When Angels Fall (23 page)

“I lent my carriage to a friend.” His hand swept the ribbons that ran down her back as if they were her tresses. All at once she remembered where she was. She looked
down at his lap, then tried to get up. But he only pulled her back down and held her there. “What are you still doing here? Night has fallen.”

“I never finished—” Her frustrated gaze flitted to the gasolier. She squirmed and tried again to get off his lap. But this only seemed to flame the desire she already saw sparking in his eyes.

“You are not to perform such tasks. I hired you for more gentle duties. Besides, you should be home. What is Evvie to do without you?” His knuckles lazily caressed her cheek. His touch startled her. He was looking at her strangely. There was tenderness in his eyes, which she had never seen before, and she was not sure she trusted it.

“Evvie knows how to make supper. But I’m not supposed to be in here while you are, so I should be off—” Again she tried to rise.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said testily, locking his arms around her. “As ridiculous as your playing servant . . . and me playing lord.”

Sensing his mercurial mood, she trod carefully. “But you are lord here, Ivan. And I am a servant. So I beg you to quit treating me like a barmaid. We’re not play-acting.”

“No? I thought riches and fine clothing do not make a lord. Your words, if I recall.”

He smiled and ran his thumb over her lower lip.

Uneasily she grasped his hand and placed it at his side. “Your sending George to Eton is a lordly thing to do. But—this—is—not.”

He peered at her through heavy-lidded eyes. Abruptly he changed the subject. “You should be home. Why aren’t you readying to leave?”

Released, she clambered off his lap and got to her feet. “I shall then, since you’re so anxious to be rid of me.” She had had a terrible day and she was in no mood to deal with Ivan’s maddening temperament. If Mrs. Lofts reprimanded her in the morning for not getting her work done, then so be it.

“Get your mantle and bring it back here. Since it’s dark, I shall see you home.” He stood and held open the baize door for her.

“I don’t think Mrs. Lofts would approve,” she said, taken aback by his offer. He was definitely hard to predict this evening. She wondered who had come to visit this afternoon to put him in such a strange and introspective mood.

“Go get your things. Mrs. Lofts will be overjoyed. Believe me.” He smiled at her then, and it was the old Ivan smile—wicked and brilliant. Mrs. Lofts was surely in for trouble now.

“I see” was all she said before leaving the drawing room. In the chilly passage, she looked back once. He was staring at her. He smiled again and she smiled back uncertainly.

There was something in his look that made her quiver inside. For some reason, walking home with him in the dark seemed terribly foolish. Right then, she decided to gather her mantle and purse and sneak home alone through the servants’ door.

The next day Lissa barely had time to hang up her printed Norwich shawl before Mrs. Lofts informed her the marquis would see her right away. As she was led to the Baronial Hall where, apparently, Ivan liked to have his breakfast, she overheard several servants whispering about the marquis’s foul temper. No one seemed to know the reason for it, but nonetheless, Lissa had noticed when she’d first arrived at the castle that everyone hopped whenever the bells rang over the kitchen staircase. Today no one dared keep the master waiting.

So it was with some trepidation that she entered the Hall and found Ivan sitting before one of the enormous limestone hearths. Mrs. Lofts discreetly returned to the kitchens and, before she knew it, Lissa was left alone to face the lion in his den.

“My lord?” she began, and watched him raise his head from his breakfast. Though he never faced her, she could see he was angry. She didn’t doubt that she was the cause of it.

He placed his elbows on the table and joined his fingertips. Still not looking at her, he demanded, “Why did you leave?”

“Leave?” She hesitated. “You mean last evening.”

“Of course I mean last evening.”

She stared at him. He still refused to look at her, but what could she say? That his unusual friendliness that evening had made her uneasy? That his smile had told her to beware? That she was more afraid of him like that than even now when he looked as ferocious as a lion? She frowned and tried to reason with him. “It’s hardly your place to see the servants escorted home—”

He flung down his napkin and stood. Finally he faced her. “You will never do that again!”

