The Wolf's Promise (12 page)

Mrs Faulkener nodded, although there was a flash of annoyance in her eyes.

‘Sir William is a good man,' she said with some asperity, ‘but I wish he wasn't so prone to turn other people's lives upside down in his quest for the truth!'

Benoît laughed and turned to Angelica with a hint of apology in his eyes.

‘I'm sorry, my lady,' he said sincerely. ‘I hate to abandon you like this, but I will see you before you leave in the morning; and I will certainly keep my promise to the Earl.'

Angelica stood up instinctively, her hands gripped together anxiously.

‘Do you know the man? Can you provide him with an alibi?' she asked, more bluntly than she'd intended.

She was remembering Benoît's absence the previous night, and wondering whether Sir William's letter had made more dangerous accusations than Benoît had chosen to reveal. She was suddenly frightened for him, although that was ridiculous. It was impossible to imagine that Benoît wasn't equal to any threat Sir William might pose to his security.

Benoît smiled as he took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly as he bowed with his customary grace.

‘I certainly know the man,' he said easily. ‘And it doesn't sound as if Sir William has much in the way of evidence. I think he's just so exasperated that he's trying to frighten the
poor fellow. It shouldn't be difficult to sort out. Good evening, my lady.'

Angelica watched him leave the room with an anxious expression in her eyes. For a moment she had completely forgotten Mrs Faulkener's presence.

‘Don't worry, my lady,' said the Frenchwoman cheerfully. ‘Whatever may have happened, Sir William is no match for my son. I'm sure everything will be all right—but I'm sorry he has broken up our evening!'

‘It is a pity.' Angelica sat down again, reassured by Mrs Faulkener's unquestioning confidence in Benoît.

But now that he had gone she felt deflated and at a loss. The evening which had offered so much promise seemed to stretch emptily before her, and the weariness which she had falsely claimed that morning finally caught up with her.

It was months since she had been riding and her muscles were stiff and sore from the unaccustomed exercise. Until that moment she hadn't even been aware of her tiredness, but now all she wanted to do was lie down on her bed and sleep.

‘My lady?' said Mrs Faulkener enquiringly.

‘I'm sorry.' Angelica roused herself to smile at her hostess. ‘I haven't been riding for so long—I suddenly feel very tired. Perhaps I ought to have another cup of tea.'

‘Perhaps you ought to go to bed,' Mrs Faulkener suggested gently. ‘I hate to remind you, but tomorrow you'll have to spend several hours in the coach.'

A flicker of reluctance crossed Angelica's face, partly be
cause the idea of being jolted around in the carriage was unpleasant, but mainly because she didn't like the idea of leaving.

Although it hadn't occurred to her, her response to Mrs Faulkener's remark was giving credence to the hasty excuse she had made to Benoît that morning for staying another day at Holly House.

Her father's accident had never made her fearful of travelling, but Mrs Faulkener didn't know that. The Frenchwoman had a very clear memory of how strained and anxious Angelica had been when she first arrived. She found it easy to believe that Angelica was reluctant to travel more than fifty miles over bad, winter roads on her own.

‘My lady, when Benoît returns, I will ask him if he'll take you back to London himself,' said Mrs Faulkener suddenly.

‘What?' Angelica exclaimed, looking up in astonishment.

‘He will be able to speak to the Earl in person, and you need have no fear that an accident might occur while he is with you,' Mrs Faulkener continued, warming to her theme.

‘Oh, but…' Angelica began to demure, then hesitated.

There was no reason why Benoît shouldn't come to London to speak to her father. She wondered why the idea hadn't occurred to her before—and why Benoît hadn't suggested it himself. Surely it would be the natural thing for him to do?

‘Good!' said Mrs Faulkener briskly, taking Angelica's consent for granted. ‘I'm sure you will sleep much better tonight, my lady, now that's decided—and so shall I. I didn't like the idea of you travelling so far alone—even though I
know you've got your maid and your coachman with you. But Benoît will take good care of you.'

She stood up, and Angelica followed suit.

