When Angels Fall

by Meagan Mckinney

  “How grand you’ve become, Ivan, I hardly recognize you.” She brushed a fallen tear from her cheek, then giggled again. “Oh, old Powerscourt must be turning in his grave with you roaming these halls.”

  “He’s beginning to accept it, I think. I haven’t seen his specter here since two weeks past.”

  Antonia started, then softly slapped his chest. “You rogue, to trick an old woman.” She looked up at him fully and for the first time noticed his scar. She raised her hand to stroke it, but then, for some reason, thought better of it. With her hand back at her side, she said, “So I see the past seven years have not been completely kind.”

  He ruefully touched the scar. “I’m beginning to think it’s not the past I should be worried about.”

  “As well you should not,” she agreed. She broke from him and sauntered around the drawing room. Her hand caressed the cream satin tufting on a ladies’ chair, then she swept across to the conservatory entrance to give the jungle of glass and fragrant greenery an appreciative inspection. When she’d seen enough, she went back to his side and said, “Your Powerscourt is magnificent, Ivan. It’s everything you could have wanted.”

  “Not everything,” he stated enigmatically.

  “Ah, of course.” She smiled a secret smile. “There is a certain blonde, I understand, who, despite her hardships, has grown into an exquisite young woman. Am I close?”

  “Perhaps.” He seemed anxious to change the subject. “You look exquisite yourself, Antonia. You haven’t changed a bit.”

  She threw back her shoulders proudly. “But I have! I’ve aged seven years and I don’t mind telling you I look every bit of it!”

  “Has it been that long?”

  “Yes, indeed. You forget, my darling, it wasn’t because of me you left town. Your interest in Nodding Knoll’s reclusive Widow Antonia waned years before that.”

  He patted her velvet-clad bottom affectionately. “My interest in a beautiful woman never wanes.”

  She tried not to smile but she couldn’t help herself. “You shameless flatterer. But you must know, lover, some men are not so young and handsome as you, and when they tell me I’m beautiful, I believe it.”

  He chuckled. “Kovel?”

  “After five years of marriage, he still thinks me quite a prize. Imagine.”

  “You are quite a prize.” He caressed her cheek. “You know I would have married you.”

  “You never would have.” She tweaked his cravat.

  “You were my first, Antonia. I was completely besotted.”

  She smiled and her face took on a bittersweet expression. “I couldn’t have been your first. You taught me more than I could have ever taught you.”

  “I was only seventeen. Quite callow.”

  “Pooh. You were born old, Ivan. You were never seventeen. And you were never callow. I vividly remember that day when I first saw you in the stableyard. You brought me that stallion I’d bought from Alcester. That very moment when I first glanced at you I thought you were a man. Later that evening in the stables when I went to check on how you were doing with the stallion, I can remember all too well how you proved to me you were.”

  Ivan’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “I still hold to the theory that it was you who corrupted me.”

  Antonia laughed. “Well, it must be true—because look at you! You’re a confirmed rake and hellbent on staying that way I hear. What have I done?”

  “You could have reformed me while there was still a chance.”

  “You know as well as I do we could have never married. People would have called you all sorts of nasty names, ‘fortune hunter’ to begin with. And you would have never been faithful. Not once Lissa Alcester shed her adolescence.”

  He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that remark. The relief on his face seemed extraordinary when Mrs. Lofts suddenly entered the drawing room with the tea cart.

  “Refreshments?” Antonia shot Ivan a coquettish look, then she walked over to the cart, looking over the meats and cakes and scones.

  “I take it it was a long ride from Cullenbury?” he stated dryly, dismissing the housekeeper with a nod.

  Antonia looked up, a petit-four already in her mouth. Her eyes crinkled with laughter. She swallowed and said, “It was. Dreadfully long. But I just woke up this morning and said to Kovel, ‘Ivan is back. I must ride out to Nodding Knoll today and see him.’ ”

  “Kovel is a generous husband to let his wife ride across the countryside to see her old lover.”

  “Kovel is a dear who has nothing to be jealous of. He makes me laugh, Ivan, and that will see me into my dotage. I am happy at last.”

  “I know. I see it.”

  Antonia’s eyes locked with his. There was a sadness between them and she seemed unable to bear it. Finally she said softly, “You must find your happiness too, Ivan. I couldn’t find it in castles, and riches, and supple younger lovers, nor will you.”

  “I know that.”

  She filled his plate to overflowing. When she handed it to him she said, “Then you, my love, are a very wise man.” She kissed him briefly on the lips and went back to pour out their tea.

  They sat in the drawing room for hours, reminiscing about days long past. When Antonia was ready to leave it was near twilight, and Ivan insisted she take his coach back to Cullenbury. Their parting was bittersweet for though they were no longer lovers, they each seemed to find a deep satisfaction in their friendship. Ivan promised to call on her and her husband soon and, with that, he said his farewells. He watched the carriage wind down the castle road, then he returned to the drawing room deep in thought.

  Lissa had just brought Mrs. Lofts her evening linens when she spied the carriage pull away from the castle. She was in the servants’ north stairwell, and it was so cold in there that her breath came in little white puffs. But she stopped midflight, nonetheless, to look out the little window at the departing carriage.

  Assuming Ivan had gone out for the evening, she was eager to get to the drawing room and finish cleaning the chimneys. She’d spent the entire day performing the worst kind of drudgery and longed for it to end. After she’d fled the drawing room, Mrs. Lofts instructed her to go to the pantry and finish her polishing. Thinking she’d had that task completed, Lissa had gone to the pantry only to find even more tarnished hollowware stacked on the table as if put there by a sorcerer’s apprentice. She’d spent the rest of the day huddled in the pantry while all around her the house had buzzed with news of a visitor. Now, at dusk, Lissa had thought she was finally through, only to realize she hadn’t finished in the drawing room.

  Walking at a brisk pace, sure she’d be done in less than a half hour, she burst into the drawing room from the baize door and, in her haste, didn’t see the two feet that were stretched out in her path. To her surprise, she tripped and fell right into the arms of the marquis, who was sitting in the chair next to the servants’ door. She was so shocked to find him there, it took her a moment or two before she could even struggle to a sitting position.

  “But—but I thought you’d gone out,” she said incredulously, looking at Ivan as if he were a ghost. “I saw your carriage leave—”

  “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.

  “Evvi
e 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.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  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 rosepassementerie 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 dippedà 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 withEvelynGrace 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.