“I can see myself home.”

“Never after nightfall! What if something had happened to you! What if you’d come across some ruffians?”

She giggled despite the tension in the air—or perhaps because of it. “Ivan, this is Nodding Knoll. There are no ruffians here. And Violet Croft is hardly a half mile away from the castle.”

“If you ever do that again I’ll see your brother extracted from that school so fast your head will spin, do you understand me?”

Now this was serious business indeed. How dare he blackmail her by threatening to jeopardize George! Stiffly she said, “Some nights I must surely stay late and you
cannot take it upon yourself to see me home. It’s not proper.”

The master of every situation, he calmly sat back down to his breakfast as if the conversation were over, at least her part of it. His every motion infuriated her—from the way he replaced his napkin on his lap to the way he gazed away from her. He took a bite of ham and stated imperiously, “From now on, no matter when you leave, you will be escorted home by my stablemaster, John Dover. He is an elderly man and I have great confidence that you will be safe in his company. I also must tell you that I’ve instructed him to escort you here in the mornings, so I’d advise you not to leave your little cottage until you hear his knock on the door.” He took another bite of ham and summarily dismissed her. “That is all. You may leave.”

She was so taken aback she could hardly summon a retort. His thinking that she needed an escort was ludicrous. There had to be twenty women who came and went alone from Powerscourt to Nodding Knoll on any given day. He was being utterly irrational, which made her want to behave in an equally irrational manner. It was completely unlike her, but suddenly she had the urge to stick out her tongue at his unyielding profile.

“I said that will be all.” He didn’t look up from his meal.

“Yes, your majesty,”
she said sarcastically before leaving.

Her duties that day were much lighter. For some reason Mrs. Lofts seemed to be avoiding her. The tasks the housekeeper gave her were easily accomplished, and at one point she was left in the servants’ hall with nothing to do. It was then that Mrs. Lofts entered the hall and found her seated on one of the pine benches. Lissa was sure she would give her a lecture on the slothfulness of servants, or even try to box her ears as the severe elderly woman was wont to do with the kitchen wenches. But to the contrary, the housekeeper merely gave her a baleful glance and kept
going. Lissa jumped to her feet, but by that time Mrs. Lofts was gone.

As evening came, Lissa was ready to leave. If anything, her new position was now turning into torture by boredom. Just when she had donned her mantle, however, a surprise came her way. An elegant older man appeared at the kitchen door and introduced himself as John Dover. The slim, white-haired gent promptly gave his arm to her, and he walked her back to Violet Croft, exchanging pleasantries the entire way. Lissa was so taken by the charming stablemaster that she found it hard to begrudge Ivan’s overbearing protectiveness any longer. When she left Mr. Dover at the door of her cottage, she was actually looking forward to the morning walk, if not the morning duties.

She entered Violet Croft in a lighthearted mood. She tossed her paisley shawl upon the pegs and sauntered into the parlor. To her astonishment, Evvie sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by gold-embossed boxes. Boxes were everywhere: on the blue sofa, scattered across the mantel, even piled on the little scratched rectory table. Practically dumbstruck, Lissa could only stutter, “W-what on earth?”

“I’m so glad you’re home. I really don’t know what to make of it!” Evvie stood shakily and cleared a path to her sister. She went to their lace-covered drum table and handed Lissa a note.

Lissa took the note and broke the seal. It was from London. She read aloud the only words written on the creamy vellum. They were: AUNT SOPHIE’S LAST BEQUEST.

“Is that what all this is?” Evvie questioned.

“I suppose so,” Lissa mused, walking around a particularly large gilt box. Her name,
Elizabeth Victorine,
was handwritten on one corner. Heavily embossed on its top was another name: CHARLES FREDERICK WORTH.

“What’s inside?”

“I guess we’ll have to open it to find out.” Lissa lifted
the heavy cardboard lid. Her eyes widened and a gasp involuntarily left her mouth.

