Wicked Angel (4 page)

"Pardon?"

"The flowers. Unfortunately, I do not have any coin, or I would gladly replace them, but it's a condition I'm afraid I shall not see remedied for a time. Please don't say anything yet, because I come with a proposition. You see, the children of Rosewood are not receiving the medical attention they need." He must have looked puzzled as he adjusted his spectacles, because she explained quickly, "Oh, not bumps and bruises or
that
sort of thing. But the cough, illnesses of a more serious nature, are not called to the attention of a doctor until it is much too late, and the children spread those ailments so quickly that before you know it, the whole of
Rosewood
is infected, and I was thinking that perhaps we could agree to an arrangement whereby you might visit from time to time, not necessarily for coin, but something infinitely more agreeable, I should think."

Dr. Stephens had quit trying to understand the connection to flowers and had come to his senses, or so he thought. "Miss Hill, I cannot imagine what you've done, but you must know that I—"

"I am speaking of tomatoes, sir, tomatoes as big as
hams!
And beans, and pumpkins and cabbage! It seems that there is
some
talent to be had at Rosewood, and I daresay it is in the growing of fruits and vegetables. And we cannot possibly eat all the vegetables we grow, because they grow rather quickly, you see, and sadly, Mrs. Peterman has been throwing what we cannot eat to Lucy—I mean to say, to a rather enormous old hog. I am sure you are aware that hogs will do quite nicely on something less valuable than fruits and vegetables, so I am suggesting a trade of sorts—"

"
Miss Hill!
" Dr. Stephens fairly shouted. The young woman blinked. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Honestly, Dr. Stephens," rang another feminine voice," anyone with an ounce of sense knows it is a waste to give anything more than slop to a hog!"

Dr. Stephens groaned and opened one eye to see the Marchioness of Darfield standing in the doorway with her young daughter Alexa. The marchioness was a favorite of the doctor's, despite her very exasperating habit of ignoring his sound advice. With dark hair and violet eyes, she was as unusually pretty as the mysterious Miss Hill. He could not help noticing that standing side by side, the two women made quite a remarkable picture. "Lady Darfield, I was just about to say—"

"I think your idea is simply wonderful. My name is Abbey Ingram, and I should very much like to help."

Miss Hill smiled gratefully. "I am Lauren Hill. Are you familiar with Rosewood? It's a small estate, just a few miles from here, and I have been thinking how to make it a bit more self-sustaining. The children who live there—Well, I think they should learn as much responsibility as they can. But they cannot learn if no one trades with them, and unfortunately, no one comes to Rosewood. That is, with the exception of the
apothecary
, but
he
can hardly be counted on to take so many vegetables in trade, and—"

"Miss Hill! If you please, I was
trying
to say what you have done for those two boys is quite remarkable, and I would be more than happy to help you in any way that I can, including taking
tomatoes
as big as
hams
in trade!" Dr. Stephens bellowed.

The two women looked at him as if he were mad. Lady Darfield lifted a censorious brow and muttered in a soft aside, "I was quite certain he would agree."

"Really? I was not at all certain, but I had rather hoped he would. Unfortunately, we are rather short of funds," Miss Hill responded.

"Oh, you mustn't worry about that!" Lady Darfield said cheerfully. "Dr. Stephens should hardly be concerned about payment; he does quite nicely for himself. He will gladly look after your wards!"

Miss Hill beamed at him. "I rather suspected he was not as crabby as he would have me believe. So you think he could be counted on to help?"

"Absolutely!" Lady Darfield nodded enthusiastically.

Incredulous, Dr. Stephens looked from one woman to the next, both wearing alluring smiles that would have sent a lesser man to his knees. Without a word, he turned abruptly and marched back to his desk.

By the time Lauren Hill finally left—with
two
bottles of delight in exchange for a crate of tomatoes to be delivered the next morning—the women had agreed to meet at Rosewood the following day to discuss further what could be done. As with everything, Abbey Ingram had jumped in with both feet.

