Devall's Angel (28 page)

Devall helped. And not just in memory. He sent flowers twice a day, accompanied by encouraging notes, instinctively knowing how to calm her fears. One informed her that Atwater had been judged irreversibly insane and packed off to a private asylum. Another mentioned that nightmares were inevitable, but that her good sense would soon prevail.

He was right. By week’s end, she was able to sleep at least six hours before the horror intruded. Other irritations finally drove her from bed, despite her lingering pain.

Sylvia’s hovering became annoying. And Andrew was nearly as bad. He had been delayed at the Court, not returning to town until four days after her abduction. Since they had expected him sooner, they had sent no word, so he was appalled to discover her injuries.

“I had no idea how corrupt the fellow was,” he exclaimed after assuring himself that she suffered no permanent damage.

“Corrupt is not the right word,” she countered. “He was mad. You have never come face to face with genuine madness, and I hope you never do. Not because of the beating he gave me—”

“How could even a madman have done that to a lady?” he interrupted to ask.

“You do not understand.” She sighed, shifting until she found a comfortable position. “You accept that he is mad, yet
mad
is simply a word to you. Madmen lack reason. Their thinking – what little there is – follows logic unknown to you and me. The only reason in that room was mine. Escape was impossible. Help was unavailable. Eventually, I managed to deduce some of his reactions, which gave me a choice. I could remain docile to preserve the calm, gentle soul determined to ravish me, or I could fight back and unleash his vicious brutality. I chose to endure a possibly fatal beating. If I had to go back, I would do the same. The real terror of that encounter was looking into eyes that had no soul, knowing that the body would continue its prescribed course without thought, until something more powerful halted its progress.”

“I have seen madness,” he declared. “I was on St. James’s Street the day Delaney’s horses went wild.”

Men!
The horses might have been terrified, but that was a long way from being mad. She sighed, refusing to argue the point. “But madness in a human is worse,” she said instead. “Especially when one is locked in a room with it, knowing there is no chance of overpowering it.”

“Dear God, Angie! Thank heaven you survived.”

“No, Drew. Thank Lord Blackthorn. If he had not found me…” Her voice trailed away as tears sprang into her eyes. “I could never have survived a second assault. But better that than rape by such a monster.”

He pulled her into his arms as another bout of tears overwhelmed her. “If only I had not been away,” he murmured when she was done.

“Oh!” Memory returned with a vengeance, replacing tears with a surge of anger. “Atwater arranged that fire to force you out of town. This was carefully planned, Andrew. He did not succumb to a moment’s temptation when he found me with only Frank in attendance. Did Sylvia tell you nothing?”

“Only that Atwater had abducted and assaulted you and that Major Caldwell and Blackthorn rescued you.” His brows rose in a question.

She realized that she had said nothing since her return. Even Devall knew nothing, though he had explained how he had found her. She had paid little attention, too grateful for the safety of his arms to question his presence.

“Atwater planned every detail,” she declared now. “The ownership of the house was not generally known. He had altered one room, adding bars to the windows and a stout lock to the door. When everything was ready, he tricked you into leaving town by arranging the fire at the Court. Then he wrote a note claiming that I had changed my mind and eloped with him, addressing it to you and making it appear a routine communication with none of his own identification on the outside. He must have been stalking me, noting my habit of riding in Green Park in the early afternoons when few people were around. He had only to watch for the most propitious moment to spring his trap. Once he had successfully abducted me, he sent the note to Clifford Street, knowing that you were out of town and would not find it for some days. By that time, he would have forced me into marriage. If Sylvia had not seen his footman, it would have rested on your desk until your return. And if Lord Blackthorn had not known that Atwater owned that house, even Sylvia’s interference would have done no good.”

Andrew paced the room. “This should never have happened. We attach too much credit to title and wealth, assuming that all lords are honorable gentlemen. When I look back, there were plenty of hints that Atwater was not quite right in the head. Yet society ignored every one. As did I. Until you told me he made you nervous, I had considered him an admirable catch. Even after he struck you, I never thought him unbalanced. How could I have been so stupid?”

