She glanced back at the poor horse plodding through the icy rain. To the devil with the man, she thought, but the animal certainly deserved better. She picked up her skirts and hurried her pace, but still light-headed, she soon fell back and found herself trailing horse and rider. He reined his horse in at the drive and watched her pass. She could only imagine what a bedraggled sight she made, with her hair a tangled mess, and the bottom of her dress caked in mud. He, on the other hand, looked magnificent atop his sleek black steed. He tipped his hat, a wry smile on his lips and wheeled his horse around. All she could think as she watched him ride off was lucky, lucky Constance.
CHAPTER TWO
Through the windows Angeline could see the servants readying the dining room for tea. Hopefully, that meant she could take the servants’ stairs unnoticed. With her undergarments still clutched beneath her coat, she headed through the kitchen garden to the back entrance. Angeline took a fleeting glance behind her and slammed into something solid. She landed hard on her bottom.
Mr. Stanbury grabbed her elbow and lifted her to her feet. “Angeline, what on earth are you doing out here? I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”
His gaze dropped to her soaked and nearly transparent muslin dress. Before she could stutter out a word he ripped the undergarments from her grasp. His gaze focused on the hat. “Were you entertaining in my lodge?”
“I sheltered there during the rainstorm.” His fingers bit into her arm as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.
He dragged her through the servants’ entrance and pushed her against the wall. “Since you are already half dressed, I don’t see any reason not to partake in what will soon be mine.” His mouth smothered hers as his hand groped her breast.
She shoved hard at his chest rocking him back on his heels. His bloodshot eyes narrowed in fury. She dragged the back of her hand across her lips hoping to rid herself of the sour taste of his mouth.
“You’re drunk.” She was aware of her hypocrisy.
“What of it?”
“’Tis barely noon.”
“Nagging comes after marriage, not before, my dear.” He started yanking up the hem of her dress.
She brought the heel of her half-boot down hard on the top of his foot. He reeled back with a roaring curse and she escaped up the stairs. She was panting by the time she reached her room. She latched the door and ran to the washstand. She soaped up the cloth and scrubbed everywhere he’d touched her. By the time she was satisfied, her lips were puffy and red.
She refused to give into tears, fearing that if she started she would never stop. How blithe to have believed she could just avoid him once they were married. She now had the unpleasant knowledge that alcohol could make her lose her inhibitions and also turn a man of fortune and breeding into a brute.
She pulled her portmanteau from beneath the bed and began stuffing clothes into it. To think that she’d actually been hopeful that this week in the country would help her get accustomed to the idea of marrying him. An officious knock, which could only belong to Mrs. Withers, was quickly followed by the knob turning.
Mrs. Withers’ eyes widened momentarily with surprise. “Are you eloping?”
Angeline returned to cramming things in her case. “I refuse to marry that detestable man.”
The woman’s thin lips pursed in disapproval as she took in the state of Angeline’s clothes. “You are a disaster. Why did you not have the sense to stay indoors?”
Angeline couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Mrs. Withers rarely listened to anybody but herself. “Mr. Stanbury’s actions have been ungentlemanly in the extreme,” she said with more emphasis.
Mrs. Withers small black eyes turned as hard as obsidian. “You should be grateful the man pays you any attention at all.” Mrs. Withers’ naturally high voice escalated as she began listing all of Angeline’s failings. “Penniless, unruly, spoiled—” She snatched the gown from Angeline’s hands. “You are crushing this.”
Her bony fingers smoothed the wrinkles from the satin. “He is certain to make an offer once he sees you in this.”
“I won’t wear it,” Angeline said.
“Absolutely, you will. I’m owed. Lord knows, I’ve earned every farthing.”
Tears pricked Angeline’s eyes. “Owed?”
“Your guardian offered a bounty if I were to get you married off. And despite the generous dowry the major is offering, I’ve come to find it’s nearly an impossible task. Respectable men don’t marry women with your looks. There’s carnality in every aspect of your countenance and form, just like the bitch who gave birth to you.” Mrs. Withers pulled a corset from the valise. Angeline had so far refused to wear that particular undergarment. The design of it thrust her breasts upward into a prominent position. “Oh, your suitors are eager to have you, but as a mistress not a wife. For whatever reason, Mr. Stanbury does not shy from the notion of taking one such as you to wed. I believe it could be that vulgar quality that has caught his interest.”
Mrs. Withers held up the gown. “This should show off your assets to good effect.” Though the dress was a sedate sea-foam green it was far from the sweet and demure dress it had once been. Bows and ruffles now bordered the hem. And Angeline was shocked to see how the neckline plunged. Mrs. Withers had obviously hired a modiste to take a pair of wicked scissors to it.
Mrs. Withers gave the bell an officious pull. The same maid who had helped Angeline with her stays in the morning answered the call. She was quite young and appeared to be a novice at tending to matters of dress and hair. Angeline assumed she’d been reassigned from her usual duties to look after female guests unaccompanied by personal maids.
