Joanna Maitland – My Lady Angel (страница 3)

‘We’ve been through much worse, Sergeant,’ replied Penrose, reverting to their army ways without a moment’s thought. He and Sergeant Ramsey had shared many a flea-ridden billet in the Peninsula, in searing heat and in bitter cold. ‘A little wet won’t hurt me.’

‘No, sir, but—’

‘Might I suggest that you two continue your discussion once we are back under cover?’ said Ross with a lift of his eyebrow. ‘I, for one, am looking forward to a bowl of steaming hot punch. I am sure that his lordship feels the same.’

Ramsey looked nonplussed for a moment at the implied rebuke, but he was soon bustling his gentlemen into their seats. ‘We’ll have you back at the inn in a pig’s whisper, m’lord,’ he said, grinning as he pronounced the unfamiliar title. ‘You, too, sir.’

Penrose leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. It always affected him, the sight of Aunt Mary’s grave. He should have come home earlier, helped her more… Her life had been so hard, at the beck and call first of her own father, and then of his. Neither of them had treated her as more than an unpaid servant. His own father, miser that he was, had insisted that Mary bring up his son so that he could be spared the inconvenience of finding another wife. For marriage, his father had said, was a plaguey expensive business. A new wife was always bent on finding ways of emptying a man’s purse, whereas a spinster sister was easily controlled. Poor Mary. She had had so little of life’s luxuries. And she had never had a home of her own, or children. Those joys had been denied her, by her own family, and by the heartless old man who had held the Penrose titles.

The new Earl of Penrose shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the thought of his hated predecessor. A pity there had been no chance to avenge Mary’s wrongs. There was only a sister and a daughter left. He could not make war on women.

Old man Penrose had made war on Mary, had he not?

But Mary had had some consolation. She had been loved, and dearly so, by Penrose and by Ross Graham, the orphan she had taken in and defended against all the world, including her own family. Meek as a lamb where her own interests were concerned, she had become like a tigress when her boys were under attack. She had saved them, many and many a time. But, when it had come to saving her, Max and Ross had come too late.

‘A penny for ’em.’

Max looked up. Rather against his will, he found himself returning Ross’s smile. There was something about those glinting blue eyes… Ross’s sunny nature seemed to admit neither defeat nor despair. And his optimism was infectious on a dank February day by a graveyard.

‘What you need, my friend,’ said Ross, his smile broadening into a grin, ‘apart from the punch, of course, is a battle to fight. Can’t be brooding on your own troubles if the enemy is marching over the ridge.’

Max laughed, but there was precious little humour in it. ‘No chance of that, Ross. Boney’s finished now.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of Boney, as it happens, though I, for one, won’t write him off till he’s dead. Elba is too near France for my liking.’

The Earl shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing.

‘No, I was thinking about you, Max. You need to get your teeth into something. Something worthwhile. Why don’t you do something in the House? You were talking about the plight of the old soldiers begging in the streets. Why not take up their cause?’

‘Because I can’t afford to take my seat, if you must know. With no money, I’m a pretty sorry excuse for an earl.’ He realised he was sounding increasingly testy. It was yet another lamentable Rosevale trait. He must make more effort to curb it.

‘Forgive me, but I don’t understand. You were comfortable enough before.’

‘I still am—for an anonymous captain in a marching regiment. But an earl… That’s entirely different, Ross. An earl has houses, estates, retainers, obligations… I have the title and the obligations, but nowhere near enough blunt to meet them. That’s just one more charge to lay at old man Penrose’s door. He and that daughter of his have tied me hand and foot.’

‘You speak almost as if he were still alive. What on earth is the matter with you? Old Penrose is dead more than a twelvemonth. You are the Earl of Penrose now.’

‘Aye, but his daughter lives on to laugh in my face. The haughty—and wealthy—Baroness Rosevale carries on where her father left off. Both venting their spite on our family.’

‘You—’

‘Confound it, Ross. You know as well as I do how they treated Aunt Mary. Old Penrose was a black-hearted devil. I’d wager his daughter is the same.’

‘Word is, she’s barren.’

‘What?’

