The Long Road to Love (3 page)

The York stagecoach swayed and bounced its way along the Great North Road at a lumbering pace. The weather had held fine and the roads were dry, but the vehicle was slowed under the weight of four interior passengers and eight on the top, plus a great number of portmanteaus and trunks.

Angelica gazed out the window, enjoying the passing countryside, confident now that no one from Edenfield was pursuing her. The first night of her journey proved uneventful, but nerve-racking. She had boarded the Mail Coach at Croyden near midnight, expecting at any moment to be hailed by someone in her stepbrother’s employ.

After arriving at the Bull and Mouth Inn in Picadilly, she counted her remaining funds and realized her money would not permit further travel by the expensive Mail. She took a hackney to Holburn where she spent what little remained of the night at the George. Tired from lack of sleep, but determined to escape her stepbrother, she’d taken the first York stage north the following morning.

Having been on the road for nearly two days, and having gotten a good night’s sleep at last, she was beginning to enjoy herself. The letters from Lady Longstreet were tucked safely in her portmanteau in the boot of the coach; Angelica hoped that none at Edenfield would remember her mother’s old school friend. But even if they did, she would be at Longstreet Manor long before anyone overtook her. Still, would the baroness be able to protect her?

A burst of laughter sounded from the passengers on the roof, intruding on Angelica’s thoughts. She wished she could ride on top, for she could have saved half the fare, but the two females presently occupying seats outside were not proper ladies. Not wishing to draw undue attention to herself, she shared the hard wooden seats inside with a reed-thin solicitor’s clerk, a farmer’s aging wife and her young son. The child slept soundly beside Angelica while clutching a small carved frigate.

The horn blasted from the guard to alert the inn of the arrival of the stagecoach, and it woke the young lad. He yawned and stretched before asking his mother when they would arrive in York, a question that dominated Angelica’s mind as well. The woman shushed him, then said they would arrive before dark.

As the coach drew to a halt, Angelica could see the ostlers rushing out to change the team. The clerk made a hurried trip into the inn, but knowing the stop was of a short duration the ladies decided to wait until they stopped for a meal.

Within minutes the clerk returned, clutching the small brown leather satchel he carried, and again sat with his back to the horses. The man had barely settled himself when the coachman called, “Gentlemen, take your seats.”

The coach door opened a second time as a large man with greying hair and beard, in the garb of a vicar, climbed in and took a seat beside the clerk. He smiled at the other passengers.

“Good morning, good morning, such a beautiful day to be traveling, is it not? I am the Reverend Mr. Albert Firth, of Overton.” His manner was so amiable that one couldn’t resist returning his pleasant smile.

As the coach rolled out of the inn yard, the vicar leaned forward and tweaked the young boy’s cheek. “Fine looking lad you have there, Mrs. . . ”

“Greenleaf, sir, and this ‘ere is Paul. We’re from Greenleaf Farm near York.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” He then looked at the clerk in a friendly manner. “First time on the York Stage, Mr. . . ”

“Morris, vicar. No, for I travel a great deal for my employer. I’m on my way to deliver papers of some importance to the Marquess of Kerby.” The man puffed out his thin chest as if to show he was a person of some importance among the humble company.

Angelica, having dressed in her mother’s black traveling grown and veiled bonnet, suddenly found herself the object of the vicar’s kind gaze. She had donned the widow’s garb to make it less improper for her to travel unaccompanied as well as to disguise her face, but now she must play the part of the mourning spouse.

“My dear lady, death is a natural part of the cycle of life. God has willed it so. I grieve for your loss, Mrs-”

Guiltily, Angelica uttered her mother’s maiden name, “Ansley, sir, and thank you.”

“Was it your dear husband who passed?”

Angelica nodded, hesitating to speak. She was at a loss for words, her thoughts racing for something to say; then her gaze lit upon the small wooden frigate. “He was lost at sea, Mr. Firth.”

Mr. Morris, being in a particularly dull job, had often engaged in dreams of inheriting a fortune and traveling. To that end, he read the papers religiously to keep abreast of the news around the world. He eyed her suspiciously.

“Haven’t read of any vessels going down in recent weeks.”

