Chapter Thirty-nine
Angus and his valet, Eddie, were on their third change of horses by the time they neared the turn-off for Southend.
Veering from the main road onto the long, tree-lined approach, they pressed on.
It took a further quarter of an hour before Hayford Abbey loomed up out of the darkness, several windows glowing bright against the night.
Angus had visited many times as a boy, choosing to spend his school holidays either here or with the Humbers, so as to avoid the bleak loneliness of his Aunt Augusta’s home.
He had many fond memories of the imposing Abbey — its soaring Gothic grandeur bursting from the cliff edge like an avenging dragon, wings spread in eternal defence.
Its inhabitants, once warm and welcoming, treating him as part of the family.
A pang of sadness flooded through him that his childhood friend had grown to be his rival.
That events had altered their course and turned fondness to bitterness, trust into suspicion — until there was nothing left to work with, other than working against each other.
Shaking his head sharply, he pulled his mount to a stop at the entrance and vaulted down, tossing the reins to a panting Eddie.
This was no time for sentimental trips down memory lane.
Louis had made his bed a long time ago, and god help him now if anything had happened to Sylvie.
Taking the steps up to the imposing door two at a time, he flung open the great doors. Ignoring the startled footman, Angus listened for a moment, then strode towards the all too familiar dining room.
“Angus,” squeaked Sylvie as the door crashed open and her husband stormed the room.
His steps momentarily faltered as his eyes immediately found Sylvie, unharmed, blinking in surprise. For a split second, the flood of relief made him dizzy before his eyes slowly widened in disbelief. She was giggling, her delicate hand covering her lips, her eyes slightly glassy.
“Welcome, old friend,” purred Louis, lounging at the head of the table, eyes bright with amusement. “You’re just in time for port.”
Angus’s arm shot up, his finger stabbing the air in Louis’s direction, yet his eyes did not leave his wife’s face as he growled menacingly. “Tell me my wife is not foxed!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say foxed, old friend,” Louis replied pleasantly. “Though on reflection, perhaps we were a trifle overzealous with the champagne cocktails before dinner… then there was wine. Mm, it’s dreadfully easy to lose count, especially if one is not accustomed…”
Getting to her feet, Sylvie smiled brilliantly at her husband. “Angus, my love, I’m perfectly fine … oh!” She hiccuped and giggled again. “But whatever are you doing here? You look all dusty… and very handsome. Isn’t my husband handsome? Is there any wonder I’m sooo in love…”
“Right,” snapped Angus. Striding forwards, he scooped her from her feet and unceremoniously slung her over his shoulder.
“Angus!” Sylvie squeaked, laughing and wriggling. “Whatever are you doing?”
For the first time since entering, he turned to Louis, jabbing his finger in his direction. “I’ll be back to deal with you later. On that, you can count. Comte.”
“Angus, darling, put down your wife immediately,” commanded a familiar female voice.
Instantly turning, Angus blinked twice as his eyes alighted upon the silver-haired beauty sitting at the closest end of the table. “Madeline! I didn’t see…”
“Obviously,” said the Dowager Countess coolly.
“I doubt you would be rampaging in here like a marauding Viking come to steal your plunder if you had. Mind, you’d make a far better rapscallion Highlander…
storming the enemy castle to reclaim his bride.
You certainly have the legs for a kilt, and the melodramatics, it would seem.
Now, pray tell, what exactly are you planning on doing with the poor girl now you have her captured, because I can assure you, I will allow no harm to come to her under my roof. ”
“Harm!” barked Angus. “I am taking her home, Madeline, out of harm’s way!”
“Oh, nonsense. You are going nowhere at this hour. And the only thing in harm’s way tonight will be your left ear when I give it a good clip for being such a silly boy.
I can still reach you know, if I stand on my tiptoes.
” Her tone was that of a mother reprimanding a child, though her eyes belied her affection.
“Now go to your room. It’s where we put your wife earlier, and I’ll have a tray sent up.
You look like you could do with a good meal…
and a good wash. You smell like horse, darling. ”
“Thank you, but no.”
“Angus, darling, I wasn’t asking — I was telling. And as for this damnable feud the pair of you are carrying on with, I could knock your heads together. Love him as I did, Phillippe was a foolish boy, but he is gone, and it is time to put an end to this nonsense.”
“Phillippe?” Angus frowned. “What has Phillipe got to do with…”
“Enough, Madeline,” Louis cut in, his voice sharp as he rose. “See to your wife, Westland. The dear thing seems to have passed out, and, hardly surprising, slung upside-down like a sack of grain. And you think me the monster? Tsk, how ironic…” he drawled as he sauntered past and out the door.
“Oh heavens,” cried Madeline, “Louis is right! The poor girl has fainted. Take her upstairs and get her out of that dress. The poor dear needs her bed. I’ll speak to you in the morning.”
“Bloody hell,” muttered Angus, manoeuvring his wife from his shoulder, cradling her in his arms as he strode towards the staircase. “Sylvie, Sylvie …”
“Mm,” she groaned as her eyes fluttered open. “Angus? Angus, is that really you? I… oh… oh no, I think I’m going to be ill.”
* * *
“Just breathe, Blossom. You’re going to be fine,” Angus murmured softly a little while later.
Holding her hair from her face as she retched for the second time, he looked to Betsy — who, between nursing, had been exceedingly forthcoming in retelling their adventures — and impressively efficient in getting her mistress into her nightgown.
Taking a cold flannel from the little maid, he laid it gently on Sylvie’s forehead, then nodded to indicate Betsy could go as he held a cup of water to his wife’s lips.
