‘You never know when you might need to show your quality,’ said Martha grimly, stepping back to look at her handiwork. ‘Clothes are a useful reminder. And you can be sure I took care to hide your jewels from prying eyes.’
‘You don’t think there’s much danger of me being robbed in this house then,’ said Angelica, a half-smile on her lips.
But Martha might not have heard for all the notice she took of Angelica’s remark. She studied her mistress intently, then nodded slightly, with evident reluctance.
‘You’ll do,’ she said sourly.
Angelica hesitated as she approached the drawing-room door. Despite her earlier resolution she felt nervous and overdressed. She wondered if she’d made a crass and insulting mistake. There was nothing pretentious about the Faulkeners. In deference to their guest, Mrs Faulkener had had the fire lit in a larger room than the one she had occupied the previous evening, but it was still furnished very simply, with more regard for comfort than elegance.
Angelica was suddenly afraid that Mrs Faulkener would think she was showing off; and that Benoît would believe she was deliberately parading her consequence before him in direct response to what he had told her about his humble origins. That hadn’t been her intention at all. She almost turned and fled back to her room, but it was too late. She turned the door handle and went into the room with as much nonchalance as she could muster.
She noticed, almost with relief, that Mrs Faulkener was not yet present—then she gave all her attention to Benoît. He had risen politely at her entrance, but she saw a flicker of startled, warm appreciation in his eyes as they rested on her face. Her heart skipped a beat because surely that first, unguarded reaction to her appearance had been very revealing.
He recovered his composure quickly, looking her up and down with a coolly amused expression on his face. At last his gaze came to rest on the jewel around her neck, and his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
‘You are looking very magnificent tonight, my lady,’ he said politely.
‘It was Martha!’ Angelica said breathlessly, hearing the cool note in his voice, and afraid that her fears had been well-founded. She lifted her hand instinctively to touch, and perhaps hide, the sapphire and diamonds at her throat.
‘She insisted…’ Her voice trailed off as she realised how impossible it was to explain what Martha had said. She looked at Benoît with luminous blue eyes which contained an unconscious appeal for understanding.
Benoît smiled, the warmth springing back into his brown eyes as he strolled towards her, moving with the controlled grace and latent power of the wolf he so frequently reminded her of.
‘Martha is a formidable woman,’ he said dryly. ‘I must make sure I make her acquaintance before you leave, my lady. In the meantime, you may tell her that I have understood her message.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Angelica said, in some confusion, although she was almost certain that she did.
How could she ever have been foolish enough to suppose Benoît would be too unsophisticated to comprehend the significance of her finery? She wondered briefly whether she truly understood it herself. Was she trying to disconcert him with her magnificence—or captivate him with her glamour?
Either way, she seemed to have met her match.
For the first time since she had known Benoît, he was not dressed entirely in black. He wore a dark blue, double-breasted tail coat which fitted his broad shoulders admirably. A snowy white cravat fell in soft folds beneath his chin, emphasising his dark tan, His breeches were buckled just below his knees, and close-fitting white stockings revealed his well-muscled calves.
It was Angelica’s turn to be surprised. She had protested to Martha that she wasn’t attending a ball in Carlton House, but Benoît would certainly not have been out of place in such a setting. He bent low to kiss her hand with elegant assurance, and she could feel the warm pressure of his fingers through her long gloves. She looked down at his crisp black hair, feeling strangely close to him, yet at the same time very unsure of herself.
‘Come and sit down,’ he said. ‘My mother will be with us shortly, but she was delayed by a minor domestic crisis. The cook’s late brother—he was killed last year in Portugal—turns out to have been a bigamist.’
‘What?’ The force of Angelica’s disbelieving exclamation owed much more to her chaotic feelings than to what Benoît had just said, but at least he had provided her with an excuse for her obvious confusion.
‘Oh, it’s quite true,’ he assured her, grinning, as he took the chair opposite hers. ‘According to my mother, the first bereaved widow arrived on the doorstep a couple of months ago, and the second one came this afternoon. Apparently she gave quite a dramatic performance—I’m almost sorry I missed it.’
