The Secrets of Colchester Hall: A Gothic Regency Romance Page 6
“Lucy?”
“Hmm?”
Angelica gripped her friend’s arm. “Do you hear that?”
Lucy tilted her head. “Hear what?”
“The plea for help,” she whispered, glancing around, searching for something concrete she could point to as evidence.
Lucy laughed. “It’s just the wind.”
Angelica had thought so too. She’d convinced herself of it numerous times but she wasn’t so sure any more. “We should return downstairs.”
“After you made me almost run up here? I need a moment, and besides, now that we’re here, don’t you want to look at the rest of the portraits?”
She didn’t, but she would humor her friend even though all she wanted was to climb into bed. Her teeth practically chattered and her toes had gone numb in her slippers. Why didn’t Lucy feel the same way? Why didn’t anyone?
“Ah. There you are.” Mrs. Essex stood at the opposite end of the gallery. “You left the parlor without informing anyone of where you were going.”
“We meant to come straight back once we’d taken a look at the portraits,” Angelica said.
Mrs. Essex smiled as she always did, but this time there was a curious gleam in her eyes. “And did you find what you sought?”
“No,” Lucy told her. “Lady Sterling’s portrait is missing.”
Mrs. Essex’s lips stretched until her smile became an unnatural grimace. “So it is.”
She said nothing more, offered no explanation or any other useful information. She just stood there. And waited.
“I think I’ll retire for the evening,” Angelica said.
“I thought you were going to return downstairs,” Mrs. Essex remarked.
Angelica met her gaze and held it. “I changed my mind.”
The housekeeper squinted. A little snort followed. “And what of you, Miss Harlow?”
“I will also retire,” Lucy said loyally.
“Well. I shall make excuses for both of you then,” Mrs. Essex said.
She departed, leaving Lucy and Angelica alone once more. “I really don’t like her,” Angelica murmured.
“Me neither. You will have to sack her once you and Lord Sterling have wed.”
Angelica almost choked on the air she’d just inhaled. “You speak as if the matter has already been decided when I can assure you it has not. And please don’t tell me you’ve given up trying to win him for yourself.”
“He has eyes only for you, Angelica.”
“That’s not true,” Angelica said even though she believed might be.
Lucy gave her a dubious look. “Let us be honest with one another, shall we?”
“Very well.” Angelica linked her arm with Lucy’s, and together they made their way back to their bedchambers. “It is possible you may have a small point.”
“Oh really?”
“Well… He did kiss me.”
Angelica spent the next half hour in Lucy’s bedchamber, recounting every detail.
“I like your bonnet,” Lady Seraphina told Angelica the next day.
They’d left Colchester Hall roughly ten minutes earlier to go for the walk Randolph had planned. He appeared to be exerting an effort with Miss Chesterfield, but her shyness made it near impossible for anyone to carry on a conversation with her. Angelica had tried during breakfast only to give up. She admired Randolph for his persistence and for doing his best to make sure none of his guests felt left out.
She eyed Lady Seraphina suspiciously. Lucy had kept her company until a few seconds ago when she’d hurried ahead to ask her mother about a particular plant she’d spotted.
“Thank you,” Angelica said. “Yours is very stylish as well.”
Lady Seraphina smirked. “I didn’t say yours was stylish, only that I like it.”
Angelica rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she muttered. She glanced at Lady Seraphina and finally asked, “What do you want?”
“I do so love your forthright manner.” Lady Seraphina’s voice was light and breezy. It made Angelica gnash her teeth. “I think I shall try to be equally frank. You are quite obviously my only competition. The rest of that lot—” she waved her hand in the general direction of the other ladies who were walking ahead “—is hardly worth noting.”
Angelica gaped at her. She could not believe her own ears or that anyone, least of all a lady, could be so indescribably rude. It was beyond the pale and so thoroughly shocking it took a full minute at least for Angelica to put her mind in order and find her tongue.
“That lot, as you so delicately refer to them, consists of well-bred ladies. Women of your own class.” Angelica’s hands had balled into fists. She was furious, practically shaking with it. “How dare you treat them as if they’re beneath you?”
Lady Seraphina blinked. And then she laughed. “Because they are.” She gave a little twist of her wrist. “Honestly, you cannot place a farmer’s daughter on the same rung of the social ladder as I. Why, not even you have the same importance as I, but—”
“Miss Stevens’ father is one of the wealthiest men in England. He is not a farmer, but an affluent landowner.”
“Pfft…”
Dear God, she was going to have to strangle her, right here on this lovely hilltop. Angelica glanced at the steep decline to her left. There were brambles there. Just one little nudge and Lady Seraphina could be stuck in them. She grinned at the image of the other lady tumbling over the side, her feather-trimmed bonnet whipped from her head like a bird taking flight.
“Mind your step over here,” Randolph yelled. “It’s a little—”
“Well, it was lovely chatting with you,” Lady Seraphina said, “but the time has come for me to take advantage.”
Angelica wasn’t sure what she was talking about and realized she didn’t much care. She was simply glad to be rid of the woman who was now running forward, bustling her way past Miss St. James and Miss Stevens and practically elbowing her way to the front.