Remembering that her chemise was likely draped over the cabbages in the garden, Angeline discreetly plucked a new one from the pile of clothes strewn on the bed and disappeared behind the dressing screen. The maid followed with the corset and dress. As the maid finished lacing her into the torturous garment, Mrs. Withers spied around the screen. She eyed Angeline’s upthrust breasts with approval. Then she tugged on the chemise peeking out above the stays. “Remove this, it’ll ruin the effect.”
“It’s going to take another hour to fix your hair and I’m too famished to wait.” Mrs. Withers checked her own image in the standing mirror behind the screen. She pinched her cheeks for color then turned her shrewd gaze on the maid. “If that girl does not come down in that gown, I may discover that my amber necklace has gone missing.” She stopped at the door and turned her sharp profile to them. “Angeline, do not think to cover yourself with a shawl.”
With the threat made against the innocent maid, there was nothing to do but wear the dress. Instead of returning to the party in something modest to discourage Mr. Stanbury she would appear as if she craved his attentions. And, certainly, Draxford had seen quite enough of her skin for one day.
As the maid slid the gown over her head, Angeline remembered the last time Draxford had seen her in something even gaudier. Newly commissioned as a lieutenant, he’d come to say his farewells before leaving for war. Reliving the moment, she was struck with how the pain of humiliation persisted. For the occasion Silas had presented her with a dress. It was a cloud of lilac lace and ruffles, exactly what an elderly bachelor with no understanding of a young girl’s apparel would have chosen. At the time she thought she’d looked quite womanly and fascinating. To make herself even more entrancing she’d paid a visit to the dowager house. Miss Gladys, Silas’s sister had fashioned Angeline’s hair in a pile of curls and spritzed her liberally with perfume. For good measure, when the good lady’s back was turned, Angeline had rouged her cheeks and lips.
And for once, she’d gotten Nicholas Draxford’s undivided attention. With a bemused expression, he’d watched as she flounced into an awkward curtsy, then removed a handkerchief from the pocket of his uniform.
His nostrils had flared as h
e’d leaned over and scrubbed the paint from her face. It had been obvious he was itching to scold her about the scent she wore. Later, she’d listened at Silas’s study door. “A young girl should smell of soap not stale perfume.”
Though that day was imprinted on her mind, she was certain Draxford had never given it another thought. Anger swiftly replaced embarrassment, she had to face the fact that she was insignificant to the man she worshiped.
By the time the maid had finished with her hair, Angeline’s careening emotions had brought on a real headache. Worried about facing Mr. Stanbury after the scene in the garden, she hoped he’d sobered enough to express regret for his actions.
She took a quick glance at herself in the mirror. Her mother, the seductress, the serial adulteress, stared back. She lifted the corner of her lips in a cynical smile, mimicking a painting she’d seen of her mother. The resemblance shook her to her toes. She prayed it only went skin deep. Unsettled, she hurried out the door intent on throwing herself on the mercy of Mrs. Withers.
Angeline quickly revised her plan as she descended the stairs. Mercy was a foreign concept to Mrs. Withers, but she understood money. Angeline would make a better offer than Draxford had. She’d promise the woman a chunk of her inheritance if she would just take her home. Angeline scanned the room then breathed a sigh of relief. There wasn’t an over-sized soldier in sight. There still might be a chance she could leave without facing his wrath.
The storm had passed and threads of sunlight filtered through the windows. The doors to the garden stood slightly ajar allowing the rain cleansed air to drift in and sweep away the stale cheroot smoke that had accumulated. The tables had been set up and the guests were gathering. Angeline pretended she didn’t notice the leering looks or the whispered words as she swept passed in her infamous gown. Mr. Stanbury intercepted her as she skirted the small clusters of guests sipping punch. He seemed to be favoring a leg. She’d obviously stomped hard enough to cause him pain.
His eyes were still bleary with drink. His glare raked her from head to foot and then settled on the tops of her breasts. She tried to breathe shallowly to prevent her nipples from peeking above the neckline. “I’ve had mistresses who wore more to bed.”
“Where is Mrs. Withers?” she asked.
“I’m afraid the old hag’s flown.”
“She’s gone?”
He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Out the door and blowing steam. It seems she took offense when I questioned her about allowing you to roam the grounds unattended.”
Her shoulders drooped. Slinking off to avoid a confrontation with Draxford was no longer feasible. She wondered who her guardian would pawn her off on next.
Mr. Stanbury seized her elbow and turned her to face him. He did not bother to lower his voice. “For the time being you are under my protection and I will not tolerate any more hoydenish behavior.”
The guests near them kept up their chatter, but Angeline could sense they were listening.
“Whose behavior needs adjusting?” she asked through clenched teeth.
His blue eyes narrowed viciously. She winced as his grip tightened.
“Now show due deference to your host.”
She managed a tremulous smile.
“Much better,” he said with a brittle nod. He gave her arm another painful squeeze, before releasing his grip.
“Now be a good girl and go say hello to Benjamin. He could use some cheering up.”
