When Angels Fall

by Meagan Mckinney

  He took a threatening step toward her. The crystals of her snood rolled underfoot and she was surprise they were not crushed into sand beneath his weight. He paused and looked down. Just seeing the glass beads seemed to cause him agony. Violently he scooped some up and forced them into her palm. He held her hand closed in a brutal grasp while he said, “Then take these with you when you go, Lissa, as payment for a job well done.”

  She did truly hate him at that moment. His words cut her like a knife, and if she’d had the strength she would have fought back. But she didn’t. All she could think of was getting back to Violet Croft and getting away from him and his hatefulness.

  “Let me go,” she cried, his grasp on her hand hurting her. “You’ve gotten what you wanted, you wretched gypsy.”

  He shoved her away and she lingered no further. With a sob, she dropped the crystals in her palm and swept up her mantle. Barefoot and corsetless, she ran from his chamber in a rush of tears. The last sound she left him was the thud of the great emblazoned doors as they shut.

  A harsh, black silence filled the room once she was gone. As if contemplating murder, Ivan leaned naked against a bureau, crossing his arms over his chest. He stared morosely at the floor. The crystals seemed at once to infuriate him and titillate him with their brilliance.

  He bent and held one in his hand. He turned to a small inlaid mirror behind him and cut Lissa’s name into the glass with the stone. He looked at it for a moment, but then he lost control, venting all his fury by smashing the little mirror with his fist. The glass shards fell to the floor, red with his blood, but he seemed to feel nothing. His only oath was “A ma puissance,Lissa!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  In tears, Lissa ran down the cold passage and ducked into the servants’ stair. The candles sputtered in their last pools of wax as she wound her way down the frigid stone stairs. There was only one place she could turn, so she avoided the servants’ hall, still bustling with activity, and slipped through the game larder. The help’s bedrooms were just beyond the gun room, and she soon found the door she sought. She knocked swiftly yet quietly. Her heart was in her throat until the door was answered.

  “Why, what on earth, child?”

  As John Dover’s aged eyes opened in shock, Lissa became all too aware of her wretched appearance. Her hand went to the dried tears that covered her cheeks. It was obvious beneath her mantle that her dress no longer held petticoats. Her hair fell in a long tangled mass down her back, and her feet were shamefully bare.

  At once she regreted her decision and wanted to flee. But before she could, the kindly stablemaster asked in a concerned voice, “Are you hurt, lass?”

  Mutely she looked at him and shook her head. She was hurt, but not in a way she could ever explain to him. Suddenly she blurted out, “Would you please help me get home? I must get home and the snow—” Emotion caught in her throat and she lost her voice, but John Dover seemed to need no further explanation. He promptly went back into his shadowed room. She watched as his bent silhouette pulled on breeches and boots over his nightgown. He threw on his greatcoat and they departed for the stables without delay. The elderly gent was sensitive to her need not to be seen, so he left her in the bailey and brought the sleigh around to her. Quickly they were on their way to Violet Croft, and Lissa never knew that Ivan watched her go as he stood in the oriel of his chambers.

  When her cottage lights shone through the flurries, she prayed that time had not passed as quickly as she thought it had. She suspected it was near dawn, but seeing the lights, it was obvious Evvie was still readying for bed. Holland must have just brought her home and she was probably now in the parlor, reliving her glorious night at the ball with a cup of tea.

  As the sleigh stopped at her door, she hardly knew how to thank John Dover. She gave him a kiss on his leathery cheek.

  “You’re a true gentleman, John Dover,” she whispered.

  “Get inside, child, before you freeze,” he answered gruffly. As if something weighed on his mind, he added enigmatically, “And you come to me if you get into . . . ‘trouble,’ all right, lass?”

  She nodded, suddenly horrified, for she knew exactly the kind of “trouble” that he was speaking of. As he drove off, she was infinitely grateful to him. Without a doubt, John Dover would carry the knowledge of this secret sleigh ride to his grave.

  It had been a painful and emotional night, and now at long last, she was home.

  As she opened the cottage door she was about to call Evvie’s name, but when she walked into the parlor, her words died on her lips.

