Wicked Angel (3 page)

"What in the hell were you thinking?" he roared.

That did it. Lauren's eyes narrowed as she marched forward through the throng of children, her fists finding her hips. "What was
I
thinking? What were
you
thinking? You
promised
me, Uncle Ethan! You promised the children would be well tended!"

Startled, Ethan glanced sheepishly at the gaggle of children gathered around her. "I
did
care for them!" he blustered, his face turning red. "Do not attempt to turn the subject and don't talk to me of promises, girl!

You broke yours!"

Marching to where her corpulent uncle stood, Lauren shouted, "I did nothing of the sort! We had a signed
agreement
, and it was not fulfilled! That money did not belong to me!" Staring him straight in the eye, she silently dared him to disagree.

Ethan obviously was taken aback. He made a great show of straightening the lapels of his dressing gown as he muttered weakly, "Impertinent little wench."

But Lauren did not hear him. Mrs. Peterman had stepped out onto the drive, a slash of flour across her forehead and wisps of hair sticking out of her bun. With a squeal of delight, Lauren threw herself into the woman's arms. Hugging each other tightly, the two gleefully jumped up and down.

Ethan turned his hostility on Paul as he limped toward the riotous scene. "She signs it all away, and now she thinks she can do whatever she pleases! By God, she'll see differently, mark my words!" he growled.

Paul lifted a dubious brow as he watched Mrs. Peterman and Lauren, arm in arm, turn and stroll inside.

"Yes, she seems to be quaking in her boots." A smug smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he moved past his uncle, crowding with the children into the door behind his sister.

It had been just a little more than one month since her return to Rosewood, Lauren thought as she sat outside Dr. Stephens's drawing room. One month. Staring blankly at the wall, she marveled at what had happened in that time. First of all, Ethan had
mortified
her by announcing, almost the moment she had arrived at Rosewood, that he intended to marry her off again. That announcement had been followed by Mr. Thadeus Goldthwaite's attempted offer of marriage a scant four days later. It was enough to make her want to run screaming from the house.

Good
God!

She was not even
remotely
interested in marrying again—not to some infirm old man as Ethan undoubtedly had in mind, and most certainly
not
to the round little apothecary, Fastidious Thadeus Goldthwaite.

A sound caught her attention, and looking up, Lauren gasped in horror at the work Leonard and Horace had done to a bouquet of fresh cut flowers. Petals were strewn across the Oriental carpet and the small entry table, and only the stripped stems of the hothouse flowers remained in the hand-painted vase.

Lauren scrambled to her feet and rushed forward to clean the mess before Dr. Stephens found it.

Leonard moved to help her while Horace stood sullenly by.

"It's all right," Lauren hastily assured them, and searched for a place to discard the petals. There was no receptacle in sight except a canister reserved for canes and umbrellas. With a mischievous wink to the boys, she dumped the petals into the canister, then turned and held a finger to her lips before marching the children to the lone seat in the corridor.

She made them sit at her feet, her thoughts quickly returning to her dilemma. Though so very thankful to be home, she was absolutely sickened by the deplorable state of Rosewood. Paul had' explained to her that because of escalating parish taxes, falling grain prices, and enclosures all around them that left the best lands to the wealthy, Rosewood was left with only a fraction of arable land, and that overused.

"Representation is what we need!" he had blustered angrily. "There is no one in Parliament to look after
our
interests!"

She did not understand all that. But she understood that their land was so depressed it could not support a decent crop of grain, and even if it could, they could not afford the labor to harvest it, let alone the parish taxes. So she had racked her brain for a way to fix things.

She had been so intent on fixing things that she had not really paid Mrs. Peterman heed when she had tried to explain her solution for Rosewood. Lauren did not fully understand until the day Mr. Goldthwaite had come to Rosewood with herbs for the cough circulating among the children.

He then showed Lauren some of the herbs he had planted in the overgrown garden. The herb garden made Lauren think of the possibilities of trading the vine vegetables and fruits that seemed to grow rapidly and anywhere for supplies. Caught up in her ideas, Mr. Goldthwaite's botched attempt to kiss her surprised her so much that her heart had stopped for a moment. "
Mr. Goldthwaite!
" she had shrieked when the round man had unexpectedly clasped her in an ironclad embrace and pursed his lips. "Dear

God, let
go
of me!"