Lucy glanced back at Angelica as if to say, ‘what’s going on?’ Angelica merely shrugged and kept on walking. She’d almost reached the others when a sudden gust of wind swept past her, whipping her gown around her ankles. She stumbled against the force of it.
“Be careful,” Randolph warned. “No! Wait!”
A scream sliced the air. Angelica blinked and looked toward the rest of the group. And then she gripped her skirts and ran forward. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” Lucy told her.
Together, they moved past the women blocking their view. A strange ball of emptiness grew in the pit of Angelica’s stomach. She stepped forward, her gaze following the path that descended to the vast blanket of heather below. Randolph was making his way down as quickly as he could manage, his long legs carrying him toward the spot where Lady Seraphina lay in a crumpled heap.
“Goodness,” Angelica muttered. She’d imagined this very scenario just a few minutes before, but surely… No. It was just a coincidence. The wind had come and Lady Seraphina had been hastening forward. She simply must have lost her balance.
“Her parents will have my head,” Lady Seraphina’s chaperone complained. “Oh heavens, they’ll sack me right on the spot.”
“Now, now,” Rose told her in that soothing voice she’d used on Angelica so often when she’d been a child. “The wind caught her unawares, that’s all.”
Angelica frowned. The air was completely still.
She glanced back at Colchester Hall and froze.
There, framed by the curtains in her bedchamber window, was a woman. Mrs. Essex perhaps? It was too far to tell. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, the woman had gone.
“I have to get her back to the house,” Randolph said, startling Angelica as he passed her with Lady Seraphina in his arms.
“O—of course,” Angelica said even though she was fairly certain he hadn’t been addressing her alone. She swallowed and did her best to stem the unnatural foreboding that twined itself around her.
“Yes,” Angelica muttered, forcing a smile. “There’s nothing to be concerned about.” Repeatedly, her gaze drifted back to her bedchamber window as they walked toward the house. It remained empty, devoid of movement and life.
Randolph was in a significantly better mood the following day when he escorted the young ladies into the village. According to the physician he’d sent for, Lady Seraphina had only sprained her ankle and simply needed to rest. Her health was not in any danger, but he would at least be saved from having to suffer her company. Instead, he’d allow himself the satisfaction of pursuing Angelica.
With this in mind, Randolph deliberately snuck between her and Miss Harlow and offered each an arm. Miss Harlow grinned and her eyes sparkled with mischief, suggesting she knew precisely what he was about. With luck, she’d prove a valuable ally in his attempt at courtship.
Angelica on the other hand was surprisingly demure today. Unlike herself. Only the ghost of a smile graced her lips as she glanced up to acknowledge his presence, and uncomfortable looking creases marred her forehead.
“I must commend you,” he said, deciding to start with a compliment. “It was good of you to defend Miss Stevens yesterday.”
Her lips parted. Surprise widened her eyes. “You heard?”
“We all did,” Lucy chimed in. She quickly bit her lip. “Sorry. I should have mentioned it.”
A lovely blush flooded Angelica’s cheeks. She directed her gaze forward. “I couldn’t keep silent. To do so would have gone against my moral compass.”
“I know,” Randolph said. He dipped his head a bit closer to hers and added, “Yet another reason why you have gained my regard.” Her blush deepened and he mentally marked the moment as a small victory. “While I did suggest visiting the teashop and haberdashery, I would like to stop by the bookshop for a quick look.”
“Oh.” The singular word – more of an exclamation, really – popped out of Angelica’s mouth with startling rapidity.
Randolph smiled. He hadn’t known she was fond of reading. It wasn’t something they’d discussed. But it pleased him to know they shared a common interest, for he simply adored books – loved the smell of them, the feel of them, the knowledge crammed between their pages.
“I’ll just inform the others in case they’d like to join us.” Randolph did so, but the rest of the ladies were far more interested in shopping for trimmings, though Lady Bloomfield did consider his invitation for a moment. She changed her mind, however, when Mrs. Harlow pointed out that their daughters would have each other for chaperones.
“Is there a particular genre you favor?” Randolph asked once they’d stepped inside the overcrowded shop. Books lay everywhere: stacked on counters and practically bursting from shelves. It was perfect.
“Poetry,” Miss Harlow told him. “I’m especially fond of Robert Burns and poems written in his style.”
Randolph wasn’t surprised. There was a softness about most of Burns’s poems that made for light and uplifting reading. They weren’t the tormented writings of some tortured soul, determined to convey his despair and heartache to the world.
“I’ve an excellent collection of his work right over here,” the shopkeeper said. He led Miss Harlow between two bookcases.
“And how about you?” Randolph asked Angelica.
“Ordinarily…” She stopped herself and glanced about. “This is a lovely shop.”
“I’m glad you think so. I’ve always had a particular fondness for books. They allowed me to pretend I was someone else. They offered escape.”
“What were you escaping from?” She asked the question quietly, almost reverently, as if being given an insight to his soul truly mattered.
With anyone else, he would have ended the revelation there with a shrug of his shoulders and a flip answer. But not with her. She deserved better. “My brother is ten years younger than I. We never had much in common.”
