Angelina (31 page)

“I’m sorry if I’ve shocked you, John,” Rafe said in a little while. “Ten minutes ago I was an impoverished earl who’d been rejected by the woman he loves. Now I’m an impoverished Marquis with the same problem. What do you think of that?”

John Masterson’s face softened as he heard a slight slurring in Rafe’s speech.He’d always liked Rafe as a lad, and had hated the father for his ill treatment of him.

   John had taken it upon himself to inform the late Marquis of that fact after Rafe had been subject to a particularly brutal beating. He’d been dismissed from his job for saying so. His dusty face creased into a smile. “I think you should sleep on the problem, My Lord. We can talk again in the morning.”

“You’re a wise man, John.” Rafe staggered a little as he got to his feet. “The lady informed me I’m an arrogant rake,” he said in disbelief. “And she just a little snip of a thing hardly out of the school room.” He shook his head as he ambled towards the door. “If she marries someone else I’ll pluck her from under his nose on the very steps of the altar. You see if I don’t.”

“A good idea, My Lord,” John said, trying not to smile.

“It is isn’t it?” He turned and bestowed a frown on John. “Did you think of it, or did I?”

“You did, My Lord.”

“That’s good.” He relaxed. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to know about my plan.”

John did smile as he watched Rafe amble away. Tomorrow would be as good a time as any to go through funeral arrangements with the new Marquis of Gillingborn. Draining his glass of brandy, John went in search of the manservant.

The impact of John Masterson’s news didn’t register on Rafe’s mind until morning. He’d expected to feel joy at his father’s demise, but instead, was beset by sadness. It was not the material loss of Monkscroft he mourned, but rather the close father and son relationship he’d never experienced.

Now, he had the unenviable task of informing Celine of the tragedy, and he dreaded her reaction. His sister had never been able to reconcile herself to the fact that her mother was an immoral woman without a shred of maternal feeling in her. She’d always made excuses for their father’s erratic behaviour, too. 

Celine had been a plain and gentle child, her shyness a testimony to lonely hours spent in the nursery or schoolroom. She’d always watched her mother from afar, worshipping her, her childish eyes seeing Mercy’s tawdriness as glittering beauty. Celine had lived for a smile or a kind word from her mother. The motherly smile had been rare the kind words fewer.

“She will never be beautiful,” Mercy had often cried, parading Celine in front of her friends. “She’s a poor, mousy creature who takes after her grandmother.” 

Anger licked at him when he remembered Celine sobbing her heart out after the encounters. Yet she had always loved the vile woman, and would never utter a wrong word about her.

To Rafe, Celine had always been beautiful. Her impact was not immediate, but her fine bone structure had a certain delicacy and her eyes were an appealing shade of blue. Married to James, well nourished and loved, she’d blossomed into a classic beauty. James was good for her, and Rafe knew he’d be eternally thankful his friend had fallen in love with her.

The thought that Celine would not have to bear her grief alone, lifted his spirits. He was his usual self when he sent word to John Masterson to take breakfast with him.

John handed him a satchel containing the deeds to Monkscroft. “I hope you do not mind, My Lord. As Monkscroft was still without a steward at the time of the fire I took the liberty of removing them from your father’s desk.”

 Rafe nodded approvingly. “Tell me what occurred, John.”

 John related the whole affair to him again, concluding with. “There’s some furniture and books stored in the stables. There was very little of value left to salvage, but what there is I’ve placed under lock and key.” He sniffed disapprovingly. “Reverend Locke and his son were prowling around the property before the smoke cleared, and acting as if they owned the place.”

“Were they, by God?” 

“Don’t worry, My Lord. They didn’t get very far giving their orders. I’d already alerted the local garrison of the fire and they sent over a couple of soldiers to take charge and prevent looting.”

 “Well, done, John,” he said warmly.

“The cellars remain untouched, but the way down is blocked by debris. I have reason to believe some Ravenswood chattels are stored there. They may be of value to you if they’ve not been damaged by smoke.

Rafe’s ears pricked up. “Ravenswood chattels? You’re sure?”