‘You’re not serious?’ Angelica didn’t know whether to be appalled or entertained at what he’d said.
‘That she came—or that I’m sorry I missed the show?’ Benoît enquired, a wicked gleam in his brown eyes. ‘You’re right, I doubt very much whether I would have found it as rewarding as a day spent in your company.’
Angelica blushed and turned her face away, uncertain how to respond to him. His directness always disconcerted her, and it was almost a relief when Mrs Faulkener came quietly into the room.
Dinner was an exquisite torment for Angelica. It was the first time she had ever spoken to Benoît in company, and she was acutely conscious of Mrs Faulkener’s observant eyes as she tried to maintain a flow of light-hearted conversation.
But the Faulkeners were very easy and entertaining companions. Mother and son shared a similar sense of humour, and they had a relaxed respect for each other which impressed Angelica. She wondered if Benoît would show equal respect to his wife. Then she blushed and suppressed the fugitive thought as quickly and guiltily as if Benoît could read her mind. It was hardly any concern of hers how he treated his wife.
At last the two women left Benoît to enjoy his port alone and retired to the drawing room.
‘You have been so kind to me,’ said Angelica warmly. ‘I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your hospitality. I feel so guilty for imposing on you a second night.’
Mrs Faulkener smiled as she sat down opposite Angelica.
‘On the contrary,’ she replied cordially, ‘I am grateful for your company, my lady. We don’t often have visitors. I’m only sorry that you must leave so soon.’
‘Thank you,’ said Angelica, uncomfortable aware that she had been so preoccupied with Benoît that she had spared very little thought for her hostess.
It would hardly be surprising if Mrs Faulkener did feel lonely, living in such an isolated spot and with Benoît away so often. Angelica resolved to be a more entertaining guest for the limited time she had left. She felt vaguely that it was important Mrs Faulkener should like her, although she didn’t analyse why.
‘Perhaps, in the summer, you could persuade your father to visit Sir William,’ Mrs Faulkener suggested. ‘It’s a long time since the Earl came to Sussex, and I’m sure Sir William would appreciate it.’
‘I will certainly try,’ Angelica agreed, snatching at the idea eagerly. ‘It would be such a relief! He hasn’t left the house in months…’ Her voice trailed away as she realised how close she was to openly criticising her father.
‘It must be very painful for him,’ said Mrs Faulkener quietly. ‘And for you. It is hard to live in the shadow of someone else’s unhappiness—particularly when you love them.’
Angelica looked down at her hands gripped together in her lap, seeing them through suddenly misty eyes. She was afraid if she spoke her voice would reveal how close she was to tears, so she didn’t say anything, and in a moment Mrs Faulkener began to tell the story of the cook’s bigamous brother.
When Benoît joined them, a few minutes later, Angelica had her feelings well under control. Even so, the sight of him after his brief absence caused her heart to leap into her throat and left her temporarily bereft of words. She couldn’t believe she was acting so
foolishly; anyone would think she was still in the schoolroom! Yet she had been mistress of her father’s household for several years.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the maid who came into the room, looking a little flustered, and delivered a letter to Benoît.
‘Thank you, Tilly.’ He took it and broke open the seal, reading it quickly. A frown creased his forehead as he nodded his dismissal to the maid.
‘There’ll be no reply,’ he said curtly, standing up.
‘What is it, Benoît?’ Mrs Faulkener asked calmly.
He glanced at his mother and smiled, his expression clearing as he did so.
‘Nothing serious,’ he said lightly. ‘It’s from Sir William. He thinks he’s caught a smuggler, but the man is claiming his innocence and says I can provide him with an alibi. It could wait till morning, but you know how excitable Sir William gets. It’s probably best if I don’t keep him waiting.’
Mrs Faulkener nodded, although there was a flash of annoyance in her eyes.