The man turned as red as a fat ripe apple and quickly dropped his arms. Lauren had searched frantically for a club with which to brain him, but finding none, had brought her hands to her hips and glared at him.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" she had demanded with all the authority of a countess.

The rotund shopkeeper had pulled himself up to his full height—roughly two inches shorter than her—and replied haughtily, "What do you
think
I am doing?"

Unfortunately, Lauren had startled them both by laughing, at which point Mr. Goldthwaite's color went from red to purple. "I am sorry, Mr. Goldthwaite, I do not mean to laugh. But you see—"

"I see very clearly, Countess Bergen," he said stiffly.

"
Hill
. Miss Hill," Lauren corrected. Much to Ethan's distress, she insisted on using her maiden name, believing she had no more claim to her title than she did the Bergen inheritance.

"I was given to understand from Mrs. Peterman that as you are now a widow—"

"
Oh!
Mr. Goldthwaite! Please, before you go any farther, you must understand my place is here at Rosewood. These children need me."

Fastidious Thadeus had puffed his barrel chest. "Indeed I
do
understand, madam, and I applaud your charitable disposition. I think such qualities are to be looked for in a wife, and you have those qualities in such abundance that I fully intend—"

"
Mr. Goldthwaite
, stop right there!" she had shrieked in horror, lifting her hand. "Please excuse me, sir.

There is something I must do right away,", she said unconvincingly, and had turned, intending to flee, but Mr. Goldthwaite had grabbed her hand and held it tightly. She had hastily jerked her hand from his grasp.

"Mr. Goldthwaite, you must put all thoughts of me from your mind—"

"Miss Hill, you cannot begin to imagine how my heart—"

"I really
must
go inside!"

"But Miss Hill, there is something I wish to
say
to you!" he had shouted earnestly. Lauren responded by turning on her heel and fleeing the garden, her last sight of Mr. Goldthwaite tipping his hat after her.

When she flew into the kitchen, Mrs. Peterman greeted her with a strange, gleeful look. "
Well?
Did Mr.

Goldthwaite have opportunity to speak with you?" the gray-haired housekeeper had asked, grinning unabashedly.

Lauren had collapsed onto a wooden bench. "God help me, but Thadeus Goldthwaite wants to
marry
me!"

"That's
wonderful!
" Mrs. Peterman squealed, clapping her dough-caked hands.

Lauren had gaped at her; she had obviously lost her mind. It was the most inconceivable, incredible, fantastic idea! "Mrs. Peterman, it is
impossible!
"

"Impossible?" the housekeeper had shouted. "It
is perfect!
You need to consider the practicalities of such a match, Lauren. He is a good man and a good provider. And he cares for these children—you cannot overlook that," she had blithely instructed her and had launched into such praise of Thadeus Goldthwaite that Lauren had begun to think the rotund apothecary must be kin to

Hercules himself.

Sitting in Dr. Stephens's foyer, Lauren almost choked just thinking about how intent everyone seemed on her marital state. She would rather walk off a cliff than marry Mr. Goldthwaite or anyone else.
If
she ever married again, it would be for love. Yet it seemed the entire adult population of Rosewood wanted to see her married because of the
practicalities
. Oh, she understood their thinking. Obviously, the best hope for Rosewood was for her to marry someone of means, and as it was apparent that Ethan and Mrs.

Peterman would struggle with one another to marry her off, she had desperately searched for another idea. If only she could make the farm profitable again, she reasoned, she could end this mad race to the altar.

Well, she had at last hit upon an idea, and it was that which brought her to the doctor's house today. The two children who accompanied her, despite their obvious energy to tumble on the carpet, were suffering from a cough that would not go away.

A door suddenly opened; Lauren shifted her gaze from the children to an elderly gentleman who was peering at her from above the tops of his wire-rimmed spectacles. "Who are you? Don't recall seeing you about," he said gruffly.

