A Guardians Angel (10 page)

Leonia nodded as if Angela had spoken. “You are right to be upset. Because Thomas likes Lord Harrington is no reason for me to marry that air-dreamer. After all, Rodney has told us that the viscount is not fit company for any of us.”

“Why?”

With an indifferent shrug, she said, “It does not matter. Rodney must have a good reason. He always does.” She clenched her hands by her sides. “Let Thomas leg-shackle himself to that widgeon. I shall not!”

She ran from the room in a flurry of pink muslin to leave Angela more betwattled than ever.

When Angela drew the pony cart to a stop before the gate to Harrington Grange, she was certain her appearance was more fitting than during her last call in the drenching rain. She appreciated Mrs. Meyer’s offer of the cart, even though Angela had not told the governess where she planned to go.

She lashed the reins to an iron ring on the wall and opened the heavy gate. An extravagance of color welcomed her into the house’s chaotic front garden. On a stool by the door, a little girl, her raven curls contrasting with her white dress, rocked a doll on her knee.

Angela smiled. The child could be no older than Seth, but Angela could not imagine the boy playing so quietly. “Good afternoon,” Angela said as she came closer.

The little girl did not look at her.

“Good afternoon,” she repeated.

Again the little girl did not reply.

Angela tapped her on the shoulder. With a gasp, the child jumped to her feet and stared at her, her hazel eyes wide in shock.

“I am sorry if I disturbed you,” Angela said with a smile. “I—”

The child turned and fled into the house. The door slammed.

Angela sighed. She had not meant to alarm the child.

The door opened again. Mrs. Graves peered out and tried to smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Needham. His lordship is out, but I expect him back soon. Would you like to wait?”

“If I may use the time to apologize to the little girl I just frightened.” Angela lifted her hand to her waist. “About this high.”

“Oh, you must mean Delicia.”

“What a charming name! And it is perfect for such a shy child. Is she your daughter?”

Mrs. Graves wrinkled her apron. “Will you sit, Miss Needham?” She motioned with her head toward a cast iron bench set within an arbor.

Angela could not mistake the disquiet in the housekeeper’s voice. Bees buzzed through the flowers on the vines, but Mrs. Graves said nothing while Angela sat.

“Miss Needham, I had thought that you would have known by this time. Few things stay quiet in this shire.”

“Known what?”

“About Lord Harrington’s tragedies.”

“What sort of tragedies?” she asked. She had never guessed that Justin’s easy grin hid anything but his needle-wit.

“About Delicia and her mother.”

“He is married?” That odd, wrenching sensation twisted through her as it had when Leonia spoke of marrying him.

“Was. His wife died more than five years ago, right after Delicia was born. It has not been easy for his lordship to raise such a child alone, so she was often with his mother until the dowager viscountess died last year.”

Angela recalled how during her first visit to Harrington Grange, Justin had been perusing a page while he wore a troubled expression. Had that been about his daughter?

“He must be delighted to have his daughter with him again,” she said when she realized Mrs. Graves was waiting for some sort of response.

The housekeeper crossed her stick-thin arms on her chest. “Do not think that I am overstepping myself, Miss Needham, when I say ’tis time she came here. This is where the poor lamb belongs.”

“With her father.”

Mrs. Graves’s forehead threaded in bafflement. “I meant here in the country where she can grow up without being an embarrassment to him.”

Angela knew she should keep her tongue in her head, but she asked, “Why do you say that? She is a beautiful child and a gentle one as well. I could see that from the way she handled her doll.”

“I am only speaking the truth. There is no place for that poor, deaf child in a decent household in Town.”

“Deaf?” Rising, Angela kneaded her fingers together. “That explains why she was so startled when I touched her. She did not hear me.”

“Her grandmother kept her away from strangers to protect the child from the cruelty of pity.”

“Pity? That is the last thing she needs.” Angela shuddered as she recalled saying nearly the same thing about the Sutton children. “Delicia needs to be with other children.”

“That is impossible.”

“Of course it is possible.”

“Miss Needham, that is her papa’s decision.”

