Fallen Angel (3 page)

In the merchant marines he had learned early on to endure worse hardships than charred meat and chilly quarters, so he chose not to make an issue of it, since that was obviously the purpose of the servants’ machinations.

But the next morning he reached the end of his patience when Fitch, his valet, attempted to assist him in pulling on a boot whose mirror
-
like shine was marred by a large and conspicuous smudge from someone’s thumb.

Such deliberate provocation—such studied insolence—could not go unremarked, else a full-blown mutiny would surely result. “You appear to have forgotten who pays your salary,” Gabriel said mildly, staring at the offending boot.

His valet immediately affected great concern. “Ecod, how did that happen? It must have been one of the footmen, m’lord. If you’ll give the boots to me, I’ll have them repolished at once.”

Gabriel was not at all taken in by the conspicuous show of regret. “For today I shall wear another pair, and as for tomorrow, either my household is properly run, or I shall be hiring a new complement of servants.”

His voice was not raised in anger, but apparently Fitch
believed him capable of doing just that, for the skinny little man became quite apologetic.

“It is j-just that some of the servants are disappointed that they will be spending Chr—that is to say, that they will remain in London for the rest of this month, m’lord,” the valet stammered out. “It is n-natural enough that they should feel some resentment, and you should not hold it against them.”

“If any of them are dissatisfied working for me, they are welcome to go into service with my aunt,” Gabriel said, and Fitch’s face became as white as the belly of a dead fish.

It would appear that Gabriel’s suspicions were correct: Lady Ottillia obviously had a finger in this current epidemic of domestic disobedience—something he would need to keep in mind, he decided while Fitch was helping him into his jacket. It did not sit at all well with him to employ servants who felt they owed their loyalty to another person.

He was considering whether it might not be wise to fire the lot of them, when one of the footmen brought him a heavily scented note. Breaking the seal, Gabriel unfolded the two pages and began to peruse their contents.

It was a tearful—if one could judge by the blotches nearly obliterating some of the words—apology from Eleanor Lowndes, who
missed
him quite, quite,
quite
dreadfully. The diamond bracelet was so
beautiful,
and such a
generous
present, she assured him, and she would treasure it forever.

The letter continued in much the same vein, but somehow by the back side of the first sheet, the apology became less abject and more reproachful. The reproof was quite gentle and cleverly disguised, but Gabriel was adept at reading between the lines, and he knew when he was being scolded.

With a violent oath, Gabriel crumpled the letter and threw it into the fire. Cousin Phillip had little to worry about, did he but know it. Eventually he would inherit the title and all the numerous estates that went with it, because as much as Gabriel would have liked to cut his cousin out of the succession, he could not stomach the thought of being married to any woman.

A female was all sweetness and charm, wanting nothing more than to please the man in her life. Until, that is, she thought he was totally ensnared—hopelessly, blindly in love with her—at which time she immediately became determined to mold him into the man she actually wished him to be.

Women were born manipulators, and infatuation was their chief weapon. In England, in Macao, in India, in the Americas—everywhere he had traveled, he had seen too many men made miserable by the women they married. Ibbetson was a case in point. Clearly living under the cat’s paw, the poor man was apparently also browbeaten by his daughters.

Despite his intention to remain in London for the entire holiday season, Gabriel now abruptly changed his mind. He was thoroughly sick of being pestered by people who all wanted something from him. A little solitude would be more than welcome.

Retiring to his study, he soon located the list of his estates that his solicitor had prepared for him. The most remote property he owned appeared to be in Northumberland, not far from the Scottish border. It should do very nicely for his purposes.

Sending for Fitch, Gabriel ordered him to begin packing.

“Then we are to go to Sherington Close after all, my lord? How delightful. I feel I can say with certainty that the other servants will likewise be pleased to learn that you have changed your mind.”