She beamed happily at Dr. Stephens as he examined a cut on Alexa's knee, insisting that she, too, knew all along that he was not nearly as "crabby" as he would have her believe.

Over the next few weeks, Lauren established a trade of produce for medicine, flour, and twice weekly help with the sewing. Barren wheat fields were given over to pumpkins and gourds, and tomatoes and berries flourished along every fence. Each morning after completing their lessons, Lauren and the children would weed and water their little vegetable fields.

The children delighted in their work. They measured the growth of the melons each day, searched for cucumbers hidden among the leafy vines, and arranged the pumpkins to their satisfaction. Their little kitchen garden was soon large enough to support a few more kitchens, and with the help of Abbey, who made a point of engaging in the trade herself, the townsfolk of Pemberheath slowly began to soften toward the children and their "trade."

As late summer turned to fall, Rosewood began to show signs of resembling the modest country home it had once been. Lauren managed this despite having to care for her slovenly uncle while intermittently arguing with him about her future. Paul was very silent about what
he
thought she should do, but at his request, she had bargained for two books on investments. He was very mysterious about his plans, but every once in a while he would look up from his books, run a hand through his dark brown hair, and smile. His light blue eyes twinkling with excitement, he would assure her that all at Rosewood would soon be well.

Lauren desperately hoped he was right. There was more need at Rosewood than a fledgling vegetable trade could support. With Abbey's help, she began to plan for a future that included dairy products and wool to be traded for more substantial assistance.

She cherished her friendship with the marchioness. For once in her life, Lauren understood the quotation,

"
of all the heavenly gifts that mortal men commend, what trusty treasure in the world can
countervail a friend?
" And contrary to what she might have expected, Abbey did not seem remotely concerned that she was penniless. Even when Mrs. Peterman blithely informed the marchioness that Lauren was, in reality, the widowed Countess of Bergen, Abbey did not seem to mind that Lauren had been less than forthright about her identity.

The two women grew even closer, oddly enough, because of Fastidious Thadeus. In constant pursuit of Lauren, he had finally worn her to the limits of her patience and she had confided her dilemma to Abbey.

When Abbey was through laughing—she insisted that Lauren was no more suited for Mr.

Goldthwaite than she was for the now infamous old hog, Lucy—she helped Lauren steer clear or her ardent admirer. But poor Mr. Goldthwaite could not be convinced; he never missed an opportunity to stare at Lauren with all the longing of a dog trapped on the wrong side of a door.

Alexander Daniel Christian alighted from the sleek traveling chaise the moment it rolled to a halt in front of his massive Georgian mansion in Southampton. With a curt nod to a footman, he swept through the double oak doors and into the marble foyer where two more footmen waited with his butler, Finch.

"Welcome home, your grace," Finch said with a bow.

Alex tossed his hat to a footman. "Finch," he responded blandly, and handed the butler his leather traveling gloves. Another footman in the silver and blue livery of the Duke of Sutherland stepped forward to divest him of his cloak. "You may inform my mother I have returned. Where shall I find the correspondence?" he asked as he straightened the French cuffs of his silk shirt.

"The study, your grace."

Alex nodded and strode swiftly down the marble corridor, his polished Wellingtons clicking softly beneath his determined stride. He did not glance at the new damask wall coverings, nor the dozens of roses displayed on the consoles along the hall. As he crossed the threshold of his study, he shrugged out of his coat, tossed it carelessly to an overstuffed chair of dark green velvet, then strolled to the intricately carved Louis XIV desk in the middle of the large room. "Whiskey," he said to a footman and picked up the correspondence. Settling gracefully into a chair of burgundy Corinthian leather, he sifted through the stack of letters that had accumulated during his two weeks in London. In addition to standard business correspondence, there were a few invitations to social events. Those he tossed aside. His eyes fell upon a missive sealed with the signet of his solicitors in Amsterdam. Ignoring the whiskey the footman placed at his elbow, he tore it open. Scanning the letter quickly, he cursed softly.

