Reckless Angel

by Jane Feather

  “They remain forbidden,” Daniel said curtly, “You may leave this matter with me, Mistress Kierston.”

  He marched out of the house into the December afternoon. The sun was low in the sky and there was an icy bite in the wind. He pulled his cloak more tightly around him, wondering where to begin his search. The stables produced the information that they had not taken horses, which meant they would not be too far afield.

  He heard Nan’s excited shriek coming from the orchard. “Can ye catch him, Harry? Oh, poor little thing…I hope he won’t fall!”

  “Cats do not fall, silly,” came Lizzie’s scornful tones, sounding somewhat muffled. “Anyway, Harry has him.”

  The explanation for the muffled tones was apparent as soon as he entered the orchard. Lizzie was crouching in the crotch of an ancient conifer at the edge of the orchard, peering upward to where Daniel could make out a smudge of blue in the higher branches. It was the blue of Henrietta’s skirt. Nan, too small for tree climbing and for the moment unaware of her good fortune, was jumping around the tree trunk, piping shrilly.

  “Elizabeth!”

  At the sound of her father’s voice, Lizzie nearly fell off her perch. Nan ceased her piping and, as was usual in moments of tension, her thumb went into her mouth.

  Daniel removed the thumb. “Y’are grown too big for such babyishness. Go at once to Mistress Kierston.”

  The child scuttled away without a word, and her sister dropped out of the tree. She stood, hands behind her back, staring at some spot beyond her father’s shoulder.

  She had pieces of fir in her hair, grass stains on her skirt, a smear of mud upon her cheek. Daniel thought of the child’s mother, such a neat, fastidious person Nan had been. So graceful and womanly, so well-versed in the duties and responsibilities of womanhood.

  “You have been forbidden to climb trees, have you not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go to your room. I will come to you shortly.”

  Lizzie went with dragging step. Henrietta, who had made her own descent discreetly on the far side of the tree, moved out of the shadow. She held a tiny, ginger-striped kitten in her arms.

  “I do not think it would be just for you to punish Lizzie,” she said, slowly and clearly. “I expect she thought it was not forbidden since I was doing it.”

  “An error which it is now my disagreeable duty to correct,” Daniel said harshly. All his pent-up rage and frustration rushed to the fore as he looked upon this wife and thought of the other. Here was a wife who could teach daughters none of the arts of housekeeping, none of the gentle skills of womanhood, since she knew them not herself. She knew only hoydenish tricks and the spirit of rebellion, and she had brought him nothing but the weightiest addition to a load of trouble that alone threatened to crush him.

  “I will not permit my daughters to become unruly, ill-conditioned, romping tomboys.”

  Henrietta was in no doubt that the precise description applied to herself. Each word struck as a body blow, but she held herself straight, determined that Lizzie must not suffer for her stepmother’s failings.

  “Let me talk to her,” she said urgently. “I will explain the way things must be so that she will understand. The kitten was crying so piteously because it was stuck up the tree, and we did not think of anything but rescuing him.”

  “There are men and boys aplenty to do such work,” he declared, still harsh. “I am told that my children are become saucy and unmanageable under their stepmother’s influence. It is not to be.”

  “No,” Henrietta said swiftly. “If, indeed, ’twere the case, then you would be right to correct such faults. But I do not believe it to be so.”

  “And how should you be the judge?”

  She winced, but said boldly, “Because I know the difference between exuberance and rebellion. Others may not.” Sensing a hesitation in his manner, she pressed on vigorously. “Only let me explain matters to Lizzie, and I will promise you that such a thing will never happen again.”

  Daniel hated punishing his children, although he would no more risk spoiling the child than any other parent of his acquaintance. It was simply an unpleasant duty. But if an alternative offered itself, he was always responsive. Now, he stood thoughtful, his anger subsiding as he saw the situation clearly. Henrietta, for all her untidiness and the kitten clutched to her breast, seemed, at this moment, more of an adult, less of a child, than he had ever known her. Maybe both she and Lizzie would learn a valuable lesson if they had to work this out between them.

