Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

We should talk—” Will began at breakfast the next day, but Angelika clapped her hands over her ears. She still heard him finish. “—about other ways to investigate my past. If you are amenable, I might write letters to some investigators in London.”

“I thought you’d want to talk about my discovery,” Angelika confessed as she lowered her hands. Or did he want to discuss how she had dissolved from that kiss? She forced herself to speak. “You still don’t feel anything when I say the name Clara?”

He shook his head. “I remember nothing about myself.”

Mary dropped a basket of bread between them onto the table and put her hands on her hips. “Where is that girl? No point calling for her.” She walked out after this nonsensical statement, seemingly in search of someone.

Will’s brandy-brown eyes were steady and sad. “I don’t deserve to stay in this house, after what I did to you in the carriage. I think I should prepare to leave.”

Angelika was taken aback. “You didn’t do anything to me. I did something to you. I climbed on top of you, and I—” She tried to think of how to describe it. “I accidentally enjoyed myself too much.”

Now the look in his eyes was feral and black. It suited him. “Angelika,” he warned, and the growl gave her a delicious shiver. “I acted very wrongly. You ran from me and hid all night.”

“I was worried I’d gone too wild.” She refolded her napkin, wondering how much to confess. “The minutes where the heartbeat slows are terrifying. You look at me like you’ve made a mistake, and I’m not a mistake. I’m your Angelika.”

His smile was a relief. “You are.”

They were interrupted by Mary. There was a second person, hanging back in the shadows of the hall. Angelika squinted. “Who’s there?”

Mary turned and beckoned. “Meet your new maid.”

A sturdily built tall girl of around sixteen years crept into the room.

“How do you do?” Will said. “What is your name?”

Mary spoke again. “This is Sarah, and she’s as shy as they come. Barely says a word. I thought she’d be a good fit for this ungodly household, and will keep her mouth shut in the village about whatever she sees here.” After Sarah nodded meekly, Mary went to the fireplace and began vigorously thwacking the burning log with a poker, releasing sparks into the room. “She’s sent by her parents to find work, after they lost it all. Her father was a gambler and a fool. She’s staying at the boardinghouse. My sister recommends her.”

Angelika waited until the blushing, downcast girl chanced a glance at her. “How do you do, Sarah? It’s quite all right if you are a shy sort.”

The girl gulped and nodded helplessly.

“Is the boardinghouse comfortable for you? Is it warm, and are you given a hearty supper?”

Angelika regretted the question when the girl grimaced, rubbing her hands together as if in memory, and looked at Mary’s back. Of course she would not speak against her landlady with her sister present. “It is too cold,” Angelika surmised. “And the food is slop.”

When Sarah made eye contact again, there was humor in her expression. She risked a nod before Mary turned back to them.

“Whilst not compulsory, reading and writing is a nice thing to do,” Angelika continued. “Have you had those opportunities?”

Sarah spoke for the first time, soft and halting. “I went to school, until Father had his troubles. I have not kept up my writing and reading.”

“Well, it is not too late to start again. You can borrow books from the library here,” Angelika told her, and the girl nodded. To Mary, she ordered: “Sarah will have one hour, paid, after breakfast, to practice her reading and writing. You are not to make her feel guilty about it. Am I clear?”

Mary grumbled. “It’s about ruddy time I had some help around here, now she takes time off? The messes I find in the morning! The library was ransacked last night.”

“It was probably just how Victor left it.”

“Hardly. I think we had another thief. And a message from the military academy arrived.” Mary added in a bellow at Sarah, “Give her the mail. Are you heading to war, mistress?”

At that exact moment, a movement caught everyone’s attention.

Angelika clapped. “Victor!” It wasn’t her brother, but it was his pigeon on the sill. Angelika went to the little messenger and gave it a crust while she unfastened the leather tube from its leg. Sarah’s mouth hung open. Unrolling the minuscule parchment, Angelika said, “Finally, we have some news. Victor will be here tomorrow morning. And Lizzie is also on her way and will be here by tonight.”

Because she enjoyed secrets, Angelika decided not to read aloud his postscript: Get Grandmama’s big diamond ring out of your jewelry box and polish it, Jelly! I hope it’s fit for a duchess’s finger. It made her grin. At last, a sister. “Where shall we put her?”

“We’re running out of space,” Mary said, but it wasn’t her usual complaining tone. The mere presence of Sarah, with her youth and energy, had apparently lifted a weight from her ancient shoulders. “If Master Victor did not use so many bedrooms for storage, we could accommodate an entire wedding party.”