  Obviously not expecting her, Holland stood shirtless in front of their blazing hearth. In a self-satisfied manner, he leaned back on the mantel. His arms were crossed over a well-conditioned chest, liberally sprinkled with dark-gold hair. He still sported his black evening trousers, but when he had last put them on he hadn’t used care and the top button or two had yet to be done. His hair was tousled; his face, mellow and relaxed. Though he was wearing his spectacles, he wore no shoes; no waistcoat; no frock coat. In his state of undress, he most likely should have been chilled. Yet with a dread Lissa had never felt before, she knew exactly what had been keeping him warm.

  Without a word they looked at each other. Holland tensed at her unexpected appearance, but then he seemed to find her dishevelment just as shocking as she found his. While they stood there, accusing each other with their eyes, Evvie sauntered in from the kitchen. Lissa’s gaze darted to her and her worst fears were confirmed. Evvie’s hair was unbound and she was clad only in her thin silk wrapper. Her lips were red as though from much kissing and her sightless eyes had taken on a brilliance that spoke of only one thing: consummated love. Unable to accept it, Lissa could only mutely stare at her as Evvie held out a plate of stale scones.

  “Holland, my love, I fear all I could find in our bare cupboards—”

  “Evvie,” Holland interrupted. “Your sister has come home.”

  The plate of scones slipped from Evvie’s hand and shattered on the floor. As if she didn’t even realize what she had done, Evvie took a step forward, but Holland quickly grabbed her up in his arms and kept her bare feet from being lacerated by the shards. He then forced her back to the stairs and placed a sweet kiss on her lips.

  “My love, go upstairs and fret not,” he said. “I must speak with Lissa.” He stroked her smooth cheek with his thumb.

  Distraught, Evvie nodded, then looked wildly about, as if she still had her sight and could search for her sister. “Lissa?” she finally uttered as if to confirm that what Holland told her was true.

  “I’m here,” Lissa said, her words full of grief.

  Evvie choked back a sob. Her beautiful blue eyes welled with tears. As if she felt she had betrayed her sister beyond redemption, she covered her face with her hands and fled up the stairs.

  When she was gone, Holland turned back to Lissa and grimly assessed her bedraggled state. For some reason her bare feet seemed to anger him the most.

  “Your note said you were going to stay with the Bishops,” he said pointedly.

  “I meant to.” She stared at him while he found his shirt. When he was buttoning the last button, her fury burst its bounds.

  “Holland, I’ll kill you if you don’t marry her. Do you understand me? I’ll kill you. I’ll see you dead,” she uttered in a low voice.

  “I’ve planned to marry her all along.”

  “This week—Boxing Day if you have to.”

  “Boxing Day, then.”

  The night was wearing on her. She felt herself growing hysterical. To calm herself, she walked to him and gripped the back of a chair for support. “It shall be done, Holland, because I swear upon my parents’ grave to see this righted. And if I could, I’d lock you in this cottage until it was time to go to the church.”

  “Lissa, it’s not your sister you need to worry about.”

  Her hysteria rose further. “Evvie is the only one who matters here. After this, she must be married!”
>
  Holland’s words were toneless. “Is that you talking or the girl you left behind in Tramore’s bed?”

  Suddenly her temper snapped. She flew to him and beat him with her fists. He easily got control of her, but still she persisted. Finally, to quiet her, he pinned her to his chest and forced her to look at him. When she did, she practically spewed venom.

  “I should kill you for that comment alone,” she panted.

  “Perhaps you should.” Abruptly he let her go and walked to the couch where he’d left the rest of his attire. When he had on his shoes and greatcoat, he made ready to leave. But before he departed, he said, “I may look the villain tonight, Lissa, but hear me well. Your sister and I shared this evening because we love each other. Perhaps things got a bit out of line, but tonight changed nothing, for I’ve intended to marry Evvie all along. However, upon my marriage to her comes the responsibility of this family. So mark my words: When I’m the head of this household, not only will the marquis have no more access to you, but I shall seek restitution for his leading you astray. The same restitution you seek from me.”