  “I promise you such a thing will not happen again,” Henrietta repeated, absently scratching the kitten between its ears.

  “It had better not,” Daniel said, turning on his heel, indicating tacit acceptance.

  Henrietta looked down at the ginger kitten. “’Tis all your fault,” she said disgustedly. “I could wring your scrawny little neck.” She set the creature on the grass, then stared in disbelief as it scampered across the ground and clawed its way up the fir tree, only to begin its pitiable mewing once it reached the middle branches. “Oh, no! How could you be so stupid!”

  At this infuriated wail, Daniel swung around. “What the devil’s amiss now?”

  “’Tis the kitten,” she said, between weeping and laughing. “It has gone up the tree again.”

  “This must be what Bedlam is like,” Daniel muttered, before telling her vigorously, “Leave it where it is. It may teach it something about survival.”

  “Oh, I cannot, Daniel. Only listen to it.” She wrung her hands in distress. “If you would just lift me up, I could reach it easily enough. ’Twould not be the same as climbing the tree.”

  There was an instant of complete disbelief. He felt much as he had when she returned from Nottingham with safe conduct for them all. Laughter welled deep in his chest, inconvenient and inappropriate in light of the last minutes. Striding back to her, he spun her around so that she faced the tree and could not see his expression.

  “You are utterly incorrigible!” Catching her by the waist, he lifted her, feeling her light and supple between his hands as she stretched upward into the branches.

  “I have him. My thanks.” He set her on her feet again, and she turned, holding the scrabbling kitten tightly. “Daniel, I believe you are laughing.”

  “I am not!” he denied fiercely. “I have never been less amused, as it happens.”

  “No, of course not,” she said meekly. “I cannot imagine how I made such a mistake.”

  “Neither can I. Take that wretched animal back where it belongs, and before you go to Lizzie for heaven’s sake tidy yourself!” On that hopefully firm note, Daniel strode back to the house.

  Not displeased with the way things had turned out, Henrietta deposited the kitten in the stables with the rest of the litter, stopped at her chamber to change her dress and comb her hair, then went to Lizzie.

  The little girl was sitting on the bed, but jumped to her feet, her expression apprehensive, as the door opened. She looked surprised at the unexpected visitor. “Is Daddy coming?”

  “No,” Henrietta said, closing the door. “But I think ’twould be as well if you were to spend the rest of the day in some diligent pursuit with Mistress Kierston.” She sat on the bed, patting the space beside her. “Sit down, Lizzie, we have to talk. There are some things we must both try to understand.”

  Chapter 8

  It was an hour before Harry left Lizzie’s bedchamber. It had been a most uncomfortable task, explaining to an eight-year-old that her father’s wife was not always a reliable example and was herself in frequent need of reminders about correct deportment. Feeling rather small, but a great deal wiser, she went into her own chamber in search of a composing solitude.

  She was not left alone for long, however. Daniel came in after about five minutes. “Tell me about this Sir Reginald Trant,” he said without preamble. “I am aware that he is ancient, has green teeth, and stinks to the heavens, but I would know of his character.”

  Henrietta
frowned in thought as she arranged a sheaf of copper leaves in a big brass jug. “I have met him but twice. It seemed to me that he was a man of ill humor, rather like my father.” She stood back, judging her arrangement with a critical eye. “Why d’ye wish to know?”

  “I owe him money, or had you forgotten?” he said, unable to conceal the acid note in his voice.

  Henrietta flushed awkwardly. “It slipped my mind for the minute. Has he made demand of you?”

  “Aye. In the most insolent fashion, he demands immediate repayment of the entire sum with accrued interest.” Daniel paced the room. “The devil of it is, I do not know where I am to lay hands on such a sum at this moment.”

  “But can you not use my portion?” She adjusted a branch. “I do not know how you arranged matters since I was not permitted to remain in the room for the discussion, but surely—”

  “Your father would settle nothing upon you,” Daniel interrupted. He had not intended to apprise her of this humiliating fact, but in response to her direct question there seemed little point in prevarication.

  Henrietta swung around to face him. “That cannot be! I was wed with his approval.”