Will volunteered in an instant. “Is there a bed in the servants’ quarters? I’m taking up space that you do not have.”

“No room upstairs, neither.” Mary thought for a moment. “There’s the servants’ cottages on the hill past the orchard, but they’re barely fit for Belladonna. Won’t she be pleased to have Victor back? Never would I have believed that a pig could pine.”

“Those cottages will be fine. I cannot believe I did not consider how many rooms were available. I’m very sorry,” Will said. “What an inconvenience I have been.”

“There is plenty of room,” Angelika told him, walking to clasp his shoulders. He did look ever so rattled. When Mary and Sarah had left the room, she unfolded Christopher’s correspondence. She’d expected a date and time to visit Clara Hoggett but was confronted by a full-page letter. “Of course his handwriting is this neat,” she said, reading.

“What does he say? That he was positively enchanted by you?” Will said, downing his tea with a vicious gulp. He turned in his chair, and Angelika stood between his boots, stroking through his hair as she read.

“He was a little enchanted . . .” Angelika felt her cheeks heating again under Will’s stare. “But I’ve received letters like this before. It doesn’t mean anything.” At the foot of the page was a postscript about their joint mission to visit Clara in her time of need. “We are going to visit the widow tomorrow.” She folded the letter back up and pocketed it.

“I wish you wouldn’t find it strange that men want to know you,” Will said. He held up his hand in a silent request.

“They’re sore? And cold. My goodness.” As she massaged, unbending his curled fingers, noticing his winces and hard blinks, she wondered if he would still experience these tremors of jealousy and possession if another had not appeared on the scene.

A dreadful thought occurred to her. “You should be warned that if you fall in love with Lizzie, Victor will drain your life right back out of your body. And I might help him.”

“I won’t,” Will replied with a glint in his eyes. “It wouldn’t be possible.”

“She’s young and lovely, and so very funny.” She heard the worry, so patently obvious, in her voice. Rub, rub—she put her heat into his hands, until he took them both back, testing his fingers.

Gently, he repeated: “I won’t. Thank you. They feel better.” He reached up and smoothed both hands down the sides of her body in a long stroke. It felt like: I could never prefer another over you. Her head knew otherwise. Then those same comforting hands gripped the trousers tight on her thighs, making her look at him. “You’re not to fall in love with Commander Keatings.”

“Not until you’ve fully explored your options and found your way back home. I’m sure that’s what you mean.” She strode from the room. “Oh,” she said as a bell rang out a loud ding above their heads.

Will, close on her heels, flinched at the sound. “What was that?”

“It’s Lizzie, I think. She’s arriving early. Mary!”

“I heard,” Mary called back from the kitchen. “Gracious. Never a dull moment ’round here. Another teacup, Sarah.”

Will was still confused by the bell above the door.

“When Victor and I were children, we invented a way of knowing if a carriage crossed into our drive. Copper wiring, buried alongside the road, connected to a pressure plate with a spring under the gravel. You’ll hear a sound from that.” She gestured up to the brass bell above the door. “We did it over the summer when I was eight.”

“Must have been quite a roll of wire.”

“We dug a trench for weeks. It was so hot, we did it at night.” She caught Will’s gaze on her face—that admiring, astonished expression he had when he thought her clever—and gave him a self-conscious look. “I’ve been creating solutions for a long time. It’s typical Angelika. Again, I’m sorry you were caught up in it.”

“I’m standing here breathing, so I don’t mind.”

“Mary only hears it now when she is standing close by. Perhaps I could make her life a little easier and hang a red scarf from the bell, so she might see it flutter.”

“That would be most thoughtful,” Will praised her. “I like you best when you are like that. I’m pleased you offered to help Sarah with her education.”

They went outside and watched as the carriage grew closer. As the horses rounded the bend, Lizzie hung out the window, waving madly. She was leaping out of the carriage before it had even properly stopped.

“Jelly! I couldn’t wait, so we set off early and traveled all night—have you been expecting me? Vic said he’d send a bird.”

Angelika caught her future sister-in-law in her arms. “It must have been flying only a quarter mile ahead of you. Victor is arriving home tomorrow. I’m so happy to see you.”

“I thought I remembered you wrong,” Lizzie said with fondness, cupping Angelika’s chin in both hands. She glanced at Will to involve him. “As the carriage turned the last corner, I said to myself, She doesn’t really look like a fairy queen. But here she is, her hair both red and gold at the same time, and big green eyes full of naughtiness, and this magical beauty mark on her cheek that the late Marie Antoinette herself would have died to possess.” This, Lizzie kissed. “You understand of course, sir, she’s wearing trousers so we don’t see up her skirts when she flies off.”

