Chapter 9
“How
could you? I mean, really, Angela. I thought you were smarter than that. I thought you might have learned from the first time.”
“Helena, I—” Angela started and then gave up, deciding to let Helena keep going until she ran out of breath. In the meantime, she would concentrate on weeding the garden. Helena certainly wasn’t helping in that regard, and Penelope, in the row next to them, was more focused on her task than on coming to Angela’s defense against Helena’s tirade.
“You were devastated when you arrived here. When you weren’t sobbing until you couldn’t breathe, you were like a corpse. It took you a year to so much as smile, and here you are, making the same mistake twice.”
“Helena, I appreciate your concern, but—” Really, she did. But it would be different this time, would it not? And if it was going to end badly, what was so wrong with snatching a few moments of happiness? Phillip was filling up that emptiness inside of her that had persisted for years now.
Helena cut her off and kept going. It was midmorning and already quite hot. They all had gotten a late start to the day because the events of last night had kept everyone up until the wee hours. Angela was sure everyone else felt the same aching exhaustion she did.
“Do you not remember who sat with you while you cried? Me. Who consoled you?
Me.
You may not remember what you went through before, but I do. And if you think I’m going to do the same again, once he leaves and disappoints you, you must have really lost your wits.”
“Helena!”
“You could be with child, you know.”
“No. I’m not, because what you think happened did not happen.” Angela wiped sweat off her brow, probably leaving a streak of dirt there. She was too tired to care.
“Last night, anyway. As long as he’s still here, and as long as you are a complete and utter fool about him, there is a chance you might be. And then what?”
“Then I shall love the baby, and it will love me back.”
“Because Lord Invalid won’t love you back,” Helena said sharply, and Angela felt as if she had been slapped. Of course he didn’t love her back, because she didn’t love him in the first place. Being half in love was different than being fully and completely in love.
But that was beside the point. Did Helena really need to be so cruel? Angela took a deep breath. Helena was just cranky because of lack of sleep. That was all. She was speaking words of anger, not the truth.
But a seed of doubt had been planted.
“First of all, you just pulled out a tomato plant, not a weed,” Angela responded. “And second of all, why the outburst? I thought you were my friend.” Helena looked at the plant in her hand and scowled at it.
“I am your friend, which is why I’m trying to warn you that you are making a big mistake,” she said as she dug a hole and jammed in the tomato plant.
“Who says I’m making a mistake?” Angela asked angrily, yanking out a thistle and ignoring the sting on her hands.
“Don’t you know him at all?”
“More than you.”
“Aye, that much is true. You’re lucky I haven’t told the abbess what I saw.”
“And why haven’t you?”
“I didn’t see the point. She can’t make him marry you. No one can make him marry. And why should he marry
you
? He won’t have ruined you. The ton won’t care if he takes his pleasure with some chit stuffed away in the country. He’s not under any obligation to marry you. He has no honor, otherwise he would have been married years ago. Why should he do so now?”
“That’s enough,” Penelope cried out.
“Aye, I have said enough. Now you can’t say I didn’t warn you when he leaves you,” Helena spat out before storming off.
“What is wrong with her?” Angela asked angrily.
“She’s just concerned for you,” Penelope said consolingly.
“And I appreciate that, but she didn’t have to be so horrid about it.”
“She’s just tired, I’m sure. And, well, you know what today is, don’t you?”
“Thursday?”
“Yes, that. It’s also the anniversary of her husband’s death.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize.”
“She only wants what is best for you, and it’s just a difficult day for her.”
“What do you think of the situation, Penelope?”
“I should hate for you to get hurt again, of course. But if it helps you achieve a sense of peace, it can’t be bad, can it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything, really. Well, last night, with Phillip . . .”
“Yes?”
“I just knew that I couldn’t take my orders.”
“What will you do instead?” It was a fair question for Penelope to ask. Angela could always just stay in the abbey without taking her orders, but what was the point of that? And if Phillip did not ask her to marry him, what would she do? Follow him and be his mistress? If she wasn’t going to take her orders, it had to be for a better reason than being some man’s mistress. And could she even leave on her own, with no place to stay or no way to support herself?
“That, my dear, is what I don’t know.”
He was still abed, and this morning she couldn’t fault him for it. He had done so much to fight the fire last night, he deserved his rest. That, and she was too tired to pick a fight this morning.
One fight was enough.
Angela thought Helena might understand if she could see him like this: looking harmless and handsome as he slept. Phillip laid on his back, sprawled out as much as one could be in a narrow bed. The sheet and blanket were tangled around his middle. One of his arms lay over his chest, the other rested behind his head.
She set the breakfast tray on the bedside table as quietly as she could. But then he groaned and opened his eyes.
“Hullo.”
“Hello,” she said.
He just lay there for a moment, staring at her, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do other than return his gaze and smile as if everything were fine.