‘Good night, my lady,' said Mrs Faulkener. ‘Now I really must go and talk to the cook. She was terribly upset this afternoon. She burnt the soup twice!'

Angelica began to walk slowly upstairs. Some of her tiredness had vanished, although she was trying not to admit to herself how much she owed her improved spirits to Mrs Faulkener's suggestion. If Benoît came to London…

She heard a quick, light tread on the stairs above her and looked up to see him coming down towards her, two steps at a time. Her heart gave a great bound in her breast and she caught her breath.

‘I thought you'd gone,' she said foolishly, hoping against hope that he didn't know how powerfully his unexpected appearance had affected her.

He grinned.

‘I'm on my way,' he said. ‘But I think even Sir William at his most impatient would understand my reluctance to ride around the countryside in full evening dress!'

‘Yes, of course!' Angelica exclaimed, wondering why she hadn't thought of that for herself.

Benoît was once again dressed in the familiar black riding coat and breeches which he had worn at their first meeting.

She hesitated, looking up at him as she wondered whether to mention his mother's idea to him.

‘What is it, my lady?' he asked.

‘Nothing.' The suggestion would sound better coming from Mrs Faulkener. ‘I hope you're able to placate Sir William,' she said.

‘Have no fear of that.' He touched her cheek lightly, and then, almost as if it was against his better judgement, he bent his head and kissed her quickly on the lips.

She half lifted her hand towards him, but he was already stepping back.

‘Good night, Angelica,' he said softly. ‘Sleep well.'

She turned and watched him run lightly down the rest of the stairs, her hand pressed against her tingling lips, wishing she knew what was in his mind.

Then a look of puzzlement stole into her eyes. There had been something different about him. He'd been dressed in black as before, but something…if only she could think what…something had been—

He'd been wearing a black cravat!

In fact, he'd been dressed entirely in black, without even the white shirt frills at his cuffs to relieve the sombre impression.

Angelica's eyes narrowed as she remembered her earlier suspicions about why he chose to wear black—and her idle curiosity as to how he might conceal his white cravat when he was trying to avoid detection.

Now she knew. And surely he wouldn't dress in such a funereal fashion just to visit Sir William?

She stood stock-still for several seconds, then picked up
her skirts and ran pell-mell upstairs. She burst into her room and tugged energetically on the bell pull, before struggling to extricate herself as quickly as she could from the formal satin gown. The tiny buttons resisted her attempts at speed and she pulled impatiently at the fastenings, hearing the fabric tear beneath her hands.

‘My lady, what is it?' Martha arrived breathlessly. ‘Are you ill?'

‘Get me out of this dress,' Angelica said urgently. ‘Hurry.'

‘Why?'

‘Don't argue, just do it!'

Martha did as she was bid, her lips pressed together in a thin, anxious line.

‘Where's the riding habit?' Angelica spun around. ‘Good.'

She almost snatched it from Martha in her impatience.

‘Where are you going?' Martha demanded.

‘I don't know,' Angelica replied briefly.

She seized up a dark shawl and wrapped it around her head, covering the bright golden curls.

‘Come with me,' she said imperatively to Martha. ‘I might need you to distract the groom.' A brief, reckless smile lit up her face. ‘I understand you're good at it,' she added.

They ran downstairs, Angelica in the lead, cautious in her haste, but there was no one in sight. Mrs Faulkener was presumably consoling the cook in the kitchen, and Benoît had already left. They let themselves quietly out of the front
door and hurried round to the stables, careful to keep in the shadows.

‘What—?' Martha began.

‘Shush!' Angelica silenced her quickly.

She flattened herself against the wall of the house, hardly daring to breathe as she heard hooves striking on the cobblestones. Benoît exchanged a couple of words with his groom, and then she saw him ride past, less than twenty feet away, his dark shape silhouetted against the paler night sky. He was riding one horse and leading another, and Angelica was sure her instinctive suspicions had been correct. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation for why he should need to take a spare horse to Sir William, but she couldn't think of one.

‘Come on!' she whispered to Martha.

‘What's going on?' Martha whispered back.

‘I don't know, but I'm going to find out!' Angelica declared in a low voice. ‘You keep Thomas occupied while I saddle the mare!'

