Midnight Angel

by Lisa Kleypas

  “Don't you care for me?” Iris wheedled.

  “Of course I care for you.” He patted her round hip and stared into her eyes. “But I'm not going to marry anyone, Iris. You know that.”

  “We're very good together. There's not a soul in the world who would begrudge us this marriage. And no one would be surprised by it.”

  He shrugged uncomfortably, unable to deny it.

  “Is it that you're reluctant to commit yourself only to me?” Iris propped herself up on one elbow. “I wouldn't keep you from going to other women's beds, if that was what you needed. I wouldn't take away your freedom.”

  Surprised, Luke sat up and scrubbed his fingers through his dark hair. “Freedom to have sex with women I care nothing about?” He looked down at her with a wry smile. “Thank you, but I've done that before. I didn't find it all that satisfying. No, I don't need that kind of freedom.”

  “My God. You were born to be someone's husband.”

  “Mary's,” he said, nearly inaudibly.

  Iris frowned, stroking the light pelt on his chest with her palm. “Why only her?”

  Luke was silent for a moment, choosing his words with difficulty. “After she went, I realized…part of me was gone forever. I don't have as much to give a woman as you seem to think. I wouldn't make a good husband. Not the kind I was for her.”

  “Darling, your version of being a poor husband would far surpass anyone else's best attempts. You were so young when you lost Mary. How can you claim you'll never love again? You're only thirty-four. You must want more children, a family—”

  “I have Emma.”

  “Don't you think she'll want brothers and sisters?”

  “No.”

  “Fine, then. I don't have my heart set on children.”

  “Iris,” Luke said gently, “I'm not going to marry you or anyone else. I don't want more than what we already have. If this relationship is making you unhappy, if you need more than I can give you, I'll understand. There are men who would jump at the chance of marrying you, and God knows I don't want to stand in the way—”

  “No.” Iris gave an anxious laugh. “I'm just greedy, I suppose. I wouldn't mind sleeping with you every night, and living in your home, and having everyone know I'm yours. But that doesn't mean I'm unhappy with things as they are. Don't look guilty. You've made no promises. You've been very careful not to. If this is all I can have of you, it's still more than any other man has given me.”

  “That's not true,” Luke said gruffly, wishing he could be what she wanted. He was uneasy at the thought of living with a woman who loved him, when he couldn't love her back. It would be a shadow marriage, a mockery of what he'd once had with Mary.

  “It is true,” Iris insisted. “I'm always honest with you, Luke.”

  He kissed her shoulder, keeping his face averted. “I know.”

  “Which is why I'm going to tell you something. You haven't let yourself fall in love with anyone since Mary. But someday you will. You won't be able to stop it from happening. And I wish it could be me.”

  Luke caught her hand, which had wandered down to the indentations of muscle below his rib cage. Gently he kissed the tips of her fingers. “If I could love anyone that way again, it would be you. You're a good woman, Iris.”

  Her mood changed from lovelorn to wanton, and she eased her sleek body over his. “I'll have to correct that impression. I'm really very naughty.”

  Luke laughed and rolled her over, straddling her voluptuous hips. He brushed his mouth over hers in a provocatively light kiss. “Let me please you tonight.”

  “You always do.” Her breath caught in her throat as his hand traveled slowly down her body.

  “I have something special in mind,” he whispered, and for a long time after that she was too consumed with pleasure to reply.

  It had been two weeks since Tasia's arrival at Southgate Hall, and she had found a place for herself amid the comfortable routines of the estate. It was a blessing to live in such a peaceful place, after the last traumatic months. She had been the focus of suspicion and condemnation for so long that she was grateful for the opportunity to fade into the background. And Alicia Ashbourne had been right—no one took notice of a governess. The servants were pleasant to her, but hardly inclined to welcome her into their group. And she was too far beneath Lord Stokehurst and his highborn guests, socially speaking, to merit their attention. She existed in an in-between world.

