Jane Austen & the Archangel

by Pamela Aares

  Serena narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m not so sure you’re right. Every life deserves one great love, Jane—I just know it.”

  Jane hoped that the burn heating her cheeks didn’t give her away.

  ***

  Heedless of the unseasonably warm day, Lord Baringdon insisted on moving the carriage race up to that afternoon. Darcy had driven over in his father’s best gig and Lord Rendin had cried off resting his horses. There was no reason to delay, Lord Baringdon had declared. They’d make the best of the blue skies and fair weather and commence as soon as his grooms could set the course.

  Jane wandered to the circled drive in front of the house and watched the men make their final preparations. Lord Baringdon’s curricle was spare and light, and she imagined it bore a resemblance to the Roman racing chariots for which it was named. Though perfect for speed, it looked precarious to Jane’s eyes.

  Lord Baringdon tested the balance of his Blackthorn whip, then tucked several spare points into his waistcoat with a satisfied grin. How anyone handled a five-foot stick of wood tipped by a ten-foot leather whip, she couldn’t fathom. Her brother Charles had once attempted to teach her the finer points of driving, but knowing she had merely a donkey cart in Chawton, it was hardly worth his while.

  She paid close attention when Lord Rendin mounted his curricle. His horses were perfectly matched, their black coats a striking contrast to the shining curricle bar that stretched between them. He beamed an unctuous smile to Serena’s father, then turned to assess Darcy’s rig. His smug reaction as he scanned the simple gig and assessed the ill-matched horses didn’t surprise Jane. But what she hadn’t anticipated was his fixed attention on Mr. Grace. The two men exchanged outwardly friendly words, but something in the scene didn’t read right to her practiced eye. Picking at her collar, she frowned. Mr. Grace must have felt her eyes upon him; he lifted his head and tipped his hat to her with a merry wink.

  That she could feel charmed from a distance by a mere smile was less alarming than the jolt of color flaring in her cheeks. She decided she had to set things right.

  Mr. Grace pulled his borrowed carriage alongside Darcy’s. Lord Baringdon had supplied his newest guest with his second best curricle. Though battered from years of service, it appeared sturdier than the prized carriage Lord Baringdon commanded. Mr. Grace held the reins lightly, like a man accustomed to driving a precariously designed rig.

  At Lord Baringdon’s signal, the carriages proceeded down the lane, setting off for the starting line.

  Jane and Serena joined the ladies on a knoll that rose near the border of Anderley Park. While not near the finish line, it overlooked the lane leading toward it. Lady Baringdon announced that their position would allow them to easily see the progress of the front-runners. Clearly vexed that the activities she had planned for the house party had been diverted, she did nothing to hide her disapproval of the race and had provided every entertainment she could command to distract her guests from attending to it.

  Jane surveyed the pavilion and the lavish fare that covered the long table at its center. At the far end of the tented canopy, four musicians tuned their instruments and began to play. Serena sat beside Jane, nervously turning her glass in a circle on the brocaded tablecloth. Jane, too, felt uneasy. And she was frustrated she’d had no opportunity to speak with Mr. Grace. Lord Baringdon had monopolized every moment of his new guest’s day. If she had to conjure an excuse to speak with him in private, then conjure she would. Instigating Darcy’s return was one thing, but involving a stranger in the affairs of Serena’s family was quite another.

  “I hope Darcy can handle that gig,” Serena said, leaning close to Jane and whispering in her ear. “He was in Spain for such a long time, he might not yet be accustomed to driving.”

  “It’s a carriage race, Serena. These men are top whips. You’ve nothing to worry about, I’m sure.”

  But Jane wasn’t as certain as she’d tried to sound. She made an effort to attend to the conversations of Lady Baringdon’s guests, but found she could not. After nearly an hour had passed, she tired of the chatter and excused herself to walk down the hill, closer to the lane.

  Padding her skirts beneath her, she sat on the sun-warmed slope and listened to the birds chirping in the nearby hedgerow. The heat of the beating sun made her drowsy, and she lay back into a cushion of wildflowers with a gentle sigh. How long since she’d enjoyed a moment of such peace? Closing her eyes, she savored the hush of the balmy afternoon and allowed herself to drift into a drowsy sleep.