“That makes perfect sense,” Will replied.

Lizzie was not finished making her theatrical address. “I thought my future sister-in-law was a daydream.”

“Just a girl,” Angelika said, her eyes filling with tears.

Lizzie was tender. “But yet, I still reach back to find your wings.”

“So shall I,” Will said. The spell utterly cast, they each took a turn rubbing a hand between Angelika’s shoulder blades, while she stood, overcome with every lovely emotion. Rather than declaring her mortal, Will concluded, “She will show us her wings when she is ready.”

Lizzie clapped. “So you are in fact good fun, my dear nameless, handsome man. Jolly good. We must make our own theater out here.” She raised her sparkling brown eyes up to the house. “Blackthorne Manor,” she said reverently. “At last. What a house.”

It was time for Angelika to make the introductions. “Lady Elizabeth Lavenza, this is Sir William Black.”

“How do you do, Lady Lavenza, or should I call you the duchess? I am Will.” He bowed formally.

“Oh, goodness. If another man called me Duchess, I think Vic would take him apart. Better call me Lizzie. Or my various noms de plume. Or, very soon, Mrs. Frankenstein.” The women giggled and clutched at each other’s arms. “He’s lovely. You finally met your match, Jelly, marooned out here, without telling me?” She cast another look over at Will, clearly approving. “Where did you dig up such a handsome bachelor on this hill?”

Angelika had to laugh as Will coughed. “Will is my very dear, special friend and guest, for as long as he wishes to stay. I shall fill you in when—”

“When we are alone, and you can explain in detail.”

Lizzie appeared tired from her journey but was still beautiful to Angelika. She was tanned gold, with that famous onyx hair. She had mischievous dark eyes, and the blackest eyebrows, permanently lifted in a questioning arch. Her mother was Spanish, and she enhanced her looks with jewel-tone clothes and stained her lips red. Judging by the trunks labeled COSTUMES and PROPS, ETC., she had interesting plans.

Lizzie noticed Angelika’s perusal, then sniffed at her own armpit. “Well? Will I pass your brother’s inspection? Oh, I stink.”

“He thinks you’re divine. The only star in the sky, and he speaks of no one else. Please ask him to stop leaving apple cores on the stair rail.”

Lizzie’s smile was bright. “Shall do. Oh, look—she enters, stage right: a lovely big pig to greet me. Good day, madam, do you bring word from London?”

They all turned. Belladonna’s beady eyes surveyed the black-haired woman, the luggage, and the girls’ clasped hands. Her head began to lower. A front leg lifted.

“Come now, Lizzie,” Angelika said, grabbing her arm. “Inside, quickly.”

Once safely in the foyer, Lizzie ran her hand on the stair rail like she was introducing herself. “I love this house,” she said.

“I’m sick of it,” Angelika countered. How lovely it must be to move into your marital home. In the midst of such excitement, her anxiety was beginning to build. She was likely never going to pack her trunks to leave for her own house.

Victor was right. She was going to end up hurt.

Will took Angelika’s hand, like he felt the shift in her mood. “Whatever happens tomorrow,” he said, referring to the visit with Clara, “we will deal with it together. I promise, I will help you through. Just as you have helped me so much.” With that, his cold hand released hers, and he went to assist with the luggage.

“What’s that about?” Lizzie asked.

“I’ll tell you everything later. Stay in my room tonight. Goodness, so many trunks,” Angelika said as they linked arms. “It looks like you are moving in permanently.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Lizzie said on a laugh, and they both fell into squeals of laughter, hugging each other, and in that moment Angelika thought that she probably could bear what the future would bring. There was much fuss and ado in the foyer, and even more when the bell above the door rang again.

“He’s a day early?” Angelika shrieked, and dragged her fingers through Lizzie’s hair to tidy it. “Couldn’t he give her a single minute to bathe, and rest?”

“That’s my bear,” Lizzie replied, panicking, too. “Please, please. I need a bath. A wet flannel would be fine. I can’t let him smell me this way.”

“I bought you some apple-scented soap. A joke a year in the making.”

“Jelly, it’s the strangest thing,” Lizzie said as they ran up the staircase. “I know it can’t be true, and I’m probably imagining things again . . .”

Angelika was startled by her serious tone. “What is it?”

“I believe that pig did not like me.”