“That is likely true, sir. His ship sank over a year ago, but I was only just notified so I thought it correct to engage in the proper mourning from the time I learned of the tragic event.” Angelica struggled not to smile. Even with her face behind the veil, she was certain he would know she was amused by fabricating such a tale.

“It were sharks, weren’t it?” Young Paul gazed at her with bloodthirsty interest.

“Sharks?” Angelica had trouble keeping her voice steady.

“Yea, what got yer ‘usband. Me brother’s a sailor, and he says the ocean is full of’ em. A man can’t put ‘is toe in the water what it don’t get bitten--”

“Paul,” Mrs. Greenleaf snapped, “mind your manners, young man. ‘Tis not a proper thing to be speakin’ of to poor Mrs. Ansley.”

Angelica was thankful when the vicar asked to see Paul’s wooden toy, for she was certain she couldn’t have answered without laughing. She didn’t know what had put her in such a lighthearted mood. Perhaps it was finally being away from her stepbrother’s tyranny.

Richard tooled his curricle at a spanking pace up the turnpike. He knew he was getting close to the York stage, for the tollgate keeper said it had passed barely an hour prior. He was surprised to find himself in such good spirits considering he’d spent the last two days chasing after Angel, but in truth, he’d been rather amused by her ingenuity.

At Croyden he’d learned that the young lady must have disguised herself as a widow since that was the only person who’d taken the Mail Coach to London the previous evening. But at the Bull and Mouth, the lady had hired a hackney and disappeared into the night. He’d gone at once to the Swan with Two Necks, which was the point where the Mail Coaches going north started, but there he could find no trace of a widow or any other who answered to his vague description of Angel. Half a day had been wasted questioning the inn’s numerous ostlers before he reasoned she might have gone by stagecoach instead.

At Holburn he’d found her trail again, but night had fallen and he decided to treat himself to a good dinner before making an early start of it in the morning. After all, the young lady wasn’t in any real physical danger traveling by stagecoach; her widow’s disguise would protect her from the slights of a female traveling alone.

Presently about to run her to ground, he wondered if he’d recognize Angel after all these years. He recollected a plain, thin child with leaves and grass tangled in her black braids, racing across the meadow to the stream where he’d awaited her. Then he remembered she’d had the most amazing eyes--large, inquisitive and the most unusual shade of violet-blue. He would know those eyes anywhere.

As the curricle raced round the curve, the village of Wansford came into view. Tooling into town, he ignored the stares that his rapid pace drew. Within minutes, he spied the large coaching inn, its yard cluttered with vehicles, but the black and red stagecoach loomed above the smaller carriages. Richard reined his team to a trot, then deftly entered the inn-yard gate where he called for someone to walk his team.

Within minutes the earl stood in the noisy taproom of the White Rose. The innkeeper, seeing a gentleman of some consequence enter, hurried forward. “Would ye be wantin’ a private parlor, my lord?”

“Not at present. I wish to be escorted to the room where the stagecoach passengers are dining.”

The innkeeper merely nodded his balding head and led his guest into the rear of the inn, making no comment on the unusual request. He’d been owner of the White Rose for twenty years, and he’d learned you didn’t question the fits and starts of the Quality and do well in business. He gestured at the door, then left the gentleman to his affairs.

Richard halted in the arched doorway to the public dining room. He was surprised at how crowded the table was. Only four women were among the boisterous group.His gaze came to rest on the back of a shapely feminine form dressed all in black. She bent over to speak to a small child. Her raven black hair was bound in a neat chignon at the nape of her slender neck. A neck which looked excessively kissable.

When that last thought popped unbidden into his mind, he was appalled. This was little Angel, not some lightskirt.What was he thinking? But as his gaze swept over her, he realized she was certainly no longer a child.

One of the men at the table glanced over and spied Richard. Taking in the elegance of his attire, the fellow assumed him to be a gentleman recently down on his luck, reduced to traveling by common stage. “Best take a seat and eat, sir. The coachman won’t wait for anyone. I suspect he’d even leave the likes of Prinny to keep to his schedule.”

A tall man at the opposite end of the table added, “ ‘Tis fortunate the prince don’t travel by stagecoach or they’d have to leave half the passengers behind to accommodate a man of his girth.”