  A great clatter of hooves startled her. She sat up and spied the first carriage as it rounded the bend and bounded at a slapping pace down the lane. From her perch on the hillside, she couldn’t yet make out the identity of carriage or driver, but as it drew nearer she saw that it was Lord Baringdon. If ever she’d seen a man possessed by rapture, it was at that moment. He paid no heed to anything but the road before him and his horses’ flying hooves. Thundering along on a full tear toward the finish, within minutes he was out of sight.

  She squinted into the sun, trying to make out the next carriages that cut the corner of the bend, following close behind Lord Baringdon. As they neared, to her great astonishment she saw Darcy in the lead, followed by Lord Rendin and Mr. Grace.

  Shading her eyes to better see, she gasped when Lord Rendin jobbed at his horse’s bits and rammed his speeding carriage directly into Darcy’s, nearly locking wheels. Rendin watched, grinning, as Darcy’s carriage careened toward the rut at the side of the lane. Darcy shouted to his horses. Whatever his reaction to Lord Rendin’s attack, he wisely stayed focused on the progress of his carriage; his rig was nearly out of control. Jane found herself running down the hill, but stopped when Mr. Grace pulled alongside Darcy’s carriage. He called out something to Darcy and threw out his hand. He gestured a second time at Darcy’s gig, and it stopped safely, mere inches from the hedgerow. How Darcy kept it upright, she had no clue.

  With a shout, Rendin called to his horses and pulled at the reins, allowing Mr. Grace to catch up to him. Jane watched, astonished, as Mr. Grace leapt from his rig and landed squarely beside Lord Rendin. Rendin howled and lunged for Mr. Grace’s throat. Mr. Grace sliced his hands through the air, threw back his head and roared. The unearthly bellow pierced through her and knocked her to the ground. When she righted herself onto an elbow and looked again, Mr. Grace had freed himself from Rendin’s grip. He held the reins of the carriage in one hand and with the other he held Lord Rendin’s arm behind his back. Rendin let out a hideous scream. A black cloud of ... Jane blinked. A black cloud of darkest night burst out of him and slithered into the sky. Then Rendin fell, limp, onto the seat behind the still standing Mr. Grace. The carriage, now under Mr. Grace’s control, charged out of her sight. Shuddering, she turned her head and saw the horses drawing Mr. Grace’s now driverless rig stop at the edge of the lane and bend to placidly nibble at the tender grasses growing alongside it. She looked even farther back and watched Darcy pull his gig back onto the lane and wave several of the other racing carriages past him.

  Jane blinked again, stunned.

  Clearly she’d been in the sun too long. The effects of the heat had made her imagination and fears run away with her. She looked up toward the pavilion. She calculated that from its position, the ladies could not have seen what had transpired. What had transpired? Jane shook her head and stood, but her legs were terribly unsteady. After a few faltering steps, she picked her way back up the hill to the pavilion. Lady Morland saw her first.

  “Good God, my dear, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” The dowager wobbled over to Jane and insisted that Jane take her chair.

  “Serena, your friend has been too long in the sun. I tell you, I can’t impress on any of you young ladies the importance of staying out of the heat of the day.” Though she was clucking disapproval, Jane felt her kindly concern.

  “Sip this,” Serena coaxed, holding out a cup of cool fruited punch. Jane took the cup and sipped, f
eeling refreshment wash through her.

  “I hope you were able to see at least some of the carriages,” Lady Morland said good-naturedly. “We couldn’t see a thing from here.” She cast a severe look at Lady Baringdon, who paid no attention and continued her lively conversation at the other end of the table. When Jane didn’t respond, Lady Morland took her by the arm. “We should get you to the house.” She signaled a footman to bring parasols and with his help, she and Serena escorted Jane back to the house.

  As they mounted the entrance steps, a clatter of hooves rattled along the paving. Jane turned just as Lord Ellery came into view. He was riding hard for an older man, with deft command of his mount.

  “We’ll need bandages,” he shouted as he approached them. “Rendin drove Darcy off the road, saw it myself.” He leapt from his horse and called for the groom, directing him to where Darcy’s carriage had thrown a wheel.