John nodded. “One of the servants told me they were placed there by Lady Mercy some years ago. I’ll set some men to excavate the cellars once the heat has gone from the building. There are also one or two fine horses. I took the liberty of using your father’s gelding to transport me here. The other is a mare in foal.”

“What of the servants,” Rafe asked.”Were any of them injured?”

“There were only a few servants left in your father’s employ. They’re unharmed.” He hesitated. “I believe they’ve not received wages for some time, My Lord. At the moment they’re residing in one of the empty cottages on the estate.”

“I see.” He gave John a wry smile. “Would the sale of the furniture cover the

wages?”

“More than enough, My Lord.”

“Then arrange its sale and make sure they get what they’re owed up to the end of the year. I’ll provide them with references. It’s the best I can do for them at the moment. As for yourself, you may keep the gelding for the trouble you’ve been put to. I’m indebted to you, John.”

“They’ll be most grateful, My Lord.” Once again, John hesitated. “Would you like me to arrange a memorial service?”

“A simple funeral will be enough under the circumstances.”

“I’m afraid the bodies have not been recovered. The fire was fierce.” John spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “No remains have been found, it will have to be a service or nothing.”

“Then a service will have to suffice. I will attend of course, and would be grateful if the servants could pay their respects.”

“I daresay they can be encouraged if they want their wages,” John murmured dryly.

“And what of you, John?” he asked. “After my father’s treatment of you can you bring yourself to attend?”

“Oh, aye,” John said comfortably. “I have no quarrel with the present Marquis of Gillingborn. I’ll be happy to be of service to you in any capacity.”

“Thank you.” Interest filled Rafe’s eyes when he gazed at John’s shabby attire. “How are you situated now?”

John shrugged. “Tolerable enough. My good wife and I live with my married daughter and pick up some labouring work now and again. Beth does a bit of sewing for folks when she can get it. We’re a mite crowded but at least we have a roof over our heads and a meal in our bellies. It’s been hard to find work in the district since Monkscroft started going downhill.”

“The owner of this estate is in need of a steward and has charged me with finding him one. The estate is small, but the owner has many business interests and spends much of his time abroad. He needs someone he can rely on in his absence. If you’d consider a move, there’s a cottage that goes with the job.”

“That’s kind of you, My Lord. Beth would be right pleased to have her own place again, I reckon. Them grandchildren of ours are lively little pups. With another on the way ... “ His face creased into a smile. “I could start right after the memorial service if you’re agreeable.”

“More than agreeable.” Breakfast finished, Rafe reluctantly got to his feet. “Now I must go and inform my sister of the tragedy. I’ll notify the housekeeper of your appointment on my way out, and instruct her to send a servant to familiarise you with the cottage and grounds. We can go over the business side of it when I return.” Extending his hand to John, Rafe received a firm handshake in return before striding from the room.

With James by her side Celine took the news more calmly than Rafe had expected. He spared her the more gruesome details, reporting only that there had been a fire in which their parents had perished, and there would be a memorial service at the local church. He explained he’d be travelling on to London afterwards to attend his first meeting of the hospital board.

“Under the circumstances, I’ll understand if you do not wish to attend the service.”

“Of course I must attend, they were my parents. Indeed, it’s my duty to do so.” A tear edged down Celine’s cheek and she dabbed at it with a lace-edged handkerchief. “I hope God will forgive them both their sins so they may rest in peace.”

“I’m sure he will,” Rafe murmured, doubting if God would be so charitable to such a pair.

“I will attend too,” James said. “Celine will need the support of us both if she’s to come face to face with Matthew Locke.” His hand covered Celine’s in a comforting manner. “Perhaps Angelina will allow us the hospitality of her estate for a day or two. It’s not far from Monkscroft and Celine will need to rest before returning to Wrey house. I’ll leave you together while I go and ask her.”

He was back in a short while with Angelina in tow. Crossing to her friend Angelina threw her arms about her, saying fiercely. “You shall not go unaccompanied. I shall be there to support you, even if I have to bully James into letting me come.”

   James was just about to point out that his wife had himself to support her, when Celine burst into a torrent of tears. “Dearest, dearest, Angelina,” she sobbed. “You are such a strength to me, I’ll be so pleased to have your comforting presence.”