“Oh, Lissa, I can’t wait a moment more! Tell me!”

“It’s a gown. The most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen.” She lifted the heavy satin dress from the box.

Evvie reached out and caressed the costly fabric. “What color?”

Lissa pulled the gown to her chest and looked down. She could hardly believe her eyes. “It’s the deepest rose—a most beautiful dusky hue. There’s darker rose
passementerie
all over it, in a honeysuckle pattern.” As she stroked the silken gown, her hand felt as if it were gliding over angel’s wings. She fingered the low neckline that dipped
à la grecque
and the short sleeves that were adorned with tiny, flirtatious satin bows. The gown was exquisite. Surely the most beautiful she’d ever seen.

“Is there another one?” Evvie asked, perhaps a bit forlornly.

Lissa looked up and smiled. She said, “You goose! There must be! You can’t believe all the boxes!” She laid the rose satin gown over the back of an armchair. She then attacked the other boxes with a vengeance.

In some were dozens of pairs of white silk hose, embroidered handkerchiefs, and kidskin gloves. In others, she found two well-molded Parisian corsets, several corset covers of Honiton lace, and six of the sheerest chemises made of dotted Swiss muslin. When there were still two boxes left, Lissa picked the largest—the one with
Evelyn
Grace
written on the corner.

In it was Evvie’s gown, and if could be so, it was equally exquisite as Lissa’s. Made of a most lustrous midnight-blue silk velvet, the gown was corded around the hemline in a Greek key pattern, and Valenciennes lace teased at the low neckline. Her sister would look positively breathtaking, and already Lissa could picture Holland’s expression when he first saw her in it.

“Is it beautiful?” Evvie whispered.

Lissa laughed, feeling like a fairy-tale princess. She tossed the unbelievably heavy gown to her sister. Evvie barely caught it, then, surrounded by the rich velvet, she began laughing too.

“It is true,” she exclaimed in a hushed voice.

“It must be.” Lissa reverently stroked the rose satin thrown over the chair. Her eyes then wandered to the waning hearth. She meant to get some more peat, but then her gaze found the last box, still unopened on the mantel.

“One more, Evvie. Is it for you or for me?”

“For you! I insist!” Evvie could hardly take her hands from the velvet to wave her on.

Lissa smiled and retrieved the heavy satin-covered box. The names
Bronwyn and Schloss
were gilded discreetly on the top. She eagerly opened it, thinking it to be a pair of slippers or perhaps a beaded purse.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. Her gasp brought Evvie to her side.

“What is it? It must be something outstanding.”

“Evvie, it’s the most dazzling thing—” Lissa extracted a snood from its nest of black taffeta. Woven of silver satin cords, it was strewn all over with a thousand shining glass crystals. The hairpiece cascaded over her hand like falling ice; even the meager firelight couldn’t dim its brilliance.

She could hardly describe it to Evvie, but when she did her best, Evvie giggled and said, “Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if those crystals weren’t crystals at all—but diamonds!”

Lissa looked at the magnificent snood as it sparkled, brilliant and fiery. She laughed too. “We’d be rich as pirates if these crystals were real!”

They laughed again at the absurd thought until Evvie finally sobered. “But how wonderful it would be, Lissa, to have all our troubles over. If the crystals were real we could pay back Ivan and then you wouldn’t have to go to
the castle any more, and we could move—to London, even!”

“And we could fly if we had wings, but what’s the sense of these imaginings?” Lissa quietly put the snood back into its box.

“We’ll have to sell the gowns, won’t we?”

A heavy silence fell between them. It was a tragedy to think that they would have to part with either of the dresses, but the gowns had arrived at a most opportune time. Their savings were almost gone, and Lissa knew all too well that her salary from Powerscourt was far below the cost of George’s schooling. Not a shilling of her income would find its way to Violet Croft. Yet as she thought all of this, Lissa watched Evvie turn back to her blue velvet ballgown and lovingly stroke its nap.