  Lady Morland hobbled over to him.

  “Darcy was ahead by several lengths,” Lord Ellery said, still catching his breath. “Then Rendin overtook him. I was riding out on the lane and saw the whole havey-cavey business.” He gulped in a short breath. “Rendin rammed Darcy’s carriage from the side and Darcy’s carriage caught a rut. Though he kept his horses from injury, his curricle nearly took a roll. But Rendin’s carriage was out of control. It was that Grace fellow who saved the day. Leapt right out of his rig into Rendin’s and pulled Rendin’s team together. Finest whip I’ve ever seen!”

  Jane stared at him, unbelieving. The account he gave was possibly accurate, but it in no way jibed with what she’d seen.

  He batted away the smelling salts his sister waved under his nose. “I don’t need those, Lucretia, for goodness sake. It’s Darcy we need to be concerned about. How he got that gig back on the road is beyond me. Bad luck it throwing a wheel after all his fine driving.” He turned to Serena barely in time to catch her as she fainted.

  “Must be the heat,” he declared. “Now, Lucretia,” he said to Lady Morland, “we could use that silly vial of yours.”

  Lady Morland waved the salts under Serena’s nose. Jane knelt and cradled Serena’s head with her hands, held her as she flittered back to consciousness. Would there be no end to the repercussions of accepting Mr. Grace’s offer of help? She had accepted his assistance without once considering the possible consequences.

  “That’s enough of your dramatic reporting, Arthur,” Lady Morland whispered to her brother. To Serena she added, “I’m sure it’s no more than a bump, my dear, Arthur always exaggerates. Lord Hathloss will be fine—don’t you fret.” She pointed at Lord Ellery. “Make yourself truly useful and help Serena into the parlor, would you?” She then turned and took Jane’s arm again. “We’ll get you inside as well.”

  As Jane and Lady Morland helped Lord Ellery settle Serena on a chaise in the parlor, Jane heard the carriages return. The men shuffled into the foyer, their jovial voices a stark contrast to the mood in the parlor. Lord Ellery excused himself to join them. After Jane assured Lady Morland that she and Serena would rest until she returned, the dowager went off in search of the butler.

  Jane heard Lord Baringdon announce to the men filtering into the foyer that it was a hot day and recommend that they refresh themselves and reconvene before dinner. She let out a slow breath. Neither she nor Serena needed more drama. But her relief was short-lived. Lady Baringdon huffed into the parlor, her husband close behind.

  “Lord Hathloss is fine,” Lord Baringdon announced as he strode to where Jane sat with Serena. “He’ll have a mighty headache and perhaps a blackened eye, but he should recover with little consequence.”

  “Ellery is telling the vilest of tales,” Lady Baringdon protested to her husband. “He accused Rendin of running Hathloss off the road! If Lucretia were not my dear friend, I would have—”

  “I do not want to know what you would have done, my dear. The fact is, Hathloss is fine.” He looked at Serena. “And you’ll be glad to know Rendin is also unharmed, thanks to Mr. Grace. These things happen; it’s a risk of the races.” He rubbed his hands together and chuckled. “All in all, a fine race. You should’ve seen my greys!”

  He saw his wife’s raised brow and crossed arms and quickly aborted his rapture.

  “And, no, my dear,” he said, with a curt shake of his head, “I also don’t want to hear what you think of the races—I know far too well. In fact, I was considering this morning that if I were to follow your prescriptions for avoiding danger and protecting my precious life, I’d never leave the house!”

  Jane waited to see what Lady Baringdon would say, but she was apparently speechless. Or working up some clever reply. Then Lord Baringdon, speaking to them all, said, “But driving does stir one’s blood. A good stiff drink is in order.” He smiled at Jane and Serena. “I’ll see you ladies at dinner.” And with that, he stalked out of the room.

  Lady Baringdon, clearly offended by her husband’s disregard for her protests, excused herself, complaining of a headache.

  Serena sat up on the chaise and rubbed her temples. “I must see Darcy,” she said as she attempted to stand. She was unsteady and didn’t protest when Jane pressed her back onto the chaise.

  “He’ll be here soon enough. You must catch your breath.”

  Serena scrutinized her. “You don’t look particularly well yourself, Jane.”