“How are you this morning?” she asked.
“I’ve been better, but I’ve also been much, much worse. Can’t complain, I guess.”
“You? Not complain?” Angela asked, mockingly incredulous.
“Well, I could manage to find something to gripe about if it would make you happy.”
That made her smile. He cared, in some minute way, about her happiness. It was a start, wasn’t it? Or at least a continuation of last night. “Some other time, perhaps.”
“So how are you this morning?” he asked. He sat up in bed and accepted the cup of tea she handed to him.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. Phillip was being nice, which reminded Angela that Helena wasn’t around to witness that, or how he’d been changing. And it reminded her that Helena could be wrong.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Just a lot on my mind, that is all.” Angela handed him the breakfast tray as he indicated.
“Tell me while I have breakfast.”
“Well, Lord Rutherford offered the funds to repair the roof. So that is a big relief to everyone.”
“
That
is what’s troubling you?”
“Not really, no. Helena and I fought this morning.”
“Who is Helena?”
“A sister here. My friend. She was the one who, um, told us about the fire last night.” Angela couldn’t quite bring herself to say
caught us in a compromising position
or, worse,
found us mostly naked in each other’s arms.
“Right. I forgot about that.”
“You
forgot
about what happened with us last night?”
“Of course not. That I remember with vivid, exquisite detail. The bit about being interrupted is what I didn’t bother to remember.”
“Well, she thinks I am making a mistake. With you.”
“I can certainly see why she would think so. And admit it, you can, too.”
“But . . .” She very well could, but she didn’t want to.
“Hell, I wouldn’t wager on myself, even though I could control the outcome. I’m a bad bet, Angela.”
“I suppose it was foolish of me to defend you then. And now I’ve fought with my friend for no reason,” she said sharply, feeling like a fool.
“You defended me?” He looked up at her, obviously startled. It made her think that no one had ever taken his side before. But that couldn’t be true, right?
“Yes. You’re changing, you know that?”
“It must have escaped my notice.”
“At least one of us is paying attention,” she retorted.
“So, did your friends tell the abbess about what they saw last night?”
“No,” Angela said, watching his reaction closely. He sighed, and she prayed it wasn’t a sigh of relief. Although, as Helena pointed out, it wouldn’t matter who knew. No one could get this man to the altar. She decided to mention this to him, to test the waters.
“Helena said she wouldn’t tell because she didn’t see the point of doing so,” Angela said, rushing out the words in one breath.
“I see,” he said and fell silent. Angela counted to thirty in her head, waiting for him to say something else. And then she couldn’t wait any longer.
“That’s all you’re going to say about it?” she asked.
“Well, that, and that I don’t think it’s any of her business, and I hope you told her so.”
“I didn’t.”
“As it happens, I was planning on speaking to the abbess today anyway,” Phillip said, much to Angela’s surprise.
“Are you going to tell her about last night? About us?”
“I wasn’t planning on it, no.”
“Is that because . . . ?” Angela prompted. Because he didn’t want to be forced to marry her?
“Because then she might make some other chit bring me my meals, and I’ve become fond of you.”
“Come in,” Lady Katherine called out in response to his knock. Phillip entered, limping slightly after the strain of last night’s activities. At her gesture, he sat in a chair before her desk. The room was sparse, like every other room here; it only contained a full bookshelf on the wall behind her desk and an extra chair. And the abbess. Phillip could easily imagine her as a society matron; it was something in the way she carried herself.
“Good morning, Lord Huntley. How are you this morning?”
“Fine, thank you. And yourself?”
She sighed and gave him a half smile. “I’ve had better mornings. Lord Rutherford offered the funds to replace the roof. It’s so very generous of him, and I confess, a great relief to me.”
“I’d imagine. That is what I’ve come to discuss with you, Lady Katherine. We both know I cannot remain here indefinitely. And yet, I don’t have any money.” Phillip was surprised at how easily the words came out. Admitting to not having money was just not done in his circles.
“There is no charge for your care here, Phillip. It is our duty to God to help our fellow man.”
“And I thank you for that. But I need money to leave. I couldn’t even walk to London, with this leg, if I were so inclined.” It went without saying that he was not inclined, nor would he ever be, so long as there were other options.
“I could arrange to loan you the funds.”
“No, thank you,” Phillip said, wishing she would stop being so generous and let him say what he had come to say, before he changed his mind about it. He could always write to his brother or to his friend Parkhurst and have them send the necessary funds but, well, Angela was right. He was changing.
“I have a proposal for you,” he said firmly. “In exchange for the funds to leave, I will work on the roof. I recognize that I am not in the physical condition to do much, but I’m sure there is something I could do to, ah, earn what I need.”
There. He had done it:
he had offered to work to earn money
. His father must be spinning in his grave. Phillip could imagine his friends at the club choking on their brandy and laughing uproariously if they heard of this.