“If you continue in my service, which at this time is not a foregone conclusion, you will discover that I rarely change my mind,” Gabriel said dispassionately. “Although my destination is no concern of yours, I will tell you that I am going north, and I have decided to travel by Mail. Pack sufficient clothing to last me for three weeks.”

“You are not taking your own carriage?” Fitch asked, unable to conceal his astonishment. “But my lord, surely you will wish to reconsider—only think how inconvenient that will be for all of us.”

Really, it was beyond belief the fools and dolts Gabriel was expected to put up with. “You mistake my meaning. I am not taking my carriages or my valet or my groom or my coachman or indeed any of my servants. I am leaving you all in London where you can stuff yourselves with plum pudding and sing nauseating carols until you are hoarse. And now if you have no more impertinent questions, perhaps you might be persuaded to bestir yourself a bit. I intend to leave this evening, and I shall be most displeased if you delay my departure by so much as a day.”

“Gor blimey,” Fitch said, all his proper English diction deserting him, “ ’e’s gone and lost ’is wits.”

“That is quite possible,” Gabriel replied, “but if you do not set about your business quickly, you will soon discover that you have lost your job.”

Since it was an unscheduled stop, the stagecoach halted only long enough for Verity Jolliffe to climb out and the guard to throw down both her bags. Then the coachman cracked his whip, and the horses leaped forward, leaving her alone in front of the Crown and Thistle.

Mr. Noke, the landlord, did not come out to meet her, nor were there any hostlers bustling about, which was most odd. It was almost as if the inn were abandoned, but that was clearly ridiculous.

Seeking an explanation, Verity carried her bags through the gate leading into the yard, then stopped in dismay. Where formerly there had been a neat stable housing half a dozen horses, there were now only charred beams and blackened stones. Smoke was still curling up from the ruins, indicating that the fire had been quite recent.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Verity set her bags down and turned to see Mr. Noke approaching. He looked ten years older than when she had seen him a year ago, which was not to be wondered at considering the disaster that had befallen him.

“So it’s you, Miss Jolliffe.”

“Oh, Mr. Noke, I am so sorry you have suffered such a tragic loss.”

The landlord shrugged. “ ’Tis not the first time we’ve had a setback, and doubtless it won’t be the last.”

“But your horses—” Verity did not want to think about the poor beasts suffering such a painful death.

“Thank the Lord we didn’t lose a one, although they got their hides singed good and proper. Tom Hesketh’s putting them up in his ba
rn
, but I’m afraid none of them will be in any condition to wear a harness or saddle for a week or two, which won’t help you get home. And it’s sorry I am to tell you that there’s nothing left of the gig you were wanting to hire but a worthless pile of twisted iron.”

For the first time since she had seen the smoldering ruins of the stable, Verity realized fully how this disaster would affect her. How could she possibly get home for Christmas now?

Oh, if only she could have left London even a day or two earlier! But her sister, who had been totally opposed to this journey, had thought up one task after another that Verity absolutely had to finish before she could be allowed to indulge herself and her own selfish wishes by callously and wickedly abandoning the people who depended upon her.

It was only on the last possible day that Verity had simply packed her bags, bidden her sister good-bye, and taken a hackney to the staging inn.

Now, with regret in her heart and a lump in her throat, she asked, “Is there not someone else in the village who might have a vehicle I could hire? Even a pony or a dogcart would be adequate for my needs since it is only a little over six miles to Oakwood Manor.”

Even before the landlord answered, Verity knew from his downcast expression that she was out of luck.

“I am sure you could if this was just an ordinary week. But tomorrow being Christmas and all, so many folks have gone visiting, I doubt there is a single vehicle left in the entire village, nor is there a riding horse to be found. No, the only way you’ll be getting home is to go back to Belford, where doubtless you can find a gig for hire.”

Verity did not bother to point out since she was not known in Belford, it might be difficult to persuade anyone to trust her with a horse and gig. But she would worry about that problem later. First there was a more pressing obstacle to overcome. “And how do you suggest I travel to Belford?”