  Not only was Tasia's position isolated, but she was unable to let down her extreme reserve with anyone except Emma. Perhaps spending three months in prison had given her this sense of being an outcast, of being separate from everyone. It was impossible for her to trust anyone, when she couldn't even trust herself. She was afraid of her own feelings, and most of all she was afraid to remember what she had done the night of Mikhail Angelovsky's death.

  She experienced frequent nightmares about Mikhail, in which she had visions of blood and knives, and her ears rang with his taunting voice. Worse, there were odd moments in the day when she would have frightening flashes of memory. In the space of a second, she would see Mikhail's face, his hands, a glimpse of the room where he was killed…and then with a hard blink, she would make the vision vanish. It made her as nervous as a cat, never knowing when something would trigger another image of her dead cousin.

  Thank God for Emma, who was eager for all her time and attention. It was good to have someone to think about besides herself, someone whose problems and needs were more immediate than her own. The child was extremely isolated. Tasia felt that Emma needed the companionship of other girls, but there were no local landowners with children of a similar age.

  Tasia and Emma spent six hours a day on lessons, everything from the theories of Homer to the proper use of a nail brush. Daily prayers were not overlooked, for Emma's faith had been learned in a scattered fashion from her father and the servants. Emma soaked up the varied curriculum with surprising quickness. She had an intuitive understanding of language, and a perceptiveness that surprised Tasia. There was little that escaped Emma. She had a boundless curiosity that drove her to investigate everyone and everything around her. Each bit of gossip on the estate was carefully ferreted out to be pondered and analyzed.

  It was all Emma knew of the world, the circle of eighty people who spent their lives working like the parts of a great clock to keep the estate running. Forty were indoor servants, while the rest were employed in the stables, gardens, and mill house. Two were hired full-time just to clean windows. Most of the servants had been employed by the Stokehursts for years, and they rarely left. As Mrs. Plunkett had told Tasia, the staff at Southgate Hall was treated well. Even if they hadn't been, it would be difficult to find a new position. Work was scarce, and life very uncertain.

  “Something's wrong with Nan,” Emma told Tasia one day. They were sitting in the garden with a pile of books, drinking tall goblets of lemonade. “Have you noticed how strange she looks lately? Mrs. Knaggs says it's only that Nan has a touch of spring sickness, but I don't believe that. I think she's in love with Johnny.”

  “Who is Johnny?”

  “One of the footmen. The tall one with the crooked nose. Every time she sees him, Nan sneaks off to a corner with him. Sometimes they talk and kiss, but most of the time she cries. I hope I never fall in love. No one ever seems happy when they're in love.”

  “Emma you mustn't spy on the servants. Everyone is entitled to their privacy.”

  “I don't spy,” Emma said indignantly. “I just can't help noticing things. Anyway, you shouldn't defend Nan. Everyone knows she's horrid to you. She's the one who took that Mary picture from your room.”

  “Icon,” Tasia murmured, her expression shuttered. “And there's no proof that she did it.”

  A few days before, Tasia had discovered that her treasured icon was missing. She was miserable over the loss. The icon had no value other than the sentiment she attached to it. It was part of her past. Whoever had taken it couldn't know how deva
stating the theft was. And there was no way to retrieve it. Tasia had begged Mrs. Knaggs not to conduct a search of the servants' rooms. “It would make them all resent me,” she said earnestly. “Please, don't embarrass everyone by looking through their rooms. It was only a little wooden picture. Nothing important.”

  “But it is,” Mrs. Knaggs had argued. “I saw how you had propped it on that little chair. It meant something to you, and don't try to tell me it didn't.”

  “I don't need any trinkets or pictures to remind me of my faith—all I need to do is stare out the window at the woods, and see how beautiful they are.”

  “That's a sweet thought, my dear, but this matter goes beyond your personal interests. We've never had a problem with thievery before now. If there are no repercussions, other things might begin to disappear.”

  “I don't believe that will happen,” Tasia had said firmly. “Please, don't encourage suspicion among the servants. And above all, don't mention this to Lord Stokehurst. It's not necessary.”

  Reluctantly Mrs. Knaggs had agreed to let the matter pass, though she had muttered something about wishing she could search beneath Nan's mattress.