  A case of good riddance, Daniel remembered sourly. He shook his head. “Nevertheless, Harry, he refused to settle a penny upon you.”

  She shook her head vigorously, setting the two heavy corn silk-colored braids swinging against her back. Her eyes were wide with anger. “Then he has tricked you, Daniel! My mother’s jointure in the event of her death was entailed to me upon my wedding, so long as I did not marry against my father’s wishes. That money is mine. I did not expect a groat from him…” Scorn and disgust laced her voice. “He would not give me the parings of his nails. But he has no right to my mother’s jointure. ’Tis all of three thousand pounds, if I heard Master Filbert correctly, and—”

  Daniel raised an imperative hand. “Just a minute. Who is Master Filbert?”

  “A lawyer from London,” she said impatiently. “I listened at the window when he was talking with Esquire Osbert and my father. There was much shouting.” She pulled a face at the memory. “Esquire Osbert had come to discuss the possibility of my marriage with Will. My father said he would not consent, and if I married without his consent, then I would forfeit the jointure. And Master Filbert said it was so, but that was the only condition on which the money could pass to my father. ’Twas for that reason that Esquire Osbert would not agree to Will’s wedding me.”

  Daniel saw again in the eye of memory the sly smile on Sir Gerald Ashby’s face as he had thrown down his ultimatum. He had thought to be rid of his staple-statute debt and keep his daughter’s inheritance in his own hands.

  “Would you have known about this jointure if you had not listened at the window?” he asked slowly.

  Henrietta shook her head. “I was never told anything. But afterward, Esquire Osbert explained it all to Will, and Will told me all the details.” Comprehension dawned. “Of course, my father did not know that I knew. If I had wed Sir Reginald, part of my mother’s money would have paid off my father’s debt. As ’tis—”

  “As ’tis,” Daniel finished for her, “your father has rid himself of debt and presumably has his hands on your entitlement. He would assume you could not claim something of which you had no knowledge.”

  “He is a whoreson!” Henrietta exclaimed. “And do not tell me that is something I should not say, for I know it. But I say again: my father is a whoreson!”

  Daniel chuckled, despite his own anger. “Y’are an undutiful daughter, Harry.”

  “How could I be otherwise?” she returned smartly.

  “How indeed!” Then he became serious. “I do not suppose you know the direction of this Master. Filbert?”

  “Cheapside,” Henrietta said promptly. “And I would know Master Filbert again if I saw him. He looks like a filbert—smooth and round and brown as a nut. Do we go in search of him?”

  Daniel looked doubtful. “I certainly have that intention, but—”

  “Oh, you cannot leave me behind!” Harry exclaimed. “’Tis my money by rights. Of course,” she added, chewing her lip, “if ’tis mine, then ’tis yours by rights. But I think I should be permitted to fight for my own.”

  She looked so intense, so determined, every muscle in that lean little body taut with indignation and resolve, that he was forcibly reminded of the Harry of the battle of Preston, the Harry of mettlesome negotiations at Nottingham Castle. Lady Drummond struggling with butter churns and household accounts and the realities of stepmothering was a rather different person.

  He had not married Henrietta Ashby simply because he needed a housekeeper and a companion for his children and she needed a refuge. For the first time, he found himself looking beyond the overt reasons that had led to his impulsive offer that September morning in London. He had been drawn to certain qualities she had, and by an instinctive feeling that when she had matured somewhat in her new role as wife, she would be a rewarding and loving companion. Apart from her unfortunate tendency to lead Lizzie and Nan away from the paths of righteousness, she had given him no reason to suspect that he had been wrong in that assessment. But they had had little time for developing a companionable relationship since their marriage. Both immersed in their own troubles and preoccupations, they were less close now than they had been on the journey from Preston. Perhaps the excursion to London would provide opportunity for a renewal of that easy intimacy.

  “I am coming,” Henrietta said, fiercely interrupting this musing. “I will not be left behind.”

  At that, he caught her chin, tilting her face. “Madam wife, if I say you will not come, you will not come.”

  Words of protest rushed to her lips, then something lurking in the black eyes bent upon her gave her pause. Two dimples peeped responsively in her cheeks. “But you will not say that, will you?”