Knowing she should not probe more with the housekeeper, Angela whirled as she heard the gate creak. Justin strode along the walk, carrying his net and basket. When he saw her, he smiled and waved.

“How could you be so heartless?” she demanded.

His smile faded as he looked from her to Mrs. Graves. The housekeeper mumbled something as she went into the house. Tossing his butterfly net and the basket onto the wall, he asked, “Can I believe you might once greet me with something as mundane as a ‘good afternoon?’”

Angela flushed. Caught up in her shock about Delicia Harrington, she had let her mouth rule her head. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Angela. May I inquire what has brought you here today?”

“His Grace has agreed to allow the children to make a call here for two hours on Thursday afternoons—”

“Dashed benevolent of him, knowing as he apparently does that I often go on Thursdays into the village to have tea with the vicar and talk about the study of nature. I shall change the day for our discussion and accept Oslington’s paltry benevolence.”

“He is more benevolent than you are!” Angela fired back.

“You are in quite a pelter today, aren’t you?” He laughed without humor.

“I find it unconscionable that you are imprisoning your daughter behind these walls.”

Justin took off his hat and set it on the wall. Resting one booted foot beside it, he arched a single, ebony brow. She did not want to admire how smooth each motion was and how his arms, which had held her so close in her dreams, were now crossed across his broad chest. “I trust by your heated words that you have met Delicia.”

“Met her and learned of the poor child’s situation. Mrs. Graves was kind enough to enlighten me.”

“You should know that Mrs. Graves does not speak for me.”

“I should have, but …”

He smiled grimly. “It appears Mrs. Graves has convinced you to share her conviction that I am hiding Delicia because I am ashamed of her.”

“Yes.” Angela bit her lip. “Mayhap I have jumped to conclusions unwisely.”

His voice hardened. “Mayhap you have. I should have guessed that you would have little pity for anyone you thought had abandoned a child. Apparently you have developed the same pity for the Sutton children, for, in spite of the fact Oslington has a governess and a tutor to oversee the education of his wards, you seem to have taken them on your own responsibility.”

“The topic of this conversation is your child, not—”

He gave a terse laugh, then sat on the wall. Looking up at her, he did not apologize for his lack of manners. Instead he said, “I have not abandoned my child. Not now. Not before. I sought the best medical care for her after the fever claimed my wife and left Delicia without her hearing. When I learned there was nothing that can be done, I brought Delicia back here, although she often visited her grandmother, whom she adored. Since my mother died, Delicia has stayed here all the time with me.”

“With you, yes.” She did not wait for an invitation, sitting beside him as she asked, “But why won’t you allow her to play with the Sutton children?”

“Me allow?”

“I told you,” she said with rare exasperation, “His Grace has consented for the children to pay calls on Thursday afternoons. If
you
agree, they may call here. Delicia and Seth are nearly of an age. They could—”

“What? Play? Can you imagine Delicia with them?”

“Yes.”

He stared at her with astonishment. “I thought you were a practical woman, but I clearly was wrong. Delicia cannot hear. She cannot speak. She certainly cannot take part in any games.”

“How do you know?”

“I …” His smile did not lessen the iciness of his green eyes. “I understand your ploy. You wish me to say ‘I don’t know.’ Then you can persuade me to let the children play together.”

Angela rose. Her gaze remained locked with his as he stood. “Why not try once? It cannot hurt. Say yes, and I shall bring the children to call on Thursday next.”

He took her hand. When he raised it to his lips in a gentle, questing caress, she was sure a flood of warmth had dissolved every bone within her. A soft gasp bubbled from her as he placed a swift kiss on each knuckle of her fingers.

Just as he had in her dream …

Unnerved by the sudden yearning to be even closer to him, Angela drew her hand away. She struggled to make her voice sound serene, but—as she saw the knowing smile on his face—she knew he had sensed her pleasure with his touch. Just her pleasure … or his, too?

“If you will say yes, Justin, I am sure the children will be delighted to call upon your daughter.”