  Emma's voice brought Tasia back to the present. “It serves Nan right if she's unhappy. She's not a nice girl.”

  “We have no right to judge others,” Tasia said gently. “Only God can see inside our hearts.”

  “But don't you dislike Nan?”

  “No, I feel sorry for her. It is terrible to be so unhappy that you try to make others feel the same way.”

  “I guess so. But I don't feel sorry for her. She brings all her unhappiness on herself.”

  That night after supper, Tasia discovered more about Nan's predicament. There was a special room off the kitchen where the head servants gathered each evening at Mrs. Knaggs's invitation. Seymour, Mrs. Plunkett, and Mr. Biddle were there, as well as the wine butler, the under butler, the groom of chambers, and the head housemaid. Idly they pared slices from a small round of cheese, and one of the kitchen maids brought coffee and sweets. Tasia took a sugared biscuit and nibbled on it, quiet as usual while the others talked.

  “Any word on Nan?” the head housemaid asked Mrs. Knaggs. “I heard what she did this afternoon.”

  Mrs. Knaggs made a face and took a sip of black coffee. “It's quite a mess. The doctor prescribed a purgative and said she'd be all right. His Lordship was very displeased when I told him about Nan. He said I'm to dismiss her in the morning and have her sent back to her village.”

  “Is anyone with her now?” Mrs. Plunkett asked.

  “No, there's nothing to be done except let her stomach empty itself. She doesn't need help for that. Besides, none of the girls like her well enough to stay with her.”

  “And the young man?” Seymour asked, his long forehead creasing.

  The housekeeper shook her head ruefully. “He disclaims any responsibility.”

  Tasia looked around the table in confusion. What did they all know that she didn't? “What is the matter with Nan?” she asked.

  It was so rare for her to break in on a conversation that the others looked at her in surprise. Finally Mrs. Knaggs answered. “Didn't you hear? No, of course not, you've been with Emma all day. It's very distasteful. Nan has a follower.”

  “A follower?” Tasia was puzzled by the unfamiliar term. “Do you mean a lover?”

  “Precisely.” Mrs. Knaggs rolled her eyes and added uncomfortably, “And now there are…consequences.”

  “She's pregnant?” Tasia asked. A few eyebrows raised at her bluntness.

  “Yes, and she's been hiding it from everyone. In an effort to solve the problem, she took a handful of special pills and drank a bottle of oil to get rid of the baby. She only succeeded in making herself ill, the poor little wretch. Thank God the baby wasn't harmed. Now Nan's going to be dismissed, and it's likely she'll end up in the streets.” Mrs. Knaggs frowned and shook her head, as if it were too distasteful to discuss any further.

  “At least she won't be troubling you no more, Miss Billings,” the head housemaid said.

  Tasia was filled with horror and sympathy. “No one is with her?”

  “There's no need,” Mrs. Knaggs said. “The doctor's seen her. I made certain Nan took the medicine he prescribed. Don't be concerned, my dear. Maybe Nan will learn a lesson. It's her own foolishness that brought her to this.”

  Tasia bent her head over a cup of tea, while the others continued the conversation. A few minutes later, she pretended to stifle a yawn. “Excuse me,” she murmured. “It has been a busy day. I think I'll retire now.”

  It wasn't difficult to find Nan's room. The sounds of gasping and retching drifted into the hall from behind a closed door. Gingerly Tasia knocked and entered the room. It was even smaller than hers, with a single-paned window and walls covered with drab paper. She recoiled at the stench in the air. A crumpled figure writhed on the bed. “Get out of here,” Nan's weak voice said, just before she bent over the metal basin and gagged.

  “I came to see if I could help,” Tasia said, striding to the window. She opened it a few inches, letting some fresh air blow inside. Turning back to the bed, she frowned as she saw that Nan was a ghastly shade of green.

  “Go away,” Nan moaned. “I'm going to die.”

  “No, you're not.” Tasia went to the washstand. There was a pile of rags, all of them wet and dirty. Fumbling in her sleeve, she located one of her own handkerchiefs and dampened it with water from the pitcher.

