Almost an Angel (5 page)

Carolly's soft voice interrupted his reminisces, bringing him abruptly back to earth. She'd moved nearer to him. This is fun," she said in a low tone, startling him. Could she read his mind? "I love challenging you, trying to make you think." She gave him a glance filled with wonder. "I like arguing with you. But you know, James, there are so many less important things we could fight about. I'd rather not do it over Margaret."

James stared at her. Would she ever cease to surprise him? "I agree," he said slowly. "I suggest we remove to the library and leave Margaret to her lessons."

Carolly sighed and shook her head. "I'm determined to talk to her." She shifted to look directly at him. "It's important."

"Why?" he asked. His voice was harsher, more abrupt than he intended. "So you can disrupt her routine, upset her delicate emotions, and generally throw her life into chaos?”

"No. That's what I'll do for you." Carolly said, her light blue eyes shimmering with . . . glee? "Yes," she continued. "I can see I already do. I disorient you. I challenge your neatly ordered world." She lifted her chin with clear pleasure. "Good. Maybe there's hope for you after all." Turning back to Margaret, Carolly suggested, "I know! Why don't you stay with us, James? Be with me when I talk to her. See how harmless I can be." She slanted a sideways look at him. It was filled with devilry and mischief, but despite all his mental warnings, James found himself warming to the excitement her eyes promised him. "I truly am trying to help," she added.

He was going to give in. He felt it in his bones. She had a way of setting his blood on fire that he found absolutely irresistible.

Yet something held him back.

Margaret. She was still very young. He was a man. He could walk with his eyes open into the disaster Carolly would no doubt visit on his head and have no one to blame but himself. But Margaret was a child. He would be remiss in his duties if he allowed her to be influenced by such a strange woman. And letting Carolly talk to the girl would just be the beginning. It was a slippery slope.

Reluctantly, he hardened his heart and shook his head. "I cannot allow Margaret's life to be disrupted."

Carolly snorted. "I'd say Margaret's life could use a good disruption. Oh James, look around. Can't you see how stifling this room is?"

James let his gaze wander around the room. The walls were a pristine white; the hard wood furniture, though sparse, appeared more than sufficient for Margaret's needs. The only other objects in the room were three books of sermons stacked neatly in front of Mrs. Homswallow. The fourth lay open in front of Margaret.

Things did seem a
bit
dull.

"I see nothing wrong with this room," he lied. He didn't want to promise too much too quickly, especially since Margaret was prone to flights of fancy. The last thing he wished to do was promise the child something vague only to see her disappointed. He smiled at his niece. Though perhaps we can get you a few new books." And maybe he'd even paint the room a different color.

Carolly sighed. "Books aren't going to cut it. She needs excitement. Playfulness. A childhood in her childhood." As James was trying to puzzle out those words, she grinned at Margaret. "Well, since we can't meet now, how about a midnight rendezvous? I’ll climb along the wall tonight to meet you. Sound like fun? Then we'll talk boys or clothes or whatever you want. Truly. I promise."

James gave in. He told himself his capitulation had nothing to do with the image of Carolly's small body flattened against the manor as she tried to inch her way to Margaret's window. He ignored the imagined sight of her broken body lying on the ground after she inevitably fell to her death.

No, he was thinking only of Margaret.

"Very well," he groaned. "Margaret, you may come with us to the library." He ignored Miss Hornswallow's gasp of outrage. Rounding on Carolly he added, "But you will not—I repeat, not—walk along the wall. Tonight or ever! Is that clear?" His voice brooked no disobedience.

Carolly responded with a laugh: that joyful cascade of notes which never failed to stir his soul. "Relax, James. Don't you remember my . . . chosen profession? I couldn't possibly be hurt unless it was time for me to leave anyway."

***

Moments later, the three of them marched quietly into James's library. James led the little procession, then immediately crossed to his desk and sat behind it like a judge. Carolly shook her head at him, then left him alone behind his barricade.

Margaret followed, a precise three steps behind her uncle. Despite her obvious resentment toward her guardian, she had apparently learned her place in his household quite well. She stood at attention in front of his desk, looking very much like a prisoner about to be sentenced.