“Bring them on Thursday,” he said softly. “I see getting into a brangle with you is useless. You have a delightful method of getting your way.”

Angela nodded and turned to leave, fearful of what might happen if she lingered so close to him in the empty garden. As she reached for the gate, he called her name.

She turned to discover him right behind her. Taking a step back, she paused before her gown could snag on the vines twisting along the wall. “Yes, Justin?”

“You make it easy to say yes to things I have not considered for many years.” He smoothed a strand of her hair back beneath her bonnet.

“We should not be talking like this. Without a chaperon, we—”

He laughed as the door opened, and his daughter rushed out to embrace his legs just as Seth had the duke’s. Setting one hand on Delicia’s hair, he put his other under Angela’s chin. He tipped her face closer to his. “We have a chaperon now.”

“A little girl.”

“But a little girl who reminds me that I should not put into action the thoughts I had when I saw you here amid my overgrown garden.”

“Thoughts?” She should not let this conversation continue, but she could not bear to bring it to an end when she was able to look up into his emerald eyes.

“Do you really wish to know how I could not decide if I would rather admire your pretty lips or your prettier curves? Do you want me to say how I cannot wait for the next time your eyes snap at me with fury because your fiery spirit enthralls me? Do you want me to say anything?” He bent toward her as his fingers trailed up her cheek. “Or do you want to be done with talk altogether?”

Delicia pushed between them, and Angela stepped back. The child might not be able to hear or speak, but she seemed to understand the inherent danger of Angela remaining so close to her father. She gazed up at Angela with an expression that matched Justin’s most obstinate one.

Kneeling, Angela said, “Delicia, I am sorry I startled you.”

“She cannot hear you.” Pain blared from his voice.

“I know, but she can read what is on my face.”

“You can only assume that. At least one of the doctors we took her to believes that she has no more wit than a rambunctious pup.”

“Nonsense!” She kept her smile in place, but Delicia pressed back against her father’s legs. Coming to her feet, Angela added, “Do you need further proof? She must be able to discern something because she just reacted to the anger that must be in my eyes.”

“They are snapping in righteous fury.” His frown eased into the cockeyed smile that did such strange and wonderful things to her heartbeat. He cupped her elbow and drew her nearer again.

Once more, she drew back, although she had to fight every longing in order to force her feet to move. “I need to return to Oslington Court. Leonia is expecting me to give her another lesson today.” That was not the truth, but she could not speak the truth of how she yearned to slip into his arms and to stay there more than a few moments.

“Thursday then?” he asked, reaching over Delicia’s head to curve his fingers along Angela’s cheek.

“Yes.”

“I will look forward to Thursday then.” He gave her the teasing wink that had irritated her before.

Angela hurried through the gate. As she stepped into the cart and sent it back toward Oslington Court, she was glad that—for once—she had not spoken the words battering her lips. Then he would have known how disappointed she was that he had kissed only her fingers. She would be a fool to let
that
dream come true.

Eight

Justin dropped into the garden on the far side of the wall that surrounded Oslington Court. Wiping dirt from his hands, he chuckled quietly. He had not guessed he would ever sneak over that wall again.

Looking around, he saw that little had changed since he had last come here. The hedges might be an inch or two taller. The trees in the orchard were more gnarled with age, but the pond and the ducks and a pair of aristocratic swans were the same as they had been when he was a boy. The same as they probably had been since this house had been raised and its gardens built to hold back the wild moor hundreds of years before.

He strained for any sound. From the right, he could hear the voices of the stablemen. He sought a different voice, one that was higher in pitch and stirred his blood far hotter than it should. Thomas had told him that Angela often took a walk in the gardens during the afternoon.

The orchard would offer no shield from anyone looking out the windows of the grand house, so he walked along the hedges toward the white garden. Or it had been the white garden when he last had visited here … could it be over five years ago? That one attempt to ease the enmity had been thrown back in his face. He had vowed not to return.

He would not have, either, if he had not had a compelling reason to call here. Again he glanced at the house that hunkered down on its garden like a great stone monster that had climbed out of some break in the moor.