‘Married for years, but no children. Surely you knew that? So it’s just a matter of time. One day the barony, and all that goes with it, will come to you. You’ll be able to take your seat in the Lords then.’

Max shook his head. ‘I doubt that very much, Ross. You’ve forgotten that her ladyship is several years younger than I am. Probably disgustingly healthy, to boot. No, I’m afraid that if I’m eventually to inherit, it will have to be through my children.’

‘Er…doesn’t that require you to have a wife, first?’

‘You know perfectly well that it does,’ his lordship said sharply, pressing his lips together into a tight, angry line.

‘Mmm.’ Ross paused. ‘You know,’ he said musingly, totally ignoring his friend’s dark frown, ‘you could always think about marrying the Baroness yourself. That way, you would get control of your inheritance all the sooner.’

Penrose merely shook his head wearily. He had his temper well in hand now. ‘I had always thought you were out of your mind, Ross. Now, I’m sure of it. Must be the fiery red hair. Clearly all that heat addles the brain.’

‘No more! No more!’ Lady Charlotte pushed away the smelling salts that Angel had been waving under her nose. ‘I am perfectly recovered, I assure you.’

Looking at her aunt’s ashen features, Angel knew better. The old lady was still far from well, but argument would achieve nothing. Besides, there was still their astonishing visitor to consider.

‘Shall I tell the gentleman that your ladyship is not at home? I—’

‘No, Willett,’ said Angel, glancing up from where she knelt by her aunt’s chair, ‘that will not do. Not if he is part of the family. Ask him to wait in the library. Tell him I shall join him there presently. Lady Charlotte will remain here until she is recovered.’

‘As your ladyship wishes.’

The door had barely closed behind him when Lady Charlotte said urgently, ‘He is an impostor. He must be. If Julian were still alive, he would have contacted us long ago. It’s been more than twenty years. Why would he wait until now?’

Angel rose to her feet, still holding her aunt’s slightly clammy hand. ‘Because…because now he can claim the titles,’ she said slowly.

Lady Charlotte started, and then nodded reluctantly. ‘That would be true, of course. My brother was…is…was no fool. Though he would be nearly as poor as Frederick, since neither of them has any claim on the Barony. Oh, Julian…’ She shook her head, frowning slightly, but suddenly her expression cleared. ‘If it is Julian, just think how Frederick’s nose will be put out of joint. He’ll be mad as fire to be plain Mr Frederick Rosevale all over again. Why, it is famous!’

Angel released her aunt’s hand and moved towards the door. ‘Poor Frederick,’ she said under her breath. She closed it quietly behind her and started down the staircase to the library.

Poor Frederick, indeed. His earldom might not be worth much, but it did confer a certain standing in Society. To have it whisked out of his fingers, barely months after he had grasped it, would be humiliating in the extreme. Had he done anything to deserve this kind of treatment? Aunt Charlotte seemed to think so. But Aunt Charlotte’s views were not unbiased, judging by today’s outburst of venom. On occasion, she could be remarkably difficult. Why did—?

Willett had already thrown open the library door. And, as Angel reached it, the gentleman standing by the huge stone fireplace turned round to greet her.

‘Oh—’ Angel stopped on the threshold, transfixed. The man before her was certainly no newly discovered uncle. This man was probably no older than Angel herself.

But he was, without doubt, the handsomest man she had ever beheld.

Chapter Two

A ngel’s breath had caught in her throat. For a second, the two simply stared at each other. Neither seemed able to utter a word.

Then, with a tiny shrug, the apparition straightened and came towards her. An odd smile fluttered for a moment at the corner of his mouth as he made his bow, an old-fashioned courtly gesture, with an elaborate sweep of his arm. ‘My lady, you do me too much honour.’

That bow belonged to a bygone age, Angel thought. How strange. This man might claim to be a Rosevale, but he could not be English. He—

Just then, he straightened and smiled at her. It was such a dazzling smile that, for a moment, she could neither think nor speak.

He took another step towards her.

Angel forced her tumbling thoughts into the beginnings of order. She must take charge of this encounter. She was the head of the Rosevale family, was she not?