“It is not your fault, Andrew,” she said, shaking her head.

“I cannot accept that. I have been derelict in my duty, Angie. I was so wrapped up in Sylvia that I never questioned Mother’s plans for the Season. I hadn’t even thought to ask your preferences until after Atwater offered for you. My negligence allowed her to manipulate you and led to two rounds of social disgrace and a beating. Can you ever forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive,” she said, laying a hand on his arm when he resumed his chair by the bed. “Atwater decided he wanted me the first time he saw me. Nothing would have deflected him, even had Mother been against the match. Reason is irrelevant, for he was irrational. I suspect that his breakdown began when his wife died, though the instability was always there. There is no way to know why he chose me, but once that decision was made, nothing you or I or anyone else could have done would have deterred him.”

He shook his head. “At least this puts paid to the last of the rumors. The tale of Atwater’s madness has swept every club and drawing room in town.”

She shivered. “I will never be able to hold my head up again.”

“I should have phrased that better. Major Caldwell, probably at Blackthorn’s instigation, has explained your injuries as a deliberate attempt by Atwater to run you down in retaliation for refusing his hand.”

“Run me down?”

“Yes. He spotted you just inside Green Park and his mind snapped. He deliberately drove his coach over you and the footman that accompanied you, injuring both. When he realized that you still lived, he turned back to finish the job. Two passers-by deduced his intent and restrained him. His ranting revealed both his purpose and his madness, so one gentleman escorted him to Bethlehem hospital while the other carried you home.”

“Who rescued me?” she asked. “I must thank them.”

“Major Caldwell and Lord Blackthorn, who were riding separately that afternoon.”

“I see.” Not that she did entirely. Why had Devall attached his name to the tale? Since there were no witnesses, he could easily have avoided all involvement and stayed in the shadows he loved. Or was Jack forcing him into the open? She hoped so. Society would never forgive all his misdeeds, especially the way he had jilted his betrothed. But if he reformed, his title and wealth would persuade most to ignore his past.

She hoped he would do so, for his own sake. No matter how worthwhile his goals, his methods were flirting with a boundary he could never recross. But he could accomplish so much more if he stayed on the right side of that line and solicited help to effect change.

She wanted desperately for him to do so, but not because of her love. Whichever course he followed would not affect her. Even if he offered, she must refuse. An offer would arise from his quixotic sense of chivalry. But she could never accept a man who did not need her.

Refusing to listen to Andrew’s continuing apologies, she focused on regaining her strength. The sooner she left town, the sooner she could put Devall behind her.

Flowers poured into Clifford Street as society welcomed Angela back to its bosom. Opinion had reversed itself, the gossips now ripping up Atwater with the same fervor they had previously employed in supporting him. Several even claimed to have suspected something odd in his behavior. They discounted every word of the slander that had circulated about Angela. She was held up as a pattern card of virtue, an innocent pilloried by an unscrupulous monster, a victim of her mother’s greed – in accepting Atwater’s guilt, many now charged that Lady Forley must have known the truth and ignored it in pursuit of his wealth and title. Like a flock of mindless sheep, the polite world followed this new course, equating Miss Warren’s character to the angel her name implied.

Sylvia and Andrew were mobbed by well-wishers whenever they ventured out. Barbara and the Ashtons saw their own credit rise due to their long championship of the new heroine. Jack’s standing likewise improved. Even Blackthorn’s reputation began to crack as his rescue was trumpeted.

Jack pounced on the opportunity, judiciously leaking truths about his friend. Finally, he could repay his debt. And perhaps he could do Angela a favor in the process.

“One can hardly be surprised that he rescued Miss Warren,” he commented offhandedly at White’s one night. “He understood Atwater’s character better than any of us did. Atwater not only killed his cousin, but spread malicious lies blaming that death on Blackthorn.”

“Quite right,” Ashton agreed.

“But it is all of a piece,” Jack continued casually. “I have it on the best authority that Miss Warren is not the only lady he has saved from a brutal lord.”