Closing his mouth, James glanced at Rafe, and found him gazing at Angelina with a hungry, brooding expression in his eyes. Good, God! he thought in surprise. Rafe wears his heart on his sleeve for all to see.

His lips twitched at the corners, but he managed to keep his demeanour grave as he murmured. “Of course you can come, Angelina, if Rafe approves.”

James watched Angelina flicked a glance towards Rafe, watched the colour bloom in her cheeks when their eyes met. Rafe’s smile would have charmed the thorns off a rose.

Angelina’s voice was soft and husky. “I hope you approve, Rafe?”

“Most definitely,” Rafe drawled. Giving her a mocking little bow, he turned and strode rapidly from the room.

* * * *

Ellen held Rosabelle’s red gown against her body and imagined what it would feel like against her skin. Lord Northbridge had told her she could have one just like it if she wanted.

   She gave a dreamy smile as she danced about the room. The Marquis had scared her at first, but now she knew him better she’d begun to like him. He was generous with his gifts of money, and she’d begun to look forward to her encounters with him on her half-day off. Ellen thought the Marquis might even love her a little. Why else would he have suggested he might set her up in her own little house and keep her all for himself?

Placing the red dress back on the hanger, she took out another and inspected it. The seam had come apart under the arm and she sighed. Her mistress was careless with her clothes. If she didn’t get this one repaired in the next hour, Lady Elizabeth would dismiss her.

She’d been given a good tongue-lashing about her duties, and Lady Elizabeth  now came and inspected the wardrobe each day, at exactly the same time.

   The trouble was, Master William kept her awake half the night with his demands, and the Marquis wanted her services on her half day off. She was too tired to keep up with her work. Ellen reckoned she’d be better off being kept by the Marquis. Lively as he was, at least she’d get some time to herself.

“Damn, Lady Rosabelle’s wardrobe!” she suddenly muttered. “I’m not spending my half-day off sewing. Let them dismiss me if they like.” Moving swiftly to the chest at the bottom of Rosabelle’s bed she removed a filmy chemise and a pair of white silk stockings. She wrapped them in her shawl then hurried down the servant’s stairs and headed off towards the estate of George Northbridge.

From the armoury window, William watched her go. His mouth twisted in a  smile as he saw the bundle under her arm. He turned to Rosabelle, who was sprawled inelegantly upon a chair. “Let’s go and visit George,” he suggested, more out of mischief than intent.

“What for?” Rosabelle snapped. “I’ll be married to him soon, then I’ll see him every day.”

Her answer was what he’d expected. He smiled at her predictability. “What if you didn’t have to marry him?”

Speculation came into her eyes. “You have a plan, Will?”

“I’m the possessor of certain knowledge which could prove useful.” 

Avid inquisitiveness replaced the speculation. “What knowledge could you have about George that would help?”

“I’ll tell you when I think the time is right.” He crossed to where she sat, staring down at her with brooding eyes. “I’m going to America soon, what if I asked you to come with me?”

Her eyes began to dance with excitement, then she sighed and her expression became morose. “Mama would stop me. She’s determined I must marry George.”

“Your mama wouldn’t know until the ship had sailed with us aboard.” He smiled caustically when her face lit up again. “Life there will not be easy. You’ll have to learn to live without luxury, and there are savages to contend with. But the land is young, and mostly unexplored.” Enthusiasm lifted the dark shadows of his face. “Just think of it, Rosie. One day the American continent will be a great nation. We could be part of that if we worked hard enough.”

Rosabelle hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Worked? Doing what, pray?”

“I intend to start a horse stud. You could help me.”

“I’ll think on it, Will, she said offhandedly. George has promised me a house in London, and he said he’ll take me to all the social assemblies. It’s a life I’ve always imagined I’d lead.” 

William’s lips tightened in anger as he gazed at her. “Perhaps I should remind you that you’ve placed your life in jeopardy taking to the highway. That black stallion is easily traceable, and James is on the scent. If he discovers who owns it, the game is up. He’s too honourable to let Frey dance at the end of a rope for the crime of another, and be damned if I’m going to take the blame and hang in his place.”