The Solemn Bell (17 page)

Ignoring everyone else, Mary Rose reached for the decanter on a nearby shelf, and poured herself a drink. So his sister took her whiskey straight now? He could imagine why Father was so keen to see the girl married off. She was bound to be trouble very soon.

“Isn’t this ripping?” she asked, taking a long draw from her glass.
 

Angelica fumbled for something kind to say. “Why is it so fast?”

“For dancing, you ninny. Or, can’t you dance?”

“I can waltz…”

Mary Rose laughed. “You don’t waltz to this. It’s foxtrot or nothing! Come on, Brody. Dance with me!”
 

She reached her arms out for him, but he dodged her. What good was dancing when Angelica couldn’t join in on the fun?

“Put on a waltz,” he said.

His sister pouted, but did as he asked. The needle scratched as she yanked the record off, and replaced the it with something slower. While she did so, Marcus slipped into the room.
 

Brody gently reached for Angelica, pulling her into his arms. “You sure you can dance?”

She smiled at his chin. “You don’t have to see to dance. You only have to trust.”

His heart nearly burst from his chest. Brody held her closer than he should, and whispered, “You trust me?”

Angelica nodded, but said nothing. Suddenly, the music crackled to life, and he began to lead her through the steps. She was a little stiff, a little rusty, but she knew enough to keep up with him. Once she settled into their rhythm, Angelica seemed to enjoy herself.

Brody enjoyed himself, too—until he realized the words to the song. It was
“What’ll I Do?”,
an Irving Berlin number about losing the girl one loved, and wondering what life would be like without her. It was damned sad, and he wished Mary Rose hadn’t picked it. What in God’s name would he ever do without his shadow-angel?

Angelica lowered her head. He knew she also understood the melancholy lyrics. Perhaps she was thinking the exact same thing…

He glanced over at Marcus and Mary Rose, who watched wordlessly. Thank God Mother and Father weren’t there, because it was painfully obvious to everyone how he felt about this girl.

He truly was a lovesick fool. “Angelica…”

She rested her forehead against his lapel. “Shh.”

They danced in silence. He’d been so close…so close…and she’d stopped him. She didn’t want his declaration of love. She did not need to hear those words—not as badly as he had needed to speak them.

Yet again, he’d forgot they weren’t sweethearts at all, but a man and his mistress. The way she felt in his arms was an illusion. Part of an act he’d forced her into playing. Angelica was so damned good at it that he might not ever know her true intentions. The realization rocked him like a blow to the gut. When the song ended, Brody fled the room, knocking shoulders with Marcus as he passed through the open doorway.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Brody walked blindly through the house. For once, he understood how Angelica could do it—pass from room to room without seeing, without needing to see.
 

He’d made the greatest mistake of his life bringing her here. Why did he think he could go through with this miserable party, knowing she did not love him?

He was on the front steps before he knew what he was doing. Brody staggered down the moonlit path toward the motor-garage. He did not know where he was going to go, but he couldn’t stay in that house. He couldn’t face Angelica, knowing he meant nothing to her. She was everything to him.
 

He wrenched open the door to the garage, but a distant voice stopped him. He turned to find Marcus walking as quickly as he could down the path from the house. His brother couldn’t manage the gravel well, yet never slowed his pace.

“Brody!” He was breathless when he reached the door. “Where the hell are you going?”
 

“I don’t know—it doesn’t matter.”

Marcus grabbed his sleeve. “You’re not going to…”

“No. Not that,” he said, fishing on the wall for a spare key ring. “I just had to get out of there.”

“Because of Miss Grey?”

Brody found the keys. “You saw what happened. The way she looked—”

“Like she was in love with you? Yes, I saw it.”

He scoffed. “She’s not in love with me, Markie. I meant to tell you earlier, but there hasn’t been time. Angelica and I are not an item. We’re not engaged, and certainly not in love. Well, she’s not, at any rate. The truth is, she might be pregnant, and the baby may or may not be mine.”

“But, I thought…”

He fumbled to get the Bentley key into the ignition. “I know. So did I.”