As usual, Benjamin sat away from the crowd on a settee tucked into a far corner of the room. While the guests treated him with civility, his war scars were too dramatic for most. With a pang, she recalled his handsome face frowning in concentration as he played chess with Silas and his winning smile on those few occasions when he bested him. Of course, once he’d started courting Olivia Mayhew his visits had become a rare treat.
Angeline still could not forgive herself for the gasp that had exited her lips upon seeing him for the first time after his return.
Benjamin got to his feet as she approached, the unharmed side of his face smiling. His eyes flicked to take in her inappropriate attire. His eyebrow lifted a fraction, but he was too much of a gentleman to say anything. As she took a seat on the settee, he signaled a servant to bring tea.
He glanced pointedly at the fading fingerprints on her arm. “My brother’s gallantry is on fine display today.”
“He’s tolerable without drink, but I don’t think he’s put his glass down all day,” she said.
She couldn’t help thinking that the look he gave her was a pitying one.
The servant approached and with gratitude she accepted the toasty cup. Her body still felt chilled from the rain. She sipped the hot liquid contentedly. From the corner of her eye she could see new guests joining the party. She kept her ears open for the sound of that uncommonly deep voice.
“Where have you been hiding?” His crystal blue eyes with their extravagant lashes somehow made the damage to his face more unsettling. “It’s been a dead bore without you.”
“I went for a walk.”
“In this dreadful weather?”
“I was prepared. I carried my pretty pink parasol,” she said, with a laugh.
She stared down at the cup in her hand. “I wanted to see my old home.”
“Angel, my sweet, if you start crying I’m afraid I may join in.”
Angeline laughed.
He clapped his hands together. “What say we hold the tears until after we’ve eaten?” He rose from the bench and offered his arm. “I seem to be less repellent with you at my side. Though I think you’ll find that Lady Wetherby will find some reason to scurry away.”
He escorted her to the largest table. As he’d predicted Lady Wetherby vacated her seat on the premise that the fresh air would fatigue her.
Benjamin chuckled quietly, but Angeline resisted the urge to stick out her foot and trip the woman.
“Good of you to join us,” Mr. Stanbury said to his brother.
A ruddy-faced man, whom Angeline had seen in Mr. Stanbury’s shooting party earlier in the week, leaned toward Mr. Stanbury to be heard over the clinking of porcelain and conversation. “We’re all rather disappointed that your guest didn’t show.” He nodded his head in the direction of the empty chair at Mr. Stanbury’s elbow.
Mr. Stanbury lowered his tea cup. “Grey, if you are referring to Draxford, I guarantee he will be here before this afternoon’s planned event. After all it would be rather pointless without him.”
Emily Smithfield, the young widow from a neighboring estate, fanned the heat from her cheeks. “Do not deny it, you men are planning a boxing match. Do not expect to keep the women away if Draxford is competing.”
The pinch-faced man at the far end of the table dabbed his pursed mouth with a napkin. “Still settling matters with his fists. The polish was always a little thin on Sir William’s second born. All that money and property does not a gentleman make.”
Benjamin shot a look of disgust in the man’s direction, then leaned in toward his brother. “You are still convinced that Turley is a match for the major?”
“Have you passed a looking glass lately? Isn’t your loyalty in Draxford misplaced?” Mr. Stanbury hissed under his breath.
Angeline could feel Benjamin stiffening beside him. She’d never heard the full account of how he’d been injured.
Benjamin’s scars reddened in anger. “I’ve warned you not to place this at his feet. What was he to do, hold my hand through the war?” Benjamin kept his voice low, but it vibrated with fury.
“He could have taken you out of the fight. Found a place for you on his staff.”
Those within earshot did not try to hide their curiosity. An older man sitting on Mr. Stanbury’s right cleared his throat. “The man’s a merciless machine. He’s not disposed
to fellow feelings. You don’t move up the ranks at the speed he did worrying about the friends you’re leaving behind.”
Benjamin brought his fist down on the table rattling the dishes. “What the devil do you think this bloody fight is about? I haven’t the skills as a pugilist, so he’s doing my dirty work.”
Emily gave a mock gasp at his language.
Benjamin swallowed back the rest of his wine, got up from the table, and strode away.
Angeline found she had little appetite, absently she toyed with the food on her plate. She noticed Constance and Mr. Stanbury exchange a look then Constance placed a hand atop hers to still her fidgeting. Embarrassed, Angeline quickly tucked her restless hands in her lap. It had not been the first time the cousins had worked in concert to train her out of her bad habits, the only thing missing was Mrs. Withers smiling her approval at their corrections.
A woman with dark golden hair cut in a halo of curls smiled conspiratorially at Constance. “Have you seen him yet?”
Constance maintained a serene countenance but a pleased smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Jane, you know he divides his time between his two estates. And Silas left his holdings in shambles. The poor man’s too busy for socializing. In fact, he hasn’t even had a moment for his ward.” Constance gave Angeline a beneficent smile.
Angel's Guardian Page 2