A murmur of laughter went round the table, for while none had ever personally seen the Prince of Wales, caricatures of the stout regent abounded.

The earl never took his eyes from Angelica as he said, “My good man, you had best have a care about mentioning the royal gentleman’s size. Even the illustrious Brummell lost favor for commenting on such.”

Like the others at the table, Angelica turned to observe the visitor. As recognition dawned, a radiant smile lit her face and she rose.

The tall man failed to note Richard’s attention was engaged elsewhere and responded to the newcomer’s banter. “Aye, but I’d never be reckless enough to say it to his face as I hear the Beau did.”

Richard experienced a sudden tightening in his chest at the welcoming expression on Angel’s beautiful face. It touched him far more than the most alluring smile ever sent his way in London. She was genuinely happy to see him. But as he stood mesmerized by her, he realized he could no longer think of her as a little hoyden racing over the countryside. The plain but engaging child was gone, replaced by a woman of extraordinary beauty and appeal--this wasn’t his little Angel, this was Miss Angelica Markham. She was an intriguing and desirable woman. Just the sort to engage his interest. A strong yearning to see that sleek black hair spilled across a pillow filled him.

“Rich--Lord Blackstone, how delightful to see you again after all these years.” Then a slight frown touched her brow as his presence suddenly seemed suspicious to her. “Why are you here?”

The room had grown quiet. All the travelers seemed interested in hearing the answer to Angelica’s question.

Richard stepped forward and lowered his voice even as he took note of her temptingly curved pink lips. “I have come for you. Perhaps you would accompany me to a place where we might converse in private. I believe the innkeeper will provide such a room.”

Angelica’s back went rigid as the earl’s hand closed on her elbow, but her curiosity won out and she didn’t resist as he led her from the room. She’d been so glad to see him until reason told her he wasn’t there by coincidence.

She allowed him to lead her a short distance into the hall; then she halted, refusing to go any farther with the man who’d come to bring her home.

“I won’t go back, Richard.”

“Oh, but you will, my dear. I haven’t come all this way to return empty-handed.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned back against the wall, his mouth quirking in the slightest suggestion of a confident smile. His eyes swept her up and down with a look which made Angelica’s heart hammer.

It was clear by that look that he usually got what he wanted, especially with women. She tried to gather her thoughts.

“How could you agree to be a party to my stepbrother’s plans?”

“I know nothing of why you and Giles have quarreled, nor do I care. Your Miss Parks has requested--nay demanded--that I save you from your own impetuous nature. So here I am, your knight to the rescue.”

She was amazed at the change in him. He was taller and more athletically built than she remembered. His ruggedly handsome face had thinned and the features had become more angular, but it was the look in his amber eyes which struck her the most. Gone was the boyish eagerness and vulnerability she remembered. Instead she gazed up at a man who was everything rumor said--a cynical, jaded rake.

What had Harriet been thinking to send such a man after her?

“The armor is a bit tarnished of late,” she snapped.

“True, but all it needs is a little polishing by the right lady.” The earl grinned at her in such a manner that her knees felt weak.

Turning away from him, she noted a plump maid who was eyeing Lord Blackstone with interest as she wiped a table in the taproom. Angelica looked back at Richard, gesturing toward the servant. “I believe we have just the lady for the task.”

Richard gave a soft laugh. “The rumors about me must be loathsome if you think I have stooped to romancing servants.”

“Romancing! Is that what you call what you have been doing over the past few years? I do believe they have another name for it.” Her violet-blue eyes glinted with outrage.

“Never mind what I have been engaged in over the years. Are you ready to leave?” Somehow Richard didn’t like the idea of Angelica knowing all the details of his London life.

The anger disappeared from her face, replaced by a look of determination. “I believe I told you that I am not going back with you.” Angelica turned as if to leave him.

Annoyed with her continued defiance, the earl reached out and grabbed her arm, liking her softness despite his best intentions. “I swore to return you to Mrs. Parks. You are going, if I have to carry you to my curricle.”

Richard and Angelica were so engaged in their dispute that neither was aware of Mrs. Greenleaf, Paul, the reverend and Mr. Morris standing a few feet away and observing the growing argument.

