CHAPTER3
CAUGHT… IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE
The following day, Friday, December 15, 1815
Dressed in her warmest woolen dress, her feet encased in two pairs of stockings and her highest boots, Angelika set out for an afternoon walk. With any luck, she might attract the duke’s attention, or come upon him if he was on a stroll in his gardens.
Who was she kidding? The snow was at least six inches deep. Someone would have to be desperate for a walk to do what she was doing.
Her father would say it was good for the constitution. Had he been at Stonefield Manor, he might very well have joined her on the trek west.
Although it wasn’t nearly as cold as the day before, it had snowed overnight. Her tracks from the day before were barely visible.
Until she passed the line of poplar trees that separated the two estates, she was forced to keep her steps slow. The snow was a bit deeper on the slightly inclined hill closer to Stonefield Manor, and her boot prints from the day before were almost completely filled in with new white powder.
She had almost stepped into the boxwood hedge of the parterre garden when she looked up to discover the east side of the Portland stone manor house of Dunfey Park looming above her. Redirecting her steps to go around the formal garden, she headed north toward the back of the property.
Off in the distance, she could make out a folly on the shore of a frozen pond. A circle of marble columns jutted from the snow to a domed roof patterned after a Greek tholos. Topped with snow, it looked much a like the frozen ices served at Gunter’s Tea Shop in Berkeley Square.
The folly reminded her of the color plate she had seen in the French book, and an odd sensation of pleasure rolled through her middle. Perhaps distance, coupled with the columns, would provide enough privacy for a clandestine encounter. Not now, though. It was entirely too cold to be doing any sort of lovemaking out of doors. Not that she had anyone with which to do anything so scandalous.
About to turn around and make her way back home, her gaze swept over the ground around her. She inhaled softly. Unspoiled snow surrounded her. She took a large step forward, turned around, and fell backwards with a yelp of delight. The powdery snow sprayed out around her as she waved her arms. For a moment, she remained flat on her back, staring up at a sky that had been blue but was now quickly disappearing behind a bank of clouds.
She sat up, careful not to disturb the impression she had made as she struggled to stand. As she used her gloved hands to wipe away the snow from her redingote, she realized she was being watched.
Framed by the back door of the manor house, a man stood wearing a black cape coat, his hands shoved in his pockets. A fashionable top hat added another eight inches to his average height, which she decided made him about the same size as her father.
I’ve been discovered.
The thought brought with it two options. She could run. Her progress would be impeded by the snow that blanketed the land between here and Stonefield Manor.
The other option was to simply own up to what she had done. Curtsy. Apologize. Say she would never do it again. Walk slowly back to Stonefield Manor and hope the owner of the property didn’t pay a call on her father with his complaint about her having trespassed.
“Please, don’t run away.”
The man’s words had Angelika blinking.
Perhaps there was a third option.
She curtsied and gazed at him for a moment. When he didn’t say anything else, she said, “Very well.”
She knew right away this was probably not the same man who had spotted her from an upper story window the day before, for he had been much older than this handsome man. Or perhaps it was the same man, and seeing him without a pane of glass separating them made him appear younger. Five-and-thirty, mayhap. No. Thirty.
What did she know about men’s ages, though? She hadn’t met enough of them in her life to gauge their ages.
“From where have you come?” he asked, his gaze darting about as if he’d never been in the back gardens before. Given this year’s deep snow, perhaps he hadn’t seen it like this.
“Stonefield Manor, sir,” she replied. “Next door.”
He furrowed a brow.
“The Marquess of Stonely,” Angelika offered. The man must be new to Westmorland.
“Oh. Of course. I’d quite forgotten about his country estate,” he replied, his back pressed against the door as if he required it to stand.
“I hope you don’t mind. What I’ve been doing. You have such pristine snow here, you see.”
He shook his head. “I don’t mind. I did wonder, though, what exactly it is that you’re doing?”