Marcus stopped him, yanking the keys from his hand. “Give me that. Now, talk plainly.”

“What more can I say? When I went away to hospital, Angelica thought I’d left for good. She took up with some other chap, and might have let him get her with child. It’s too early to tell.”

“But it might also be yours?”

With a deep breath, he confessed everything—the gory details of Angelica’s betrayal, how he’d dragged her to Shrewsbury in a rage, and, finally, that he’d purposefully come inside her on the chance that she might be pregnant, so that he’d never know if the child wasn’t his.

When it was all out in the open, Marcus stared at him. “My God, Brody. What an ass you are.”

“I don’t want to live like mother and father,” he explained, “but I love Angelica too much to see her out on the street. I want to provide for her and the baby—if there is one—and be part of her life in whatever capacity she’ll allow, even though she doesn’t love me.”

“How do you know she doesn’t love you?”

“Because she fucked another man, Marcus. Weren’t you listening?”

His brother shifted his weight to his good leg, and leaned back against the Bentley. “People sleep with other people all the time. Just because she didn’t save her virginity for you, does not mean she doesn’t love you. I saw her back there in your arms. Although she couldn’t see the way you were mooning at her,
you
didn’t notice how happy she looked with her head pressed to your shoulder. That girl loves you, Brody. I think the two of you need to sit down and talk.”

He shook his head. “This entire situation is a nightmare. What am I going to do if she rejects me?”

“Would she reject you?”

“No, probably not—but only because she might need a father for her baby. She’s a survivor, Markie. She’ll do what it takes.”

He shrugged. “You’ve both got yourself into this pickle. She cannot afford to say no, and you don’t have it in you to toss a pregnant woman out on her ear. At worst, you stay together out of duty and necessity. At best, you’re both madly in love, and it all works out in the end.”

“Do you like Angelica?”

“Very much. I think she’s good for you. Your recovery has been remarkable, and if it’s all because of her, then she has my gratitude,” his brother said. “On top of that, I think she’s brave for coming here and facing us all. You need someone to fight on your side. I think Miss Grey is just that sort of girl.”

“I thought
you
were on my side.”

“You know I am. But my hands are tied.”

Brody reached over and clapped his elder brother on the shoulder. He was a good man, and didn’t deserve to be put in the middle of everyone’s spats. Most of all, he didn’t deserve to be Father’s slavey, but Brody understood his need to make the old man proud. “Thanks again for not telling the others the truth about my time in hospital. They’d never understand.”

“As far as I’m concerned, they are the ones who put you there.”

The two men locked up the garage and walked back toward the house. Most of the lights were out now. Mother was in her room, and Father in his. The Neills had only come together to celebrate Mary Rose’s birthday. When the festivities ended, their father would be absent once again.
 

Marcus and Brody did not know all the details—and they didn’t care to—but their parents’ marital issues had always made life difficult for the two boys. Then, the war, Marcus’ injuries, and Brody’s mental break had only furthered the wedge between the family.

They’d never taken his illness seriously. If Marcus could come home to laugh, drink, and work again, then Brody had no excuse. But Marcus had spent most of the war recovering in a cushy officer’s hospital run by a pretty duchess. Captain Broderick Neill served the full four years in the trenches.
 

Brody had every right to be bitter, and to hate his parents for every army doctor, psychiatrist, and convalescent home they shipped him off to. For essentially getting him addicted to morphine, and being shocked when the miracle-cure blew up in their faces. He had only accepted the treatment to keep Mother happy, and to make Father proud.
 

He had never asked to love the needle, but perhaps his spiral into addiction was simply inevitable. It was certainly easier to heap his troubles on everyone else, rather than take the blame for his own shortcomings.
 

Father didn’t favor Marcus because of the war medals. He favored Marcus because he was the better son. Angelica hadn’t slept with another man because she had not trusted him. She slept with another man because she
had
trusted him, and Brody hadn’t been honest with her.
 