The vicar cleared his throat. “Mrs. Ansley, is there a problem?”

Giving them his haughtiest look, Richard allowed his hand to drop from Angelica’s arm. “I am the Earl of Blackstone and this is a private matter, sir.”

Angelica suddenly realized she would need assistance to prevent Richard from forcing her into his carriage. She would have to invent some tale, or they would succumb to the power of Richard’s title. She moved toward them, her hands extended to the Reverend Mr. Firth. “Sir, I need your help.”

Grey brows arched, the vicar eyed his lordship warily.

“What can I do, Mrs. Ansley?”

“Who the devil is Mrs. Ansley, sir? You are addressing Miss Markham.” Richard found the situation had suddenly gotten out of hand. Angelica shot him a cunning look that suddenly made him wary.

“Reverend, his lordship is determined to spirit me away to Gretna Green and force a marriage upon me.”

Forgetting himself, Richard barked, “Angel.”

“I say, my lord,” the vicar sputtered, “I am uncertain what is happening here, but you cannot think we shall stand by and allow you to take Mrs. Ansley-er, Miss Markham against her will.”

Mr. Morris nervously eyed the earl. “I shall. None of my business. He can do as he likes.”

Mrs. Greenleaf stepped around Angelica, tugging Paul with her, and gazed at the earl with interest, thinking him a handsome young sprig. “I believe there is much ‘ere we don’t know about what is ‘appening. Why, for instance, do you call ‘er Miss Markham when she introduced ‘erself as Mrs. Ansley in the coach?”

Richard, who’d been stunned by Angelica’s prevarication, swept the farmer’s wife a bow, then gave her his most engaging smile. “Ah, I would say you are a lady of great intelligence, madam.”

“Don’t try charmin’ me, sir. I was born at night, but not last night. I don’t know much about anything, but I’ve raised five boys and four girls. Experience ‘as taught me to question ‘alf of what I see and most of what I ‘ear.”

With a wicked grin at Angelica, Richard turned his attention on Mrs. Greenleaf. So, little Angel wanted to play games--well, he would give her a taste of her own medicine. “Very wise, madam. Have no doubt that you have just heard a great farrago of nonsense from the young lady. Miss Markham, for that is her true name, is my ward.This is the fourth time she has run away from school. I suspect she is going to meet her dancing master in Gretna.”

Angelica stamped her foot. “That is the greatest hummer, sir. You have not even seen me in the last six years.”

“Only because you have been at school, my dear.” In an undertone to the farmer’s wife, he added, “Fortunately, the headmistress of the school caught her the other three times and spared me having to chase after the tiresome chit.” Richard struggled not to laugh as he watched the outraged expression on Angelica’s lovely face.

Clutching his satchel to his chest, the solicitor’s clerk nodded his head. “I knew that tale of a husband lost at sea was a take-in. I think the gentleman is speaking the truth.”

At that moment, the coachman bellowed in the inn yard. “Gentlemen, take your seats.”

The hallway was suddenly filled with stage passengers pouring out of the dining room and hurrying to get back on board the coach. Mrs. Greenleaf gave Angelica one last look of disappointment, then grabbed Paul’s hand and hurried away. Mr. Morris sniffed as if a bad odor were present, then followed.

The vicar sighed, looking first to Angelica and then at the earl. “I am not certain what the truth is here, but I suspect it is somewhere in between. I would only say, Miss Markham, you should go back to where you belong and you, my lord, should make certain that the lady comes to no harm. I fear I must go.”

“Very wise advice, sir.” Richard bowed to the departing clergyman, then stepped into Angelica’s path as she tried to follow. “No, Angel, you cannot go with the stagecoach.”

“Don’t call me Angel! That is a name reserved for my old friend Richard, but it seems he is dead and gone, killed by a libertine named Lord Blackstone.” Having said that, Angelica turned her back on her former friend, and attempted to walk away, but the earl again grabbed her arm, leading her to the inn yard. She wasn’t certain what bothered her more, that her old friend had come to take her back to Edenfield or how much she liked the feel of his hand on her arm. It didn’t truly matter, because at the first opportunity, she would escape from Lord Blackstone and his strange effect on her.