“Really?”

“Cloverdale was very like Atwater, assaulting his wife at the least annoyance. She had known Blackthorn since childhood and appealed to him for help. He escorted her to relatives overseas, where she was able to recover from her injuries and build a new life.”

“That cannot be right,” protested Ashton. “I sat in the Lords during his trial. He never lifted a finger to counter the charges.”

“How else could he have freed her?”

Jack left the matter there. Ashton was clearly pondering his words. And the story took root, sweeping Mayfair and returning Blackthorn’s name to every lip in the unaccustomed role of hero.

* * * *

Angela stared into the mirror. They were leaving for Forley Court in the morning, but Sylvia had convinced her to make one public appearance first. Too many people were anxious to see her.

The face that stared back was not one she wanted to show the world. Bruises still marked its cheeks, though they had faded from angry purple to sickly yellow. She had spent the afternoon altering her gown, for her cracked ribs disallowed a well-laced corset, and the flesh was still puffed around the deepest bruises. Multi-colored stains marred her neck and shoulders. But at least the identifiable pattern where Atwater’s fingers had gained purchase to shake her had faded to a general mottling that could be passed off as the result of being run down by a carriage. Arranging a shawl unfashionably over her shoulders to hide the worst of it, she sighed and headed downstairs.

Which was worse? she wondered an hour later. Social censure or determined hero-worship? She could barely move for the people crowded around her – congratulating her on her escape and recovery, condemning Atwater and her mother, claiming to have known all along that the earl was missing something in his upper story. Her card was full before she reached the ballroom. By the supper dance she could stand the mindless fawning no more.

“I must get away for a bit,” she said with a sigh. Jack partnered her for the set. “Would you mind terribly if I skipped this one. The retiring room should be empty.”

He immediately headed for the hallway. “The accolades are overdone and you are still not nearly recovered.” He stopped at the retiring room door. “Tonight will be farewell for both of us, Angela. I return to the Peninsula tomorrow. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too. Thank you again for all you have done, Jack. If not for you, I would have been sunk without a trace weeks ago.”

“Nonsense. Devall planned it. I just followed orders.”

“Fustian. And you know it.” She smiled. “You’ve a campaign of your own underway, haven’t you? I hope it succeeds, for he deserves to be judged on the truth. Have a good journey. Stay safe.”

He kissed her lightly on the cheek, then returned to the ballroom.

The retiring room was quiet and offered the refuge she needed for nearly ten minutes. Then three giggling girls entered, shattering the peace. She graciously accepted their best wishes before slipping out.

Devall was in the hall.

“You look much better,” he said, saluting her fingers and sending shivers down her spine.

“Thank you. I doubt I adequately thanked you when last we met, and this will be no better, for words are insufficient. You saved my life, as you must know. Thank you, Devall. For that and for your other kindnesses. Your notes helped more than I can say.”

“I’m glad – and relieved that your injuries were not worse. Are you enjoying your return to society?” he asked, leading her into an empty room.

She rolled her eyes. “They are like sheep. This adoration is ridiculous. They act as though I had single-handedly defeated Napoleon before breakfast, then swept away all misery by dinner. Why do I deserve accolades for being attacked and beaten by a madman?”

“Collective guilt.” He shrugged. “They badly misjudged you both and must ease their consciences by trying to make it up to you.”

“Idiocy,” she snorted inelegantly. “Thank God I’m leaving. I prefer the honesty of the country. Real, down-to-earth people can never be replaced by the mass hysteria and forced frivolity of town.”

“You return home tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Andrew’s wedding is but a fortnight hence, and there is much yet to arrange. Our relatives will start arriving within the week. With Mother gone, I must act as hostess.”

“Don’t overtax yourself, Angela. You are not completely recovered.”

“I won’t. Cassie – Lady Hartleigh – is handling the wedding itself, though she tires so easily it cannot be comfortable for her. I must thank you again for all you have done for me, Devall.”

“It was nothing.”

“Hardly. But I am glad your own reputation is improving. Have you decided to work within the law?”