina a husband, and with James as her legal guardian it wouldn’t cost him a penny piece.<
br />
  It never occurred to him that he could challenge James’ rights to her guardianship. He was as happy to leave her future to another, as he had her past.

  * * * *

  Rafe’s worn riding boots had been burnished to a high polish. He tapped his crop against them, pleasing the servant who’d accomplished the miracle with a word of praise.

  He was about to visit Ravenswood. Seeing it in its dilapidated state was a depressing prospect, but the memories it held for him were dear, giving him a sense of happiness and peace. He owed the caretaker couple several months wages, and the fact that he now had funds to pay them, pleased him.

  Rafe had Taken up residence in Tewsbury Manor a week previously, and welcomed the solitude. For too long he’d been a guest in someone else’s home, socially obligated to be on his best behaviour and at the beck and call of the host family. Except when in the company of James, Rafe couldn’t remember when he’d felt so relaxed.

  The owner of the estate was a minor peer. Sir Edward Truscott possessed a vague and retiring nature, and had been pathetically eager to have Rafe take charge of his home in his long absence.

  “You’ll be doing me a great service,” Sir Edward had said, immediately making Rafe feel he was the one doing the favour. “Since my steward left I’ve been forced to run the estate myself with a clerk to assist. I’ve had a devilish time trying to find a steward who’s competent. Unfortunately the clerk has stated his intention to leave at the end of the month. If I could prevail upon you to manage the estate...?”

  Rafe indicated a willingness to help out.

  “I’ll leave instructions with my lawyer, who will present himself to you in due course to explain the, ah...arrangements. I think you will find them to your satisfaction. You know James of course, it was he who recommended you.”

  “Just so.”

  Suddenly discomforted, Sir Edward added hastily. “This is not to suggest, of course, that you should regard yourself as being in my employ. You would be doing me a great favour, Lord Lynnbury...a great favour.”

  “To be honest, I’m looking forward to browsing through your library,” Rafe said easily. “One never seems to find time in London to enjoy some solitude.”