The landlord scratched his head. “Now there’s another thorny problem. I suppose there’s nothing to be done but wait until the next southbound stage comes through and hope we can flag it down.”

“And when will that be?” Verity asked, heartsick at the thought of missing Christmas with her family.

“Monday,” Mr. Noke said. “Northbound on Saturdays and Wednesdays, and southbound on Mondays and Thursdays.”

Verity’s heart sank. “But that means I shall miss celebrating Christmas with my family. I suppose the only thing to do is simply leave my bags here with you and walk home.”

“Indeed and that you shall not do,” Mr. Noke said, looking quite fierce. “I’ll not have you risking your life on such a foolhardy venture, for I’ve no wish to discover your frozen body lying in some thicket come spring.”

“Surely there is no danger of that,” Verity protested. “The road is well marked, and the weather is unseasonably warm, and—”

“And a fog can roll in from the North Sea without warning,” the landlord pointed out, “and no matter how balmy the day starts out, the temperature can drop abruptly, and then where would you be? And have you considered what will happen if you twist an ankle or wrench your knee? The road from here to your father’s house is little traveled, so it is unlikely anyone would chance to find you. No, I’ll not let you risk your life and health, not even to get home for Christmas. But you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need. My wife will be happy to have some company, since our daughter went off with her husband last week to spend the holidays with his people.”

No matter how much she might have wished to contradict him, Verity knew the landlord was correct. Only a fool put his faith in the constancy of the weather in Northumberland. She was about to accept—with great reluctance, to be sure—Mr. Noke’s invitation to spend Christmas Day with him and his wife, when behind her she heard a sound that could only be the jangle of harness and bit.

Glancing around, she was astonished to discover, standing patiently in the far
corner
of the courtyard, a splendid team of chestnuts who were hitched to a black chaise whose wheels were picked out in scarlet. For a moment she thought they must surely be an illusion brought on by wishful thinking on her part, but when she rubbed a hand across her eyes and looked again, the elegant equipage had not vanished.

“But how is this, Mr. Noke? You told me there was no vehicle available here.”

“Here it may be, but I’m sorry to say it’s not available,” he said gruffly. “It belongs to a London gentleman, who only stopped for a bite to eat.”

“Do you suppose he is going toward Belford?”

Mr. Noke shook his head. “He has just come from there and is traveling west.” He paused, and when Verity looked at him questioningly, he did not meet her eyes. Finally, staring fixedly at the ground, he said, “From what I understand, he will be going right past Oakwood Manor.”

“Then perhaps he might be willing to take me along,” Verity said, her spirits rising for the first time since she had arrived at the Crown and Thistle.

Mr. Noke shuffled his feet and again looked everywhere but at her. “He does not strike me as the kind of man to be doing favors for strangers, and I could not be so presumptuous as to ask him.”

Even while they were speaking, the London gentleman appeared in the doorway of the Crown and Thistle. About six feet tall with dark hair, he had broad shoulders made to appear even wider by the many-caped driv
ing
coat he wore. He was indeed a most intimidating figure, and Verity could well understand why the landlord was so reluctant to approach him.

It was not only his size, but something about his expression, or perhaps his bearing, that made it obvious to her that he was a man accustomed to having his own way. Nothing about his appearance gave the slightest indication that someone could persuade him to do anything that he did not choose to do.

On the other hand, there was no harm in trying. If there was the slightest possibility that she could get home for Christmas, Verity was prepared to be most presumptuous. After all, the worst the London gentleman could do would be to tell her no, and even if he snapped and snarled at her—which from the frown creasing his forehead he seemed likely to do—even then, she would be no worse off than she was now.

Pausing in the doorway of the village inn, Gabriel could detect on the breeze not only the odor of wood smoke, but also the tangy smell of the sea, which lay only a mile or so to the east. For a brief moment he longed to feel a deck rising and falling beneath his feet, to hear again the creak of the masts, to feel once more the sting of salt spray on his cheeks.