‘Sir William is a good man,’ she said with some asperity, ‘but I wish he wasn’t so prone to turn other people’s lives upside down in his quest for the truth!’
Benoît laughed and turned to Angelica with a hint of apology in his eyes.
‘I’m sorry, my lady,’ he said sincerely. ‘I hate to abandon you like this, but I will see you before you leave in the morning; and I will certainly keep my promise to the Earl.’
Angelica stood up instinctively, her hands gripped together anxiously.
‘Do you know the man? Can you provide him with an alibi?’ she asked, more bluntly than she’d intended.
She was remembering Benoît’s absence the previous night, and wondering whether Sir William’s letter had made more dangerous accusations than Benoît had chosen to reveal. She was suddenly frightened for him, although that was ridiculous. It was impossible to imagine that Benoît wasn’t equal to any threat Sir William might pose to his security.
Benoît smiled as he took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly as he bowed with his customary grace.
‘I certainly know the man,’ he said easily. ‘And it doesn’t sound as if Sir William has much in the way of evidence. I think he’s just so exasperated that he’s trying to frighten the poor fellow. It shouldn’t be difficult to sort out. Good evening, my lady.’
Angelica watched him leave the room with an anxious expression in her eyes. For a moment she had completely forgotten Mrs Faulkener’s presence.
‘Don’t worry, my lady,’ said the Frenchwoman cheerfully. ‘Whatever may have happened, Sir William is no match for my son. I’m sure everything will be all right—but I’m sorry he has broken up our evening!’
‘It is a pity.’ Angelica sat down again, reassured by Mrs Faulkener’s unquestioning confidence in Benoît.
But now that he had gone she felt deflated and at a loss. The evening which had offered so much promise seemed to stretch emptily before her, and the weariness which she had falsely claimed that morning finally caught up with her.
It was months since she had been riding and her muscles were stiff and sore from the unaccustomed exercise. Until that moment she hadn’t even been aware of her tiredness, but now all she wanted to do was lie down on her bed and sleep.
‘My lady?’ said Mrs Faulkener enquiringly.
‘I’m sorry.’ Angelica roused herself to smile at her hostess. ‘I haven’t been riding for so long—I suddenly feel very tired. Perhaps I ought to have another cup of tea.’
‘Perhaps you ought to go to bed,’ Mrs Faulkener suggested gently. ‘I hate to remind you, but tomorrow you’ll have to spend several hours in the coach.’
A flicker of reluctance crossed Angelica’s face, partly because the idea of being jolted around in the carriage was unpleasant, but mainly because she didn’t like the idea of leaving.
Although it hadn’t occurred to her, her response to Mrs Faulkener’s remark was giving credence to the hasty excuse she had made to Benoît that morning for staying another day at Holly House.
Her father’s accident had never made her fearful of travelling, but Mrs Faulkener didn’t know that. The Frenchwoman had a very clear memory of how strained and anxious Angelica had been when she first arrived. She found it easy to believe that Angelica was reluctant to travel more than fifty miles over bad, winter roads on her own.
‘My lady, when Benoît returns, I will ask him if he’ll take you back to London himself,’ said Mrs Faulkener suddenly.
‘What?’ Angelica exclaimed, looking up in astonishment.
‘He will be able to speak to the Earl in person, and you need have no fear that an accident might occur while he is with you,’ Mrs Faulkener continued, warming to her theme.
‘Oh, but…’ Angelica began to demure, then hesitated.
There was no reason why Benoît shouldn’t come to London to speak to her father. She wondered why the idea hadn’t occurred to her before—and why Benoît hadn’t suggested it himself. Surely it would be the natural thing for him to do?
‘Good!’ said Mrs Faulkener briskly, taking Angelica’s consent for granted. ‘I’m sure you will sleep much better tonight, my lady, now that’s decided—and so shall I. I didn’t like the idea of you travelling so far alone—even though I know you’ve got your maid and your coachman with you. But Benoît will take good care of you.’
She stood up, and Angelica followed suit.