  He pinched her nose. “Nay, we will make the journey together. But only because I had already decided that we should before you came out with that intemperate declaration.”

  Henrietta grinned cheerfully. “When do we leave?”

  “In the morning.” He sat on the bed to pull off his riding boots. “Lizzie and Nan may pay a visit to Frances and James in our absence. It will give Mistress Kierston some respite from taking sole charge of them.”

  “And ’twill give Lizzie and Nan some respite from Mistress Kierston’s sole charge,” she responded, bending to take his booted foot between her hands and yanking. With wicked intent, Daniel withdrew his foot from the boot very abruptly, catching her off balance. She plopped onto the floor with an undignified thump and an indignant “Ouch!”

  “The price of impertinence,” Daniel said, offering her his other foot before continuing thoughtfully. “Mayhap, if I plead my case for reduced indemnity to the commissioners at Haberdasher’s Hall in person, I might get some results.”

  “I will accompany you and appear very pathetic,” Henrietta said. “’Twould be better, of course, if I could sport a swollen belly.” Two spots of color appeared on her cheekbones as she busied herself with his other boot. “D’ye not think I should be with child by now?”

  Daniel’s jaw dropped. It had never occurred to him she did not recognize that he had been taking what precautions he could to prevent such a happenstance.

  “Oh, dear,” he said softly. “It seems there is something we have to discuss.”

  Henrietta remained sitting on her heels as she listened to his explanation. “’Tis so mortifying!” she said when he had finished. “Why do I not know these things?”

  “You cannot know what you have not been told,” he said. “The error was mine.”

  Henrietta was frowning, her fair eyebrows scrunched in fierce contortion. “’Tis not that I feel any great need to have a child at present, but I would have had some part in the decision.”

  “When you have the desire, you have merely to tell me,” he said quietly, bending to take her hands, drawing her up so she knelt at his knee. He cupped he
r face and kissed her mouth. “I thought only of you.”

  She moved her mouth back to his, her lips lingering against his as she savored their yielding pliancy, and inhaled of the wind-freshness of his skin. Raising her hands, she ran them through his hair, so dark as to be almost black in the lowering afternoon light. “I would give you a son, Daniel.”

  He nodded. “And so you will, God willing. But there’s no hurry, and I’ve more than enough to do with two daughters.” Catching her hands, he turned them palm up and pressed his lips into each one. “Two daughters and a tomboy wife.”

  “Am I not pardoned?” Henrietta was quite unaware that the look she gave him was pure coquette.

  Daniel had seen that look only once or twice before, but he found that it stirred him most powerfully. “Aye, minx, y’are pardoned,” he said huskily. “As well you know.” Catching her under the arms, he pulled her onto his knee. “And if you look at me in that fashion, I cannot imagine failing to grant pardon for any offense.”

  Look at him in what fashion? Henrietta wondered, as he brought her face down to his. It would be useful to know the formula for instant forgiveness. Kissing in the middle of the afternoon seemed to have a deliciously illicit feel, and she discovered that with her head above his she had more freedom of movement; indeed, in essence she was in control of what happened. Experimentally, she moved her mouth from his, trailing her lips across his cheek, tasting his skin with the tip of her tongue, flicking upward to brush his closed eyelids. Daniel’s hand slid beneath her skirt and petticoat, smoothing over her stockinged leg. She shivered as his fingers brushed lightly over the bare satin softness of her thighs, above her stocking tops. When they reached farther, probing delicately within the moistening furrow, she shifted on his knee with an incoherent murmur, her legs parting involuntarily to facilitate his play.

  Amusing himself in this fashion had been far from Daniel’s mind when he entered the bedroom. Both the present and the future had acquired a gray patina that filled him with despondency. His fury at Trant’s insolence and Ashby’s blatant manipulation was mixed with anger at himself for having been made a fool of—or so it appeared to him. And despite the resolution of the business with the children in the orchard, he was still annoyed with Henrietta, uncertain whether permitting her to deal with the matter with Lizzie had not been simply a way of avoiding an unpleasant duty.