Regency Society Collection Part 2. Ann Lethbridge

she is a good deal better and hopes to grace us with her presence at dinner this evening.’

      ‘I must offer you my deep apologies, Angelina. Alex should not have subjected you to that rude display of ill temper earlier,’ Verity said, throwing her cousin a glance of severe displeasure. ‘He can be so overbearing at times.’

      ‘My sentiments exactly,’ Angelina agreed, feeling a fresh surge of anger against Alex for chastising her in front of these two, which he must have known would humiliate her. Her confrontation with Alex had been so distressing and unsettling to her peace of mind however, she remained silent, wanting to put the unpleasant incident behind her.

      Alex had no intention of letting her off the hook lightly. He moved to take a dominant, indolent stance by the fireplace, one arm braced on the mantelpiece. His jaw was set hard, his eyes intense as he slanted a look at Angelina.

      ‘By taking Forest Shadow out of the stables without my permission, what else did you expect from me? To ask if you’d had a pleasant ride?’ he asked, the ghost of an ironic smile suddenly touching his mouth as his manner began to soften towards her at last. ‘I am a reasonable man, Angelina, and I am perfectly willing to allow you as much freedom as you wish, but that does not mean for you to act brazenly and irresponsibly—and taking the Shadow was an exceedingly irresponsible act on your part.’

      ‘Pay no attention to my ill-tempered cousin,’ Verity said, casting Alex a slightly imperious though smiling look in an attempt to ward off further argument. ‘I must express my admiration for your courage. You have my profound sympathy for what you must have endured—having to put up with him at Arlington all alone whilst Mama has been indisposed. It cannot have been easy for you.’

      ‘No—but I’ve found myself in far worse situations than trying to keep on the right side of an irate lord.’

      Verity laughed, a pleasant, warm sound, which went a long way to relieving the tension in the quiet room. ‘Come and sit by me and we will have a quiet gossip together without being overheard by these tiresome men. I’m sure they’ll have plenty to converse about without us. I want to hear all about America. There is a breath of adventure and excitement about it I find fascinating. We hear such varied and colourful tales that I would simply adore to go there myself.’

      ‘You would?’ Nathan remarked, somewhat astonished. ‘First I’ve heard of it.’

      ‘That’s because you can see no further than Europe and what’s happening in France, my love,’ his wife said with sudden playfulness, which was so much a part of her charming nature. ‘My husband’s interest in politics exceeds everything else, Angelina. Whenever France and that upstart Napoleon are mentioned, he immediately becomes embroiled in a serious debate. I’m afraid that the Duke of Wellington and the progress of the war in the Peninsula eclipses all else.’

      ‘As it does in all who are politically minded,’ Nathan stated.

      With a deep sigh Verity gave Angelina a long suffering ‘now do you see what I mean’ look. ‘My dear husband eats, sleeps and breathes politics. You really should consider being a Member of Parliament, Nathan, and then you could air your views openly in the House of Commons—where, hopefully, you would wear yourself out in debate and be happy to come home to me. We could then converse on more agreeable matters that interest us both.’

      Taking Angelina’s hand, Verity moved away from them and drew her down beside her on a sofa. ‘I’m so glad we’re going to be friends, Angelina.’

      ‘So am I. When I returned to Boston from Ohio I had so much to do and so many responsibilities. I had no true female friends.’

      Verity saw a strange brooding look darken the brilliant eyes. ‘Then we shall rectify that as soon as you return to London,’ she said gently. ‘We shall go shopping together and drive daily through the park—and there will be parties to attend and the theatre. We shall have such fun together. Although I must warn you that London in winter can be a cold and dreary place, so I shall steal you from Uncle Henry. You must come to Hanover Square and stay with us.’

      ‘I would like that.’

      ‘I was truly sorry to hear of your mother’s recent death, Angelina. Pray accept my deepest sympathies.’

      ‘Thank you. Uncle Henry has been very kind to me. I am so looking forward to seeing Mowbray Park. While I’m there I hope to persuade Uncle Henry to take me to Kent so that I might see where my mother lived.’

      Verity merely smiled and nodded, taken aback by what she said, wondering if Uncle Henry and Alex knew what she intended. Like everyone else, Verity was aware that Angelina’s maternal grandmother was still alive. She had no idea why Uncle Henry wanted it kept from his young ward, and her natural curiosity had been roused, but, not being the sort of man to indulge in subterfuge without good reason, she would respect his wishes and remain silent on the matter.

      Angelina was unaware when Alex left the room and returned after just a few minutes’ absence. She would have been surprised and angry to learn that he had gone directly to her room, startling a bemused Pauline, who watched in rigid, terrified silence as he strode into the dressing room and snatched Angelina’s discarded trousers and shirt off the floor where she had left them in a heap. Alex thrust the garments into her arms.

      ‘Drinkwater, the gardener, is burning some rubbish in the kitchen gardens. Take them and burn them before your mistress returns,’ he ordered.

      When he returned, Angelina caught the smug, self-satisfied look he threw her way but thought nothing of it just then. It would be some time before she missed her breeches and shirt, and when she did they would have ceased to matter.

      Sleep, chased by a thousand images, eluded Angelina. Dark shadows darted eerily into the corners of the room, transforming them into secret places hiding a hundred ghosts. Scrambling out of bed, she went to the window. Suddenly a brilliant cobalt blue streak of lightning flashed in a sudden spurt of brilliance across the sky, quickly followed by a rolling rumble of thunder. Rain began lashing at the glass panes and the wind rose to a fierce pitch, bending and twisting the trees in the garden so that they resembled grotesque, tortured beings, their huge shadows moving on the ground like furtive, creeping—what? Indians? Gypsies?

      They were like the fairytale monsters of her childhood that had waited somewhere beyond the bed in the dark. Something terrifying pierced the raw centre of her soul, tearing open old wounds and clawing at her with savage, dirty fingers. Quickly she ran back to bed and buried her head beneath the covers, telling herself not to be silly and forcing herself to concentrate on sleep, willing the past to go away. But it refused. It whispered in the air about her, creeping closer still. A branch was beating on the window like the rhythmic beat of a drum, growing stronger and stronger as the wind increased in strength.

      Eventually she fell into a fitful sleep invaded by hideous memories and her nightmare returned for the first time since she had left Boston. Cold and shivering, suddenly she was fifteen again and her terrors engulfed her—cold and implacable, real. A mist swirled around her, cloying, choking. The figure of the Shawnee materialised out of the shadows, out of the dark, and she was screaming and struggling with this creature who had killed her father and injured her mother, who was now trying to kill her. She was clawing at the face, watching bright red blood spurt from where her fingernails had raked his skin. She had to kill him—but where was the knife? Oh, dear God. Where was the knife? She must find the knife.

      After sharing a few late-hour brandies in front of the fire with Nathan when the ladies had retired, Alex bade him goodnight. Walking past Angelina’s room, he paused, straining his ears, hearing faint sounds coming from within. Believing the noise he’d heard to be the night storm, he was about to move on, but the sound came again. Someone was crying, whimpering, he was certain of it. Remembering how pale and anxious Angelina had been before going to bed, he became concerned. Unable to quell his curiosity or stem the need to comfort her, he went inside.

      Closing the door behind him, he stood for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Angelina’s broken crying and muttering came from the bed. Wondering what could have