  “You’re sadly mistaken, Holland,” she told him defiantly. “The marquis has done nothing wrong.”

  Her denial took Holland aback. “Lissa, you wear Tramore’s conquest as clearly as you wear your tattered hem. Why do you protect him?”

  She stared at him, bristling at his tone of authority. He spoke as if he, not she, headed the Alcester family. But it would do no good for Holland to leave his post and endure hardship just to seek revenge on Ivan—even in the name of family. Besides, Ivan was not the kind of man to be strong-armed into marriage, especially to her. And even if he did offer, she would never marry him. Not after what had just happened between them. She now hated him as passionately as she had thought she once loved him.

  “Lissa, answer me.”

  Her voice quivered. “Leave him alone. He’ll just make you look like a fool. I will never attest to his seduction.”

  “You’re the fool, Lissa. Don’t let him do this to you. Fight back!”

  “I shall fight back!” she vowed with misplaced anger. “For I will see you tomorrow, Holland, when we go to the church to make arrangements for your wedding to Evvie.”

  He looked at her one last time, then he shook his head in disgust. When he shut the door behind him, the night seemed to collapse in on her. Unable to stop herself, she dropped her head in her hands and sobbed.

  * * *

  Boxing Day was long in coming. Though less than a week away, Lissa felt it would never arrive. Somehow she couldn’t shake the irrational fear that Holland wouldn’t show and Evvie would be left at the altar a ruined woman. It was absurd, especially when Evvie had no such worries, and Holland, ever the gallant, even drove them to Cullenbury Christmas Eve to meet George at the train station.

  The minute George had stepped down from the locomotive, he was bursting with tales about his new chums. The son of a duke had even asked him to spend part of his holiday in Scotland at the duchal retreat so that the boys could ice skate. Of course, Lissa had been delighted to comply, and at that moment, all the sacrifice seemed worthwhile when she saw George so happy and accepted, even among the peerage.

  Christmas passed all but unnoticed in the flurry of wedding plans. With no time to order a gown, Lissa cleaned, pressed, and mended Evvie’s white wool gown, the one striped in violet satin—the one Evvie had worn that first evening at Powerscourt.

  On the morning of Evvie’s wedding, Lissa laid the prepared gown on her sister’s bed, all the while thinking how quiet they had both been since the night of the ball. Because of her own fall from grace, she herself had been loath to bring any subject up except the impending wedding, and Evvie was understandably reluctant to offer any explanations for that night. Lissa was sure Evvie had no idea that she and Ivan had consummated their relationship that night, so the silence between them was a blessing. Besides, it was clear by Evvie’s behavior that she expected her older sister to stand in judgment of her, yet Lissa was all too painfully aware that it was up to those without sin to cast the first stone.

  Thinking of Ivan was still excruciating. Their night together was not yet hazed by time, and it remained all too clear in her mind. If there had been some mercy for her, that one night with him would have driven him from her soul. Instead there was no mercy. She tried her best not to think of Ivan, but he commanded her every waking minute; at night, in her dreams, she succumbed to him even more. There were times when she wondered if she would ever find a cure for her agonizing thoughts of him.

  Lissa tried to cast off her dark mood and emulate Evvie’s disposition, but it was impossible. The bloom on Evvie’s cheeks could not be matched and the sparkle in her eyes was just as unattainable. Today Evvie looked every bit the blushing bride, and her happiness could be seen in every gesture and expression.

  Lissa, on the other hand, had suddenly realized how lonely she was going to be with George on holiday in Scotland and Evvie in Venice on her honeymoon. The days loomed long and empty before her. With nothing to distract her, Ivan seemed inescapable, but she knew that nothing, not even intense loneliness, could make her return to Powerscourt. She planned to fill her days as much as possible with busywork and take them one at a time.

  “Lissa?”

  Lissa turned from the window and found Evvie standing in the doorway. “Over here,” she answered. Her brow furrowed slightly as she pondered one of her ideas. “Evvie, you know I’ve been thinking. You’ll be gone for quite a while in Italy—at least a month, I should think. Perhaps I should ask Holland if it’s all right to purchase some fabric. In that amount of time I could make you a whole wardrobe of new gowns—and you’ll need them as wife to Powerscourt’s bailiff.”