“Where is he now?”
“In Scotland, attempting to gain his independence, as he put it.”
“And your parents?” she asked softly.
Randolph grimaced. “My father woke up one day and decided he’d had enough of being an earl. Only a hastily written note left behind on his desk informed me he’d gone to America.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“He writes me every now and then. Usually when he’s running low on funds.” Randolph shifted his weight and propped one shoulder against the bookcase beside him. “Meanwhile my mother, the timid lady who lived in constant fear of his temper, used the occasion of his departure as an excuse to leave for France indefinitely.”
“One could say you have something of a temper as well.”
He knew she didn’t mean the words as an insult, merely an observation, yet his skin still stretched and tightened while heat began rising to the top of his head. “Don’t ever compare me to my father,” he told her darkly, then swallowed and forced himself to relax upon noting her startled expression. Had he just proven her point? He sighed. “Again, I apologize for the other evening, especially if I frightened you. It really wasn’t my intention but I cannot—”
“Shh… It’s all right. It could not be helped.”
His fingers flexed. “Nevertheless. I should have practiced greater control.”
She stared at him and he stared back, their gazes locked. A moment passed, then two, three. “My preferred genre includes all things gothic,” she suddenly blurted.
He almost laughed. It really couldn’t be helped. She was so wonderfully surprising, he probably would have kissed her again if they’d been somewhere more private. Heaven only knew he’d been able to think of little else but that one kiss they’d shared since it had happened. Her response had been remarkable and the hunger he’d experienced… God, it was enough to drive a man mad.
He cleared his throat, allowed a crooked smile. “Then I would expect you to have a greater appreciation for my home than you do.” It was meant as a joke of sorts, but she did not laugh or smile in response.
“The books I read tend to include supernatural occurrences and the macabre.” Her voice faltered. She clasped her hands together. Swallowed. “While I enjoy such stories, I have no interest in experiencing them for myself.”
“Of course not. Who would?”
She stared at him and he caught something in her eyes, something fleeting in her expression – a hint of interest almost entirely obscured by whatever uncertainty plagued her.
He cleared his throat. “Have you read Northanger Abbey?”
“By Miss Austen?” She scrunched her nose. “I’m not a big fan of romance.”
He smiled. And then, because the shopkeeper and Miss Harlow were quite engrossed in a lengthy poetic discussion, he grabbed Angelica by her hand and pulled her toward the back of the shop.
She gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to seduce you?” He glanced back over his shoulder at her. “What do you think? Perfect spot for it, is it not?”
The edge of her mouth twitched, her lips began quivering, and then, for the first time in two days, she actually laughed. The sound punched him squarely in his chest, and God help him if it didn’t feel good or right. Whatever her worries might be, most likely pertaining to her mother’s financial straits and her own need for marriage, perhaps with a touch of doubt relating to him, he’d convince her they were unfounded. They would be good together. They had to be because otherwise…
He supposed he could always travel to London, endure a Season while taking his time to select someone else. Except he didn’t want anyone else. He wanted her – Lady Angelica with her lack of pretense and forthright honesty. A woman ready to champion those who could not defend themselves, who voiced her opinion without apology and kissed him back with fervor.
“Here we are,” he said once they reached the part of the shop where they’d find th
e book he sought. Four bookcases stood between them and Miss Harlow, offering them the sort of privacy they ought not to be permitted. Still holding Angelica’s hand, he placed it against the spine of the book he wanted her to select. “This is not the average romance novel. Indeed, it stands apart from all of Miss Austen’s other works to the point where I dare say you’d find it intriguing.”
Her gloved fingers traced the gold embossed title on the first volume. And then she glanced up at him with the sort of profound curiosity that threatened to either stop his heart or make it race faster. “Have you read it yourself?”
Lost in the depth of her golden eyes, he was only able to nod.
She blinked. Her lips parted as if she meant to say something more, but whatever was on her mind must have flittered away, leaving her standing there much as he, utterly still and very aware.
Slowly, lest he startle her into motion and ruin the moment, he raised his palm to her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut and a sigh, so wrought with longing he knew he risked losing control, swept past her lips to tickle his wrist, right where the edge of his glove ended.
Randolph’s chest tightened. “Angelica.” He loved her name, loved the way it felt on his tongue as he spoke it and how it seemed to remind him of all that was good and right with the world.
One quick glance in Miss Harlow’s direction, just to be sure there was no risk of being discovered, and then he kissed her, stealing her breath and inhaling her scent, reveling in the small moan of pleasure she made in her throat. God, how he wanted and Christ, how he needed. After more than two years of him not touching a woman, Angelica was warm and willing and utterly delicious.
Her one hand was still on Northanger Abbey, but the other… The other clutched at his arm, holding on fast as he moved in closer, sandwiching her between him and the bookcase until he could feel the entire length of her body pressing against him in just the right places.
He nipped her lower lip with his teeth, urging her to open for him and delighting in the taste of her the moment she did. Lord, he could kiss her for hours, days, months, years. Hell, he could kiss her forever without getting tired.