‘My lady!'
Martha's protest was no less vehement for being uttered in a tone that wouldn't have been audible from two feet away.

‘Are you telling me you can't do it?' Angelica challenged her.

‘Of course I can, but…' Martha realised she was voicing her protests to empty air and abandoned her attempt to make Angelica see reason.

‘Wait here,' she said as she caught up with her mistress.

‘You'll have to get the saddle out of the tackroom while I distract Thomas. Be careful how you lead the mare over the cobbles or he'll hear her.'

Angelica huddled in the shadows and watched as her maid sauntered out into the stableyard. There was something subtly different about Martha, she even moved differently from the grim, sour-faced woman Angelica was so familiar with.

Even in the grip of the urgent excitement which filled her, Angelica was reminded of how much she had taken for granted before she came to Sussex. The world around her was changing shape before her eyes. Was that Benoît's influence?

‘Good evening, Thomas,' said Martha.

‘Miss Farley!' The groom turned as she spoke to him, unmistakable pleasure in his voice. ‘Doesn't her ladyship need you?'

‘She's asleep in bed,' Martha replied, a hint of laughter in her voice. ‘She hasn't been riding for nearly a year—the exercise fairly tired her out.'

‘I'd never have known. She looks good in the saddle,' said Thomas appreciatively.

‘She should—the Earl spent hours teaching her,' said Martha indulgently.

She was standing very close to Thomas, and Angelica was sure she heard the groom's quick intake of breath as he looked down at her.

‘I'd like to see
you
in the saddle,' said Thomas hoarsely. ‘Are you really leaving tomorrow?'

‘I'm afraid so,' said Martha regretfully. ‘Unless I can
think of a way to persuade her ladyship to stay. Do you have any suggestions?' She smiled up at Thomas, moving slightly so that to look at her he had to turn his back on Angelica.

Angelica stared at Martha in disbelief for a moment. Then she collected her wits and darted silently behind Thomas.

The tackroom was lit by a single lantern and Angelica spotted the lady's saddle immediately. She found a bridle, lifted the saddle down, careful not to let the tack jingle together, and slipped out of the tackroom and into the stables.

By the time she found the mare her arms were tense with the strain of carrying the saddle in complete silence. She'd had no choice but to allow her skirts to drag on the ground. Fortunately, Thomas had hung a lantern on a hook when he'd saddled the horses for Benoît, and there was enough light for Angelica to see what she was doing.

She heard voices outside, and knew that Martha had led her eager suitor into the tackroom. She hoped he wouldn't notice the missing saddle, then decided he was too entranced by Martha to notice anything else.

She spoke softly to Dorcas and slipped the bridle neatly over her head. It occurred to her briefly, and incongruously, that she had less trouble dressing the mare than she did herself.

As a child, she had spent far more time in the stables than her mother had thought suitable, and she had been fascinated by all aspects of horsemanship. Now she was grateful for that early training. She saddled the mare as quickly as she could and led her out of the stables. Dorcas's hooves seemed to ring loudly on the cobblestones and Angelica's heart leapt
in her mouth at the possibility that someone might surprise her—but the tackroom door remained firmly closed.

She paused by the mounting block and clambered into the saddle, hoping she had tightened the girths sufficiently to hold it firmly in place. The mare tossed her head, but made no other protest to the eccentric behaviour of her rider, and Angelica followed in the direction she had seen Benoît take.

He'd had several minutes' head start over her, but he hadn't been hurrying, and she was almost certain he was going towards the sea. Where else
could
he be going? She had a good sense of direction, and it wasn't too difficult for her to retrace their steps of that morning, but she was anxious in case she missed him—or overtook him unexpectedly.

She tied the shawl firmly under her chin and looked around at the dark, shadowy landscape. In this flat country surely she ought to be able to see him in the distance—but she might have been alone beneath the lofty stars.

It was very cold. The wind which had seemed almost invigorating that morning was now icy and hostile, cutting through her riding habit and chilling her bones. It sliced through the dank, winter grass beneath the mare's hooves and snatched Angelica's breath from her mouth.