If he had told her he was leaving to get better, she would have waited. But he had been too afraid that he would fail—that he would not be strong enough or worthy enough—to tell her the truth. Now, if Brody did not confess how he truly felt before things got too far out of hand, he really would only have himself to blame.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“Golly!” Mary Rose practically crowed with glee. “That was unfortunate!”

As soon as the song ended, Captain Neill had stormed from the room, with his brother following as best he could. They’d left Angelica alone with Mary Rose.
 

She fought back tears. This night had been a disaster. She’d felt so certain that Captain Neill had feelings for her—flirting over dinner, the way he held her in his arms as they’d waltzed—yet at the first sign of affection, he’d dashed away. Perhaps she had embarrassed him in front of his siblings…

“I hope you aren’t infatuated with my brother,” the young woman continued, “because that would not end well for you.”

Angelica took the bait. “Why not?”

“Well, for one, my parents would not approve. Secondly, Brody isn’t exactly known for making wise decisions—his life has essentially been one bad decision after another—and you’d be the baddest of them all. He needs someone to look after him, support him. He’d never be able to take care of you…”

“I can take care of myself,” Angelica sniffled.
 

“You can’t even find your bedroom without someone to guide you. What are you going to do when Brody doesn’t come home for three days, and there’s no money for servants, and you can’t pop down to the market because you’ll never find your way home?”

She swallowed. It wouldn’t be like that. He was better now—he’d given up his injections. How ever he’d behaved in the past to make his sister think him an unreliable wastrel, Captain Neill had changed.

“Oh, Miss Grey. I feel sorry for you, I do! But remember what happened earlier. The moment you bared your heart to him, he bolted. Never show a man your true feelings. The instant they suspect you’re after more than a good time, off they go.”

That was true enough. Angelica had let herself imagine Captain Neill’s behavior was genuine, but it was all part of the act. If he was going to pass her off as anything more than his mistress, he must convince his family that she was a good girl, and that his intentions were honest. People who cared for one another flirted over dessert, and seized any decent excuse to hold each other close. Their dance had been for show. When he realized he’d played his part too well—that she’d forgot her true purpose—he’d stormed off in a rage.

He was going to send her packing.

After this disaster of an evening, no one would blame him.

She’d better get a head start. “Can you ring for Bessie? I want to go to my room.”

Mary Rose laughed. “See what I mean? You can’t do anything.”

“Just ring, please.”

There was a pause. “No.”

The library door slammed shut. Mary Rose Neill had left her there to suffer. Angelica stepped in the direction of the doorway, but what was she going to do, stand in the hallway and call for help? Bleat like a lost lamb for someone to carry her upstairs?

Angelica sat on a nearby sofa. For a moment, she swore she heard rapid breathing. “…Mary Rose…”

The young woman cackled. “Tricked you! Did you really not know I was in here all along?”

She clenched her hands in her lap. It was a cruel trick, but she was not going to give that girl the satisfaction of a reaction.

Mary Rose was not deterred. “I bet your brothers played so many pranks on you.”

“I only had one brother, and he was very kind,” Angelica replied. “Were your brothers awful to you?”

“Not really. They were gone mostly—to the Front. But you seemed like such an easy target, I couldn’t help myself.”

Angelica sighed. Perhaps she was an easy mark, after all. “You’ve had your fun. Now will you ring for Bessie?”

“I don’t think I will. Goodnight!”
 

With that, she really was gone.

The library was deathly quiet. Angelica waited an eternity for someone to find her, but no one—servant or otherwise—came. She wept quietly with her hands clamped over her mouth to muffle the sobs. How did she get herself into such a mess?

“Angelica! Angelica?”

Footsteps. A voice in the corridor. Suddenly, the library door swung open. She tried desperately to hide her tears, but it was too late. Captain Neill caught her crying, and rushed to her side.

He pulled her into his arms. “Oh, my dear girl.”

Angelica remembered Mary Rose’s warning not to let men know she cared. Thank God, Marcus had calmed his brother down, and now Captain Neill was back. If she could rein in her emotions, perhaps he would forgive her. Perhaps he would not send her away. “I’m sorry that I lost my head, and got caught up in our dance together. I won’t let it happen again.”