‘Good night, my lady,’ said Mrs Faulkener. ‘Now I really must go and talk to the cook. She was terribly upset this afternoon. She burnt the soup twice!’
Angelica began to walk slowly upstairs. Some of her tiredness had vanished, although she was trying not to admit to herself how much she owed her improved spirits to Mrs Faulkener’s suggestion. If Benoît came to London…
She heard a quick, light tread on the stairs above her and looked up to see him coming down towards her, two steps at a time. Her heart gave a great bound in her breast and she caught her breath.
‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said foolishly, hoping against hope that he didn’t know how powerfully his unexpected appearance had affected her.
He grinned.
‘I’m on my way,’ he said. ‘But I think even Sir William at his most impatient would understand my reluctance to ride around the countryside in full evening dress!’
‘Yes, of course!’ Angelica exclaimed, wondering why she hadn’t thought of that for herself.
Benoît was once again dressed in the familiar black riding coat and breeches which he had worn at their first meeting.
She hesitated, looking up at him as she wondered whether to mention his mother’s idea to him.
‘What is it, my lady?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’ The suggestion would sound better coming from Mrs Faulkener. ‘I hope you’re able to placate Sir William,’ she said.
‘Have no fear of that.’ He touched her cheek lightly, and then, almost as if it was against his better judgement, he bent his head and kissed her quickly on the lips.
She half lifted her hand towards him, but he was already stepping back.
‘Good night, Angelica,’ he said softly. ‘Sleep well.’
She turned and watched him run lightly down the rest of the stairs, her hand pressed against her tingling lips, wishing she knew what was in his mind.
Then a look of puzzlement stole into her eyes. There had been something different about him. He’d been dressed in black as before, but something…if only she could think what…something had been—
He’d been wearing a black cravat!
In fact, he’d been dressed entirely in black, without even the white shirt frills at his cuffs to relieve the sombre impression.
Angelica’s eyes narrowed as she remembered her earlier suspicions about why he chose to wear black—and her idle curiosity as to how he might conceal his white cravat when he was trying to avoid detection.
Now she knew. And surely he wouldn’t dress in such a funereal fashion just to visit Sir William?
She stood stock-still for several seconds, then picked up her skirts and ran pell-mell upstairs. She burst into her room and tugged energetically on the bell pull, before struggling to extricate herself as quickly as she could from the formal satin gown. The tiny buttons resisted her attempts at speed and she pulled impatiently at the fastenings, hearing the fabric tear beneath her hands.
‘My lady, what is it?’ Martha arrived breathlessly. ‘Are you ill?’
‘Get me out of this dress,’ Angelica said urgently. ‘Hurry.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t argue, just do it!’
Martha did as she was bid, her lips pressed together in a thin, anxious line.
‘Where’s the riding habit?’ Angelica spun around. ‘Good.’
She almost snatched it from Martha in her impatience.
‘Where are you going?’ Martha demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ Angelica replied briefly.
She seized up a dark shawl and wrapped it around her head, covering the bright golden curls.
‘Come with me,’ she said imperatively to Martha. ‘I might need you to distract the groom.’ A brief, reckless smile lit up her face. ‘I understand you’re good at it,’ she added.
They ran downstairs, Angelica in the lead, cautious in her haste, but there was no one in sight. Mrs Faulkener was presumably consoling the cook in the kitchen, and Benoît had already left. They let themselves quietly out of the front door and hurried round to the stables, careful to keep in the shadows.
‘What—?’ Martha began.
‘Shush!’ Angelica silenced her quickly.
She flattened herself against the wall of the house, hardly daring to breathe as she heard hooves striking on the cobblestones. Benoît exchanged a couple of words with his groom, and then she saw him ride past, less than twenty feet away, his dark shape silhouetted against the paler night sky. He was riding one horse and leading another, and Angelica was sure her instinctive suspicions had been correct. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation for why he should need to take a spare horse to Sir William, but she couldn’t think of one.
‘Come on!’ she whispered to Martha.
The Wolf's Promise Page 11