Christ
, he had more trouble with that blasted trading company! He abruptly crumpled the report of yet another loss and tossed it across the room in the general direction of the fire. As if the rash of recent losses wasn't enough, Britain's tariffs were strangling him. If he actually
had
cargo, the import taxes were so damn high as to make it almost economically unfeasible.

Restlessly he stood and picked up his whiskey, dismissing the footman with a terse nod as he crossed to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. He stared at the massive green lawn and gazebo at the edge of a lake marking his brother's grave. Alexander Christian, Viscount Bellingham, was not supposed to be the Duke of Sutherland with all the attendant responsibilities of the family fortune.
Anthony
was supposed to be the duke—
he
was supposed to be the second son with lesser titles and the luxury of time to indulge in the pursuit of worldly adventure.

Some might argue that he had seen enough adventure to last a lifetime, but he could not agree. When Anthony was very much alive and performing quite nicely as the duke, Alex had been plagued with stifling ennui. When an old family friend had reported the treasures he had found in Africa, Alex had eagerly accepted an invitation to accompany him on a return trip. That experience in the Serengeti Plain had whetted his appetite for raw adventure. Since then, he had traipsed the Himalayas, had sailed to the Orient, and had discovered the wilds of North America.

It was a lifestyle that suited him well and one for which he still yearned, but a tragic accident on horseback unexpectedly claimed Anthony's life five years ago. He bitterly recalled being abruptly summoned home to find his beloved brother truly dead and himself an instant duke. The change in his responsibility was almost as instantaneous as the change in attitude of those around him—old and new acquaintances alike were suddenly scraping their knuckles in front of him. And in addition to coping with his loss he suddenly found himself at the head of a powerful dukedom and a vast fortune. He no longer had the luxury of several months to leisurely explore the world.

For five years now, he thought wearily, he had been a duke. Five years it had taken to grow accustomed to being
the
center of attention. Five years to learn the intricacies of the family holdings and accept the enormous responsibilities of being a duke, not the least of which included the production of heirs. At least Anthony had made that part of his responsibility easy enough, and he had, finally, set a wedding date with Lady Marlaine Reese, just as everyone expected him to do.

Anthony had been promised to Marlaine almost from the moment of her birth. The Christian-Reese family alliance was almost legend. His father Augustus had befriended the young Earl of Whitcomb before either had married, and the two had formed a monopoly of sorts through their partnership in iron manufacture. The Christian-Reese factories had successfully underpriced other factories for the production of cannons, guns, and ironworks during the Peninsular War, making both families obscene profits. The two men were of like minds, and the powerful voting bloc they formed in the House of Lords had further solidified their long-standing friendship. Everyone knew that a Christian-Reese vote on a bill was as good as passing it.

It was perfectly natural that their children should continue the alliance, and Anthony was quite content to marry Marlaine, even though he was fifteen when she was born. Alex remembered she was always a pretty, affable girl, but she was still in the schoolroom when Anthony died. When she made her debut three years ago, Alex had determined she was as good a solution to his ducal responsibility to produce heirs as he was likely to find. His title required a good business arrangement in a marriage, and Marlaine was definitely that. Moreover, she was trained to be a duke's wife, was pleasant enough, and was a comfortable, quiet companion. As those things went, she would make a good wife, and he had finally offered for her—as everyone expected he would do—two years ago when she had turned twenty-one.

The sound of the pocket doors sliding open interrupted his thoughts, and Alex turned.

"Welcome home, darling." His mother, Hannah, glided into the room, followed by Marlaine on the arm of his younger brother, Arthur.

Alex crossed the room to greet her. "Thank you, Mother. I hope I find you well?"

"Of course! A small ache in my back is all I have to complain of," Hannah said with a smile. "And it is not worth mentioning. You should be quite pleased to know that Lord and Lady Whitcomb are visiting Lady Whitcomb's sister in Brighton. As it is such a short drive, I invited Marlaine to visit this weekend."

"I am quite pleased," Alex said, and kissed Marlaine on the cheek.

She blushed slightly, shifting her smiling gaze to the carpet. "You look fatigued. Have you been sleeping?"