Fallen Angel (15 page)

“Perhaps you might tell me what it is that I have done to offend you?” Gabriel asked. Clearly it was the wrong thing to say.

“Your very presence in London offends me—nay, your very existence upon this earth must be offensive to all men of good breeding,” Phillip said, his tone becoming surly.

“Yes, yes, I will grant you that my failure to expire is a great inconvenience to you, but since I have done nothing to cause you to think that my demise was imminent, I find that insufficient reason for you to screech at me this way.”

“Insufficient reason? You paid off the mortgages on Sherington Close—do you not call that sufficient reason? You blackguard!”

Even knowing it would only enrage his cousin all the more, Gabriel could not completely repress a smile. “It is less than a month since you berated me for not paying off the mortgages, and now you are angry at me for doing so. Really, my dear cousin, you should strive to be a bit more consistent, else you can hardly blame me for failing to act in accordance with your wishes.”

“You don’t care tuppence about my wishes,” Phillip said with a snarl. “You only paid off the mortgages because you intend to marry that—that
female
.”

There was a long silence, and Phillip was beginning to shift uneasily on the carriage seat by the time Gabriel finally spoke. “Do you know, I had not realized before how brave you are. I doubt there is another man in London with courage enough to speak so to me. Or perhaps you are just too stupid to realize how dangerous an enemy I can be?”

“Bah, you would never lift a finger against me. Indeed you cannot, because I am your heir.” Phillip’s attempt to sound self-confident fell short of the mark.

“Before your tongue gets you into any more trouble,” Gabriel said smoothly, “I had better explain some of the facts of life to you. To begin with, I am not a patient man. I have allowed you more liberties than most men because in the eyes of the world you are my cousin, even though the two of us know that our relationship exists only on paper. But tonight you have quite exhausted any credit you may have had with me. If you interfere in my life in the future, whether by word or deed, you will discover just how ruthless I can be. And do not expect the slightest mercy because of our supposed relationship.”

“It doesn’t matter what I do,” Phillip said with a whine, “for you mean to destroy me in any case. If you marry that little nobody, you might as well put a bullet through my heart, for you will beggar me.”

“No one forced you to make so many wagers on the length of my bachelorhood.”

“It will be your fault if I lose all those bets, so you have an obligation to take care of things for me.”

“I shall be more than happy to,” Gabriel replied, and his companion sat up a little straighter.

“You will?”

“Indeed yes. And I shall even let you decide where you will be exiled—Calcutta or Jamaica.”

Fortunately, they arrived at the Albany before Phillip had a chance to tell Gabriel exactly what he thought of that solution.

By the time Gabriel returned to his own house, his mood had not improved. He was, in fact, calling himself seven kinds of fool for having wasted an evening checking out the gossip in the clubs. He had accomplished nothing except to deprive himself of Miss Jolliffe’s company.

Seeking what little consolation there was in a bottle of brandy, he sat alone by the fire in his study and tried to come up with a strategy for winning Miss Jolliffe’s love. The trick, of course, was to figure out what it was that women wanted from men.

Actually Gabriel had figured that out years ago—women wanted power and control. The problem was that Miss Jolliffe was different from other females. She did not seem to have any desire to manipulate him for her own devious purposes.

By the time the bottle of brandy was half empty, it occurred to Gabriel that Miss Jolliffe might simply wish to be courted in a traditional way. Flowers, candy, and books of poetry were acceptable presents and might be the way to her heart.

To be sure, flowers were difficult to come by this time of year, and he had never seen any sign that Miss Jolliffe had a sweet tooth. But now that he thought about it, he did not doubt that if he searched through the hundreds of books he had inherited, he would find a volume of poetry suitable for a young lady.

Upon first entering the library, his task appeared daunting, but he soon realized he could skip the shelves that were laden with sets of large volumes bound in matching calfskin, and focus his attention on the bottom shelves where the smaller books were jammed together in a rather higgledy-piggledy fashion.

His ancestors—or rather, the Rainsford family—seemed to have had an inordinate fondness for improving sermons, he concluded after the first fifteen minutes. Although since most of the volumes did not even have their pages cut, it would seem that few of the Rainsfords had actually taken advantage of the opportunities available for improving themselves.

In the middle of the fourth shelf that he checked, he found a slender volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets, which seemed exactly suited to his purpose. Next to it was a small, dusty book with a hand-tooled leather cover, and out of curiosity he pulled it from the shelf also.

Opening it, he discovered it was a journal containing recipes and instructions written in a variety of hands, some tiny and crabbed, others bold and flowing.

Remembering the glow in her eyes when she talked about running the household, he realized with glee that Miss Jolliffe would doubtless appreciate such a book more than she would a book of sonnets—or even a diamond necklace.

His immediate impulse was to take it to her at once, but a moment’s proper reflection was enough to show him that would be foolish. Assuming he even found her at home—and given the number of invitations that were daily pouring into the Wasteney household, that was not at all a given—she would doubtless be surrounded by her relatives.

For such a gift to have the desired effect—namely to cause Miss Jolliffe to throw herself into his arms with avowals of eternal love—he needed to give it to her in private, which meant he would have to wait until their morning drive.

Taking his newfound treasure with him, he retired to his study, where he polished off the rest of the bottle of brandy and admired the insignificant-appearing volume that was destined to be the key to Miss Jolliffe’s heart.

“Have you ever spent such an enjoyable evening?” Petronella gushed. “Such exalted company—such witty conversation.”