Once she’d rinsed her mouth, he offered her a fresh towel.
Tears sprang to her eyes again. “Do you think it was the crab?” she sniffled.
“Poor old Uncle Oswald died from food poisoning, too. Mama said he was a ghastly sight at the end… his eyes near bulging from his head, and he turned a hideous purple. Oh, please… please go, Angus. I cannot bear the thought of you seeing me looking so frightful.”
“It wasn’t the crab, Blossom, and you’re not going to die… or turn purple.”
“But how can you be sure?”
“You just had a bit too much to drink. It’s happened to the best of us. I assure you. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “You mean I’m …
I’m in my cups? But I only had a little wine with dinner…
and oh! Those champagne concoctions. They were so delicious!
But Lady Hayford had the same,” she gasped, “and she didn’t turn into a strumpet.
” Then, eyes widening further, “I… I have an awful feeling I said something inappropriate! Did I say something inappropriate?”
“You were fine, just a little surprised to see me, tis all.”
The poor girl’s face was as white as the bedsheets. Her eyes were puffy and her nose red from crying, and however much he may wish it to be otherwise, he could no longer deny the effect she had on him.
“Come here,” he said gently, drawing her into his lap.
Instantly relaxing in his arms, she buried her face in his chest and sniffled into his shirt.
“Oh, Angus. Please don’t be cross. I… I just wanted to help.
And I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on Papa and Lord Southerby, but when I heard your name, I couldn’t stop myself.
I just wanted to understand why I had upset you so…
because I would never do anything to hurt you. ”
“I know,” he murmured into the top of her head. “I know.”
“And if I could prove to you that your aunt’s horrid stories were just vicious lies, maybe you would allow yourself to … to … maybe we could… could be happy.”
“I wish it were otherwise,” he said quietly, “but I cannot change who I am, Sylvie.”
She sat up abruptly, eyes flashing. “And what’s that — pig-headed?”
Knowing the after-effects of drink were influencing her, he said gently, “Now, Sylvie…”
“I love you, Angus Westland, you stubborn, impossible man! But go ahead, banish me to Wales! And stop rescuing me. It’s confusing. You’re confusing.”
“I’m confusing?”
“Pff. Umm, yes,” she huffed. “Romantic heroes who rescue damsels in distress have happy ever afters! And… and husbands who detest their wives aren’t supposed to make them fall even more in love with them by being kind, and funny — and they certainly don’t look after them when they are in their cups! It’s… it’s befuddling.”
“Right. I see. My apologies.”
“And… and they don’t kiss them passionately in ridiculous gardens… or cuddle them in carriages… or give them beautiful rings because the stone matches the colour of their eyes.”
“No,” he murmured, fighting every urge to draw her closer. “I don’t suppose they do.”
“No,” she whispered back, astonished by her own outburst, yet mesmerised by the sudden tenderness in his eyes. She lifted her hand and placed it lightly against his cheek. “But you did.”
“I… ”
“Yes?” she breathed, leaning closer.
“I… I think we should get some sleep.”
Still nestled in his arms, she blinked in surprise as he rose effortlessly, gently placing her in the bed, pulling the covers over her and tucking her in.
“Tsk,” she tutted and harrumphed. “Oh, Angus, nor do husbands who want to exile their wives, tuck them fondly into bed. Honestly!” she muttered, thumping a pillow into shape. “Confounding, stupefying man. And… and you smell like a horse.”
“I see,” he said, suppressing a smile as he sat in the chair and pulled his boots off.
“And, and, blistering barnacles — I like it!”
“Right.”
Sitting up again, Sylvie glared at him as he shrugged out of his coat and unwound his cravat. “And stop looking so damningly handsome, will you? It’s infuriating.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied dryly, wandering towards the adjoining room.
“Now what are you doing?”
“Washing up. Apparently, I smell like a horse.”
“Oh,” she said softly, watching him. “Does that mean… you’re sleeping in here? With me?”
Angus shook his head slightly. “In the chair. The maids have gone to bed, and I’ll not disturb them to ready another room. Now, rest, we have an early start in the morning.”
“Oh,” she squeaked excitedly, “are we going to see this Mrs Sheers?”
“Mrs Sheers?”
“Yes. Yes… The woman who knows what really happened. The woman with the answers. Oh, please say you will come with me, please, Angus. Please?”
He turned and studied his little wife for a long moment. “Mrs Sheers?” he repeated.
“Yes. Louis gave me her location… he wrote it down for me.”
His voice hardened. “And what did Louis ask for in return?”
Unfazed, she shook her head. “Nothing… apart from my company at dinner.”
“And what did you talk of… over dinner with Louis?”
“Paris mostly, and he asked how we met.”
“And what did you tell him?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “The same as I tell everyone,” she said simply.
“We met through our connection with the Blackmoors and found we were instantly drawn to one another. Not wanting to become the talk of the town, we kept our courtship quiet until we were sure of our feelings. And… and then I told the truth.”
“And that would be?”
“That, as unfashionable as it may be, and may I say now, as unfathomable as it seems — I’m utterly in love with my husband.”
He turned away, jaw tight. “And… did you mention Wales?”
Sighing in exasperation, she flopped back against the pillows. “No, Angus. I only told my truth, not yours. Call me foolish, but I still live in hope that you’ll change your mind about exiling me. I think you would find, if you bothered to find out, I’m rather a nice companion.”
“Hm,” he murmured, opening the adjoining door.
“And, Angus?”
“Mmm?”
“The bed is plenty big enough for two. You wouldn’t even know I’m here.”
“Goodnight, Sylvie,” he said and pulled the door quietly shut behind him.