Carolly bit her lower lip as she stood to one side and tried to think. The problem wasn't that James didn't love his niece; it was that he had no clue how to translate that warmth into real life. He obviously hadn't had any guidance on how to love, so he merely repeated the patterns of his own childhood—which had apparently been bleak.

Carolly spared a moment's grief for the child James must have been. It broke her heart to imagine him so alone, even while she recognized it was probably that very adversity that had molded him into the commanding figure she saw today.

But now she had her chance to shine. Now was her opportunity to show him just how to handle a young girl. She sauntered around the library, conspicuously letting her gaze travel over the sumptuous ceiling and walls. "Beautiful," she breathed. "Absolutely beautiful."

Whatever poetry James possessed, he'd clearly lavished on this room. It was quite large, easily holding eight huge mahogany bookcases with openwork silver panels, each filled almost to collapse. Interspersed between each case were huge windows that let in the sweet spring breeze and illuminated the thick mattress-like carpet. Most amazing of all was the painted ceiling.

Drawn in bold lines above their heads was an exquisite painting of Prometheus descending from Mt. Olympus with the gods' fire. Everywhere Carolly looked in the scene, she saw something new and amazing—whether the shock on the face of the gods, or the awe of the primitive humans. It was incredible, and Carolly knew she could spend hours staring at the painting and still see something new in it the next day.

Compared to this room, the nursery was a dungeon.

"Tell me, Margaret. How do you think your uncle would feel if you two traded rooms for a week or so?"

Margaret, smart girl that she was, didn't answer. But the comment hadn't really been directed at her. It had been aimed at James, and from the sudden frown on the earl's face, Carolly knew she'd made her point.

Now all she had to do was establish a rapport with Margaret. She decided to start with seating arrangements. She settled onto a velvet couch angled just enough away from James's huge desk that she and Margaret could have the illusion of privacy without actually excluding the earl. After all, he was the one who'd sat behind his desk. Let him come out from behind his fortress if he wanted to talk.

Patting the seat beside her, Carolly smiled at Margaret. "Come and sit here, dear. There's no reason for you to stand at attention. Your uncle will let me run this particular show." She directed a pointed glance at James, praying he wouldn't contradict her.

The seconds ticked by as both Margaret and Carolly held their breath, waiting for James's verdict. Finally he nodded, and the girl hesitantly joined Carolly on the couch. Immeasurably relieved, Carolly took a deep breath and decided to plunge right in. "First off, Margaret, please allow me to apologize."

She saw the little girl's shock. She couldn't quite see James's face, but she guessed he wore a similar expression of astonishment.

"You seem surprised, dear," Carolly continued. "Is that because no one has ever apologized to you before? Well, rest assured, when I make a mistake, I try to apologize immediately."

"Do—do not regard it, madame." Margaret's voice was high and uncertain, and Carolly could already see that, just like a wall, just like her uncle, Margaret had a great deal of reserve. It would take nothing short of a full-blown force of nature to break through.

Fortunately, Carolly thought with a smile, she was up to the task. Or so she hoped.

"Thank you, Margaret. But you have not yet heard what I'm apologizing for. For all you know, I could be confessing to murdering your parents."

Margaret gasped, and James shifted angrily in his seat. Carolly suddenly understood the magnitude of her blunder. She'd forgotten the girl's parents were dead. Margaret was an orphan.

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry, Margaret. That was completely tactless of me. I didn't . . . I wouldn't . . . " She grimaced as she accidentally bit down hard on her lip. "I'm not very good at talking to children, you know. Adults simply ignore me, but children—well, they often take what I say too seriously or not seriously enough." She paused a moment. "Well, that's pretty much the way the whole world treats me, so I guess children aren't very different, are they?"

Margaret looked completely at a loss, so Carolly simply continued babbling, silently praying God would put the right words in her mouth.

"Let me try again. I wanted to apologize for that scene in the nursery. I fought with your uncle over you without asking what you wanted. I practically ordered you downstairs, and that wasn't very nice of me. I'm sorry.''