Lauren stood, and with a gentle command to the two children, politely extended her hand. "I am Lauren Hill."

"Hill? I knew a Miss Hill—Dear Lord, are you her? My, you have changed!"

"Yes sir," she said graciously, then glanced meaningfully at the children.

The doctor followed her gaze and peered at her charges. "Your children?"

"They reside at Rosewood."

"Ah, Rosewood, of course."

"They have a cough that will not go away," she informed him.

The doctor stepped around her, and with hands on hips, stared at the two children. Leonard, with the unsightly birthmark, looked him squarely in the eye. The younger boy fidgeted with his frayed belt. "Well, Miss Hill, bring them in and we shall see what can be done for a cough that will not go away," he said brusquely, then turned and marched back into the spacious drawing room.

Dr. Stephens walked to a shelf holding vials of various shapes. "Bring me a boy," he said absently as he studied one vial. He was not a man given to sentiment. He had gotten over that particular affliction several years ago. As a young doctor, it had occurred to him that he could not very well perform his duties if he was going to be emotionally affected by every unfortunate he saw. He knew Leonard, had known him since he was a baby and Leonard's mama had tried to drown the poor child. He had seen him sporadically throughout the last ten or twelve years and as would be expected, the boy was traumatized by the large port-stain that marred his appearance. As if being born to a whore and then orphaned were not enough strikes against him, he bore an ugly mark that made heads turn.

When he turned back to see what held the child, he could not keep his jaw from dropping. Miss Hill had apparently worked magic on the unfortunate little boy. Kneeling beside him, she was brushing his red hair from his eyes and whispering something to him with a smile that made even Dr. Stephens sit up and take notice. Leonard was standing tall, and, Dr. Stephens would later swear on his medical journals, the lad was smiling. He had never seen Leonard smile. Amazed, he watched as the lad marched toward him with

a strong, proud countenance.

"Miss Hill says I might have a spoonful of delight," the lad announced.

"Beg your pardon?" Stephens managed to choke out as he looked down at Leonard. Miss Hill cleared her throat; Dr. Stephens glanced up in time to receive a pointed look from her.

"A spoonful of delight. To clear the cough," Leonard repeated.

"A spoonful of delight, is it? Well, let me hear you breathe, boy," he said, and pressed his ear against Leonard's chest. He checked the child for fever. "Yes, a spoonful of delight is just the thing," he said, astonished that he, notorious for his less than sympathetic bedside manner, should call the foul liquid he was about to pour into that child a
spoonful of delight
. He retrieved a bottle from the shelf and poured a large spoonful. "Well then, open wide," he said, and tossed the liquid down the boy's throat. Leonard swallowed, then turned to Miss Hill. She smiled charmingly and held out her hand. Immediately, he went and slipped his hand into hers, then pushed the other boy forward, who marched resolutely to Dr.

Stephens's side.

"Miss Hill said I might get a
double
dose of delight," he said proudly. With a
humph
, Dr. Stephens bent to listen to the boy's breathing. She was right; Horace's rattle was worse than Leonard's.

"A double dose, then," he muttered, and poured the pungent medicine.

Horace swallowed the first mouthful without expression or comment, waited patiently for the second, then turned and walked back to Miss Hill. "How long will the delight last?" he asked her.

"I should think until tomorrow, would you not agree, Dr. Stephens?"

"I would," he said curtly.

"I think—and please correct me if I am wrong, sir—but shan't the boys begin to feel the delight tingling first in their toes in just a few moments? I thought so. Now boys, please have a seat near the door and do
not
touch anything. There is something I would discuss with Dr. Stephens," she said.

Like perfect little gentlemen, the boys obediently took seats near the door.

By Dr. Stephens's account, everything he had just witnessed was a bloody miracle. Whatever she had done to bolster the confidence in the two young lads was worth every ounce of effort with which he could support her. Hell, he would just like to know how she had done it, if nothing else. "Miss Hill, I do not know what you have done—"

"You mean the flowers," she smiled with an airy wave of her hand. "I am dreadfully sorry about that; I am afraid I was a bit preoccupied," she said sweetly.