  “I’m fine, Serena. I just needed to get out of the sun.”

  Serena merely shook her head, her disbelief clear. She took a sip of the water Jane held out to her and then leaned back onto the chaise.

  “Jane, Darcy told me something this morning, something he remembered about the war. It was a trifling thing, really, but he’s afraid that when he does remember more, it’ll be something horrible—that he’ll discover he did something dreadful. I told him that’s impossible, that he’s an honorable man, thus he was an honorable soldier. And though Lord Gabriel and Mr. Grace, as well as the family he stayed with in Spain, have all reassured him, he doesn’t believe any of us.”

  “The gap he’s struggling to fill in his mind is likely more dreadful than anything he’ll remember, Serena. But I don’t doubt his fears. The terror of battle has invisible wounds; I’ve seen such in my brothers.” She took the cup from Serena. “Darcy’s lucky he has you to help him heal. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

  “He told me about the family in Alba de Tormes,” Serena said, “the family that found him and took him in. He can remember all of that, every detail—isn’t it strange? He said he was living on a farm—imagine! He learned all sorts of unusual farming practices from them, things he thinks we’d do well to implement here.”

  She swung her feet to the carpet and sat up. She’d regained a bit of her color.

  “Oh, I am going on; forgive me! But imagine, Jane, a farm. I think it’s endearing. And he was safe, that’s all I care about. But to come back here and ... ” Eyes wide, she grasped Jane’s hands and squeezed. “Rendin probably did lock wheels, don’t you think?”

  “I believe it enough to know that if Darcy is recovered tomorrow, it would be extremely foolish for him go out with the hunting party. Rendin seems more than keen on having you. I wouldn’t put it past him to arrange a mortal accident for our Darcy.”

  Serena let out a measured breath and pressed her palms to her temples.

  Jane considered telling Serena what she’d seen, or thought she’d seen, down on the lane. A quick glance at her friend told her waiting would be better. Yet whatever had happened, they’d best take precautions.

  “Laudanum,” Serena said as she lowered her hands. “I can have the valet slip Darcy some laudanum. He’ll never wake up in time to join them.”

  “Serena, I begin to think that you are the one who should be writing novels,” Jane said with an approving nod but the seriousness of the scheme tempered her tone. “He’d have to do it without detection.”

  “Stevenson is brilliant—he’s helped me through many a scrape. I think you’ll find him more than relia
ble.” She winked and took Jane’s hand. “You know, your Mr. Grace cuts quite the dashing figure. And according to Lord Ellery’s account, I’m indebted to him once again.”

  “Serena.” Jane dropped her head into her hands, shaking it, wishing she could shake off Serena’s curiosity at the same time. She lifted her head and stared into Serena’s eyes. “As I’ve told you, he’s not my Mr. Grace.” At the moment, Jane was so angry about the man’s series of deceptions and unfathomable behavior that she wouldn’t want him even if he were hers.

  “Well, it appears you may have the chance to reconsider.”

  Jane turned to see Mr. Grace stride into the salon. She thought it odd, given all she’d witnessed, that his clothes bore no trace of dust, not even a mark or a rumple.

  “And what has happened here?” he inquired good-naturedly. “Surely not another race victim?”

  “People are fussing for no reason,” Serena complained. “It was merely the heat, I assure you. It’s our dear Jane’s well-being that should concern you.” She sat back, a satisfied smile brightening her face.

  Jane wanted to shoot Serena a glare, but didn’t dare with someone else in the room. She turned to Mr. Grace. Now might be her only chance to speak with him in private. And she had plenty to say.

  “Will you join me, sir,” she said, lowering her voice to keep it steady, “for a turn about the gardens?”

  He nodded yes, clearly pleased.

  Jane turned to take her leave of Serena. Seeing the look of triumph on her friend’s face, Jane hadn’t the heart to dispirit her. “That is, if you promise to rest here until I return.”

  “I shall feel much better after a few quiet moments to myself.” Serena smiled. “But then I must find Darcy.”

  “Not until I return Serena. You must promise.” Though Serena nodded, Jane was certain she’d do whatever she pleased. Jane couldn’t blame her, in her place she’d likely do the same.