Carolly waited for a response, but the girl simply pressed her lips together. Glancing at James, Carolly was struck by the resemblance between the two. Physically, of course, they were almost complete opposites. James was powerful, handsome, and very male. Margaret was young, a shrinking violet, and too aware of her place. And yet both had wills of steel.

Well, it was time to make Margaret feel important.

"From now on, Margaret, there will be new rules. They are very simple, really. First, if you don't want to be with me, you may leave. But," Carolly hastily added, "I hope you will stay."

For one heart-stopping moment, Carolly thought the girl would get up and leave just to be difficult. Fortunately, Margaret's only other alternative was probably the nursery.

"Good," Carolly said, once it became clear Margaret was staying. "Second, you are free to say anything you like, ask anything you like." She leaned over and lowered her voice. "You can even swear if you want to, and it won't bother me."

"It will bother me," James said, his rich voice descending on them like a pronouncement from the Greek gods overhead.

Carolly turned with a grin. "Then you needn't join us."

"Carolly—"

She turned back to Margaret, ignoring him. "And third, we may do anything you like when we're together." She caught James's angry glare and decided to amend her statement. "Within reason, of course. It can't be dangerous or take us too far away from your uncle's lands." James continued to glower, but Carolly ignored him. She would deal with him later. "So," she said brightly to Margaret. "How does that sound to you?"

"It is fine, madame," came Margaret's cool response.

Carolly squelched her disappointment. Obviously, given the girl's expression, Margaret didn't believe a word of it.

Well, thought Carolly with renewed determination, she would just have to prove she spoke the truth. "All right, Margaret. Now that we've established the ground rules, we should go on to introductions. My name's Carolly, but you can call me Caro." She felt James's disapproval, and squared her shoulders in defiance. "Now, shall I call you Margaret? Maggie? Peggy? What?"

In her first show of collusion Margaret turned to her uncle and spoke, her words as much a challenge to him as if she'd thrown down a gauntlet. "You may call me Mags."

Carolly felt her eyebrows rise at the odd nickname, but her surprise was nothing compared to James's reaction. His face became a thundercloud, and he boomed, "Your name is Margaret Amanda Northram—"

"But I shall call her Mags," Carolly interjected.

"Carolly," he thundered, "you do not understand—"

"I don't need to understand, James. She wants to be called Mags."

"But that was her mother's name!"

"Oh." Carolly understood. She smiled sadly at Mar—no, Mags. "My mother's name was—" She closed her eyes. What was her mother's name ? Oh, yes. "—Gloria, but my father used to call her Gold." She looked at the still-defiant girl. "You can call me Gold, if you like. Or Caro."

She didn't get the reaction she anticipated. She'd hoped to win a smile from Margaret, or at least a slight softening in the girl's demeanor. Instead she got a sneer of derision. "What a stupid name."

"Margaret! You will apologize immediately," barked her uncle, startling them both. But before Margaret could respond, Carolly rounded on him.

"Really, James. Can't you stop being domineering for five minutes and let me talk with the girl like a civilized person?"

"I will not allow her to insult a guest in my house!"

"I wasn't insulted. And even if I was, James, I'm perfectly capable of standing up for myself. If Margaret insults me, I'll tell her so. And if she keeps insulting me, then I won't be her friend."

James's eyes bored into her. They glittered like coal in the sunlight, and Carolly quailed under the force of his anger. She swallowed nervously, knowing James didn't like being contradicted, especially not in front of his ward. But it was too late now. She couldn't back down. And kindness, she was sure, was the way to the little girl's heart.

She lowered her voice, but didn't soften her tone. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, James, but I truly would like to get to know your niece. And I can't do that if you keep yelling at her. Even if she does something unkind. Now, do you think you can stay out of this for five minutes? Or should I find some other time to speak with her?" Her threat was clear. She would do whatever it took, including sneaking around the outside of the building at night, if it meant she could talk to Margaret unhindered.

James glowered. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched, and Carolly waited, expecting him to lash out angrily. But he didn't. To her immense relief, he glanced at Margaret then settled back in his chair.