  Evvie looked chagrined. “Oh, Lissa, that is so dear of you. Yet Holland told me on our way home, we’re to stop in Paris and have gowns made for me there. He mentioned something about Ivan’s wanting to pay for my trousseau as part of our wedding present.”

  Stiffly Lissa turned back to the window. “I see.” Even in his charity, Ivan seemed destined to crush her. But he wouldn’t. She would have to send him a gracious note of thanks on behalf of her sister. That would show him. And then she would have to find another project to keep her busy. She would needlepoint. That was it. She would needlepoint an entire carpet if that would keep her mind off Ivan.

  “Are you angry with me, Lissa?”

  “Of course not, love,” she quickly assured her. “It’s simply grand that you’ll be going to Paris. But you must promise on your return to make Holland give me your Baedeker—on Venice too. I want to read about all the places you visit.”

  “I promise,” Evvie answered in a small voice.

  Lissa turned to her and for the first time saw the paper box in her hands. It must have just been delivered.

  “What have you got there?”

  “Holland had it delivered. I hoped you would open it for me.” Evvie held it out to her.

  “Of course.”

  When they were both seated at the edge of the bedstead, Lissa broke the wax seal and opened the box. Nestled in tissue was a wreath of fresh roses. The tiny, delicate buds were tied to a veil of satin streamers. It was simple yet exquisite; the perfect bridal veil for Evvie.

  Lissa took it out of the box and placed it on Evvie’s crown. Her sister examined it with her fingers, then she asked, “What color?”

  “White . . . as it should be,” Lissa whispered. Suddenly they both hugged each other and she felt tears come to her eyes. The silence of the past days was forgotten.

  “Oh, Lissa,” Evvie said, wiping her eyes with a hankie, “I can’t stand the thought of being away from you an entire month. Won’t you please reconsider and come to Venice with us?”

  “No. Never.” She stood and put the freshly pressed white wool gown in Evvie’s hands. “You are going on your honeymoon. Even as solicitous as Holland is, I know he would much prefer I not be there. He loves you very deeply. He wants h
is time with you alone. It’s his right.” Lissa touched Evvie’s hand. “It’s your right.”

  “Perhaps, but neither one of us wants you to be here all by yourself. I just wish there was someone you could stay with.”

  “I’ll make my own plans—so don’t spend another moment worrying about me.”

  “Plans? With Ivan, Lissa?”

  A pained look passed over Lissa’s face. She was heartily glad Evvie couldn’t see it.

  “No, you goose. Why would you think that?” She then quickly changed the subject. “But now you must get dressed. Holland is obviously a man who does not like to wait.”

  Evvie blushed, not at all missing her sister’s first reference to the night of the ball. Without another word, she began to disrobe.

  As soon as Evvie was dressed and waiting in the parlor with George, Lissa went to change into another gown. She wore a simple dress of gray worsted adorned at the bodice and hem with black braiding. She knew her attire was a bit melancholy, but her best dresses, including her slate-blue taffeta and her rosebud printed tartan, were packed in Evvie’s valise for her honeymoon.

  Evvie had no idea she had done this, but Lissa was sure her sister would need them during her month abroad and that she herself would not. She had also slipped in their mother’s emerald earrings. Rebecca’s pearls were notably absent, and Lissa had felt quite a pang when she thought how beautiful Evvie would have looked in them as she walked down the aisle. From that moment onward, however, she suddenly knew what to get Evvie for a wedding present. She would buy Evvie some pearls just like her mother’s, even if it took her years to earn enough money.

  In her simple attire, Lissa was soon ready to go. She went to the hook where she kept her mantle, but she paused when something caught her eye. A small sparkle shot from the bottom of her cloak. In amazement, she bent down and found one of the crystals from her snood caught in the fray at her hem. She had worn her cloak every day for almost a week and it seemed impossible that the crystal hadn’t fallen off. Yet there it was, its silver setting clinging tenaciously to the frayed threads as if waiting for her to find it.