“I thought the champagne rather inferior actually,” Ralph said, “although the brandy was decent. Smuggled, no doubt, but no preventative would dare to inspect Lord Dalyrumple’s cellars, of that you may be certain.”

What was certain, Verity thought to herself, was that a party without Lord Sherington was decidedly flat, no matter how exalted the rest of the company. For despite the obvious expectations of the entire crowd assembled at Lord Dalyrumple’s house for an evening of cards, Lord Sherington had not put in an appearance.

Fortunately her sister and brother-in-law were too obtuse to have noticed the looks of disgust and contempt that followed them out the door. Lord and Lady Dalyrumple obviously were of the opinion that they had been cheated—and that the Wasteneys were at fault.

Verity felt a niggling worry that Lord Sherington’s absence that evening meant he had already lost interest in her, but then remembering her resolve, she firmly pushed such thoughts out of her mind and went to bed, there to dream about seeing him again in the morning.

Despite his absence tonight, he would come on the morrow, she reassured herself repeatedly. Whatever he wanted from her, he had not yet gotten it, so he would be in front of the house punctually at nine.

Then for an hour or so she would be able to look at his beloved face, hear his voice, and even touch his arm. For a short period of time she would feel herself truly alive, and the world would be a wondrous place.

In the morning Gabriel was halfway to the Wasteneys’ residence before he realized he had forgotten the little volume of household instruction. He despised lack of punctuality, and now he himself was going to be late.

For a moment he considered postponing giving Miss Jolliffe the journal, but then he admitted he could not wait another twenty-four hours, and with a curse, he turned his horses around and headed back toward his own house.

Just one street away from Grosvenor Square, he spotted Fitch, his valet, climbing into a strange carriage
...
except it was not actually a strange carriage. It belonged, Gabriel realized, to his Aunt Cudmore, and instead of driving away after his passenger climbed in, the coachman held the restless horses in check.

His suspicions immediately aroused, Gabriel turned off on Chapel Street, where he quickly found a small boy to walk his horses. Then approaching his aunt’s coach on foot, Gabriel positioned himself where he could observe what transpired without himself being seen.

After about twenty minutes the door opened, Fitch climbed out, and the coach drove away. The valet began walking rapidly back in the direction of Sherington House, with Gabriel stalking unobserved behind him.

Fitch entered by the servants’ door, and after a discreet interval, Gabriel followed, luckily finding the door unlocked. Voices were coming from the servants’ hall, and Gabriel recognized not only Fitch, but also the butler and the housekeeper.

“So what does Lady Ot
t
il
l
ia want us to do?”

“Yes, yes, what is the plan?”

“She is leaving it up to us how we do it, but one way or another we must prevent
Lord
Sherington”—There was a sneer in Fitch’s voice when he said the title “—from marrying Miss Jolliffe or indeed any woman.”

“It will not be easy,” the cook said dubiously.

“Easy or not,” the butler replied, “it is our only choice. I have served the Rainsfords man and boy for fifty-seven years, and it sticks in my craw that I have to bend my knee to an impostor. One way or another, I’ll see a true Rainsford master of this house again before I go to my grave.”

Clapping his hands slowly, Gabriel stepped into view. “Very prettily said.” Looking around the hall, he saw what appeared to be every one of his servants, from butler to scullery maid, coachman to stable lad, and he felt an overwhelming rage that they had dared to conspire against him.

But he had learned as a young boy how to hide his anger, and his voice was quite cool and impassive when he continued, “You have one hour to pack your things, and then each and every one of you will leave these premises forever.”

Jaws that had dropped open upon his unexpected appearance now snapped shut, and eyes that had goggled in surprise now narrowed in bitterness.

If he had seen any remorse, he might have relented
...
perhaps. But the question was moot, because all he saw in the circle of faces looking at him was resentment and hatred.

Pulling his watch out, he looked at it, then said, “You now have fifty-eight minutes.” Nobody got up from his seat, but watching them glance at each other in growing consternation, Gabriel could see that the enormity of what they had done was finally beginning to
sink
in.

Finally the parlor maid timidly raised her hand and asked, “Please, m’lord, what about references?”

“I suggest you apply to Lady Otti
l
lia, for you’ll get none from me,” he replied, again looking pointedly at his watch.

One of the footmen was the first to stand up and head for his room, and as if he were the signal the others had been waiting for, there was a general exodus. Fitch lingered behind, as if wishing to say something privately to Gabriel, but in the end he could not bring himself to offer up any excuses.

It took longer than an hour, because Gabriel inspected each of their bags before he allowed them to depart. Seeing what he was doing, one of the footmen and one of the upstairs maids quietly turned around and retreated to their rooms, reappearing a few minutes later with looks of total innocence on their faces.

The butler and the housekeeper were the last to leave, and they turned over their keys to Gabriel with obvious reluctance. He did not feel any particular sympathy for them, even though the mournful look on the butler’s face when he paused in the door and gazed around the servants’ hall for the last time would have won the man a place in any company of actors.

9

By the time V
erity admitted Lord Sherington was not coming, her jaw ached from clenching it, and the pain in her stomach was so great she was not sure she could straighten up. With trembling limbs, she rose from her seat by the front door, removed her cape and bonnet, and silently gave them to Otterwall. Then keeping her head bowed so that she would not have to witness the superior look the butler was undoubtedly giving her, she walked the length of the hall to the door leading to the back stairs.

She wanted nothing more than to retire to her room and remain in seclusion for the rest of her life, but instead she forced herself to descend to the kitchen. She had never thought of herself as prideful, but now she found she could not allow anyone else to know the depth of her pain.