  “I hate you,” Nan whimpered. “Go away.”

  “Let me wash your face, and then I'll go.”

  “So you can tell the others…that you're such a bloody angel,” Nan accused. She hung her head over the basin once more. Another violent spasm, and she spit into the bowl. She settled back into the bed, tears streaking her face. “I think my guts are going to come out.”

  Carefully Tasia sat on the edge of the bed. “Be still. Your face is dirty.”

  Nan laughed shakily. “I wonder why. I've puked for four hours without stopping—” She fell silent as the cool handkerchief wiped over her crusted cheeks and chin.

  Tasia had never seen someone so ill. Gently she smoothed the mass of sticky blond hair from Nan's face. “Do you have something I could tie it back with?” she asked. The maid pointed to a paper box by the bed. Searching in the box, Tasia found a comb and some frayed ribbons. She brought them to the bed and began to work on Nan's hair. It was too tangled to comb out properly, so she settled for smoothing it as best she could and tying it at the nape of her neck. “There,” she murmured. “Now it won't get in the way.”

  Nan looked at her with hot, swollen eyes. “Why did you come?” she croaked.

  “It doesn't seem right that you should be alone.”

  “You know about…everything?” Nan gestured to her stomach.

  Tasia nodded. “You mustn't take anything else, Nan—no pills or tonics. You could do harm to the baby.”

  “That was the idea. I thought about throwing myself down the stairs, jumping from a loft in the barn…anything to stop it from coming.” Nan shuddered. “Please stay for a little while. I won't die if you stay.”

  “Of course you won't die,” Tasia soothed, stroking her hair. “Everything's going to be all right.”

  Nan began to cry. “You're like an angel,” she whispered miserably. “How do you make your face so gentle? Just like your little wooden picture. I took it, you know.”

  Tasia shushed her gently. “It doesn't matter.”

  “I thought it would make me peaceful, like you. But it's done nothing for me.”

  “It's all right. Don't cry.”

  Nan clutched Tasia's skirts as if it were her last confession. “I don't want to live. Johnny doesn't want me. He says it's all my fault, not his. I'll be dismissed. My family's poor. They won't want me to come back, and with a bastard babe yet. But I'm not a bad girl, Miss Billings. I had to be with him. I love him.”

  “I understand. Don't tire yourself, Nan. Yo
u must rest.”

  “Why?” Nan asked bitterly, dropping her head back on the pillow.

  “You're going to need your strength.”

  “I've got no money, no work, no husband—”

  “You'll have some money. Lord Stokehurst will see to that.”

  “He doesn't owe me a shilling.”

  “It will be all right,” Tasia said firmly. “I promise.” She smiled reassuringly and stood up. “I'm going to have some fresh linens brought up. Your bed wants changing. I'll be back in just a few minutes.”

  “All right,” Nan whispered.

  Leaving the room, Tasia went to find Mrs. Knaggs. The housekeeper was giving instructions to a kitchen maid, who was clearing the dishes from the servants' table.

  “You went to Nan,” Mrs. Knaggs said as soon as she saw Tasia's face. “I rather thought you might.”

  “She's very ill,” Tasia said gravely.

  “There's no point in doing anything for her. She'll be gone soon.”

  Tasia was surprised by the housekeeper's callousness. “Ma'am, I don't see the harm in trying to make her more comfortable. Couldn't you direct one of the maids to help me carry a few supplies upstairs and change the bed?”

  Mrs. Knaggs shook her head. “I've told the others they need have nothing to do with her.”

  “She's not a leper, Mrs. Knaggs. She's only pregnant.”

  “I don't want any of the girls to be exposed to the influence of promiscuity and immorality.”

  Tasia was tempted to answer sarcastically, but she bit her tongue to hold back the words. “Mrs. Knaggs,” she said carefully, “isn't it the second great commandment to love thy neighbor as thyself? And when the Pharisees brought the adulteress to our Lord and asked Him if she should be stoned, didn't He say—”

  “Yes, I know. ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone.’ I daresay I'm as well-acquainted with the Bible as most people.”