“On second thought, I will see to the brandy.” He glanced back at his housekeeper, a sliver of unease darting through him at seeing the lack of emotion upon her face. She smiled the moment their eyes met, instantly souring his stomach. “You should return to bed for now. With Lady Angelica’s death there will be much for you to do tomorrow.”
She hesitated briefly, then nodded and left, shutting the door with an audible click.
Randolph placed his palm against Angelica’s cheek. “She’s gone. You can open your eyes now.”
Dark lashed fluttered ever so lightly against creamy skin. Rosy lips parted and air was sucked in. Angelica squinted against the light from the oil lamps Clarkson had lit. “She...did this.” Her voice quivered faintly, but it was enough to draw her mother’s attention.
“Is she..?” Lady Bloomfield rushed to the opposite side of Angelica’s bed. “How is this possible? Heaven above, I thought you were lost to me, darling.” Her hand clutched her daughter’s while fresh sobs wracked her hunched form.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I must have…” Angelica blinked in rapid succession, then pulled her hand free from Randolph’s and touched the back of her head. The small movement resulted in a painful groan, and when she shifted her weight, her face twisted in agony.
“You took a terrible fall,” Lady Bloomfield said. “We have to fetch a physician to look you over right away.”
“Not now. Later. I just…” Angelica’s words trailed off.
“There’s blood at the back of your head.” Her mother’s voice shook. “You need immediate medical attention.”
“I need to speak with Randolph first.” Angelica sighed as if speaking was taxing her energy. She took a few breaths before adding, “Alone.”
Randolph decided to step in and offer some reassurance before they wasted more time. “I know a good physician, Lady Bloomfield. I’ll send for him as soon as I’ve spoken with Angelica. You have my word.”
Lady Bloomfield’s lower lip quivered. She sniffed. “All right.”
“And please…” Angelica’s eyes closed for a brief moment. She winced as she moved her leg. “Stay in your room, Mama. Don’t tell anyone I’m alive, just…just drink what Randolph gives you and…try to go back to sleep.”
Incredulity widened Lady Bloomfield’s eyes, informing Randolph of how impossible sleep would be in her current state. But rather than argue, she turned her attention to him.
“I’ll just be a moment,” he told Angelica. As reluctant as he was to leave her side, he knew her mother required fortification. As did he, for that matter. Hell, he’d thought he’d lost her, had been so beside himself when Clarkson had said she was dead, he’d not even thought to check for himself.
Returning to his bedchamber, he took a minute to dress, deciding to forego the time consuming effort of putting on a cravat which only threatened to delay his return. He grabbed a bottle of Glenturret and a couple of glasses, then headed back to Angelica’s bedchamber.
Relief whipped through him when he found her still there, resting against her pillow with open eyes. His heart eased into a steadier rhythm than it had experienced so far since he’d woken, allowing him to keep a steady hand while filling the glasses. He handed one to Lady Bloomfield.
“Thank you.” She took a small sip, licked her lips, and drank again before rising. “If you need anything, please let me know.”
“I will see you in the morning, Mama.”
Lady Bloomfield nodded and forced a smile. “Very well.”
Randolph waited for the connecting door to close before pulling the chair around so it stood right next to the bed. He sat and took Angelica’s hand in his. “Would you like some?” He held his glass toward her.
“No. I need to be able to...ugh…think.”
“Turn your head a little.” Carefully, he helped her move. “Easy. Just like that. Well done.”
He parted her matted hair and examined the cut. It wasn’t too deep, but it was still bleeding. Grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket he dipped it in his brandy and carefully dabbed at the wound. Angelica hissed in response. Her body tensed, but she let him finish what he was doing without complaint.
When she was resting on her back once more, Randolph gently squeezed her hand. “Tell me what happened.”
And as she did, Randolph learned what it truly meant to hate someone, for the anger growing inside him with each word she uttered was worse than what he’d ever felt toward Katrina. This feeling was different. It was dark and gnarly, a deformed creature with twisted limbs, hell-bent on seeking satisfaction. And by God, he’d find it one way or the other. What Mrs. Essex had done to Katrina and to Angelica could not go unpunished.
* * *
It took more than a week for Angelica to fully recover from her ordeal. After she finished her account of what had transpired, Randolph had woken three footmen: one to guard the door to Mrs. Essex’s bedchamber, the second to fetch the local magistrate, and the third to make sure a physician was brought to check on Angelica. The examination had declared her extremely lucky to still be alive considering the nature of her fall and the blow to her head. Her ankles and shins were blistered from the burns she’d sustained, one of her ribs was possibly cracked, and her left hip severely bruised.
According to what her mother had told her, Mrs. Essex had been removed from the premises by the authorities and was now awaiting trial. To this end, the magistrate had interviewed Angelica who’d corroborated the story. Proving Mrs. Essex’s involvement in Katrina’s death would also be possible with Marcus’s help. Finding the former groom had been a challenge, but after questioning those who’d known him, Randolph had managed to seek him out on a farm a day’s ride north of Colchester Hall. And while the young man had initially tried to flee, he eventually agreed to help, provided he could do so anonymously.
Randolph agreed and in the weeks that followed, amidst the increasingly tedious wedding preparations, Angelica did her best to help him recover from the guilt gnawing at his soul.
