A scream sliced the air. Angelica blinked and looked toward the rest of the group. And then she gripped her skirts and ran forward. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” Lucy told her.
Together, they moved past the women blocking their view. A strange ball of emptiness grew in the pit of Angelica’s stomach. She stepped forward, her gaze following the path that descended to the vast blanket of heather below. Randolph was making his way down as quickly as he could manage, his long legs carrying him toward the spot where Lady Seraphina lay in a crumpled heap.
“Goodness,” Angelica muttered. She’d imagined this very scenario just a few minutes before, but surely… No. It was just a coincidence. The wind had come and Lady Seraphina had been hastening forward. She simply must have lost her balance.
“Her parents will have my head,” Lady Seraphina’s chaperone complained. “Oh heavens, they’ll sack me right on the spot.”
“Now, now,” Rose told her in that soothing voice she’d used on Angelica so often when she’d been a child. “The wind caught her unawares, that’s all.”
Angelica frowned. The air was completely still.
She glanced back at Colchester Hall and froze.
There, framed by the curtains in her bedchamber window, was a woman. Mrs. Essex perhaps? It was too far to tell. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, the woman had gone.
“I have to get her back to the house,” Randolph said, startling Angelica as he passed her with Lady Seraphina in his arms.
“O—of course,” Angelica said even though she was fairly certain he hadn’t been addressing her alone. She swallowed and did her best to stem the unnatural foreboding that twined itself around her.
“You look unnerved,” Lucy remarked. “She’ll be all right, you know. I believe it’s just a sprained ankle.”
“Yes,” Angelica muttered, forcing a smile. “There’s nothing to be concerned about.” Repeatedly, her gaze drifted back to her bedchamber window as they walked toward the house. It remained empty, devoid of movement and life.
Randolph was in a significantly better mood the following day when he escorted the young ladies into the village. According to the physician he’d sent for, Lady Seraphina had only sprained her ankle and simply needed to rest. Her health was not in any danger, but he would at least be saved from having to suffer her company. Instead, he’d allow himself the satisfaction of pursuing Angelica.
With this in mind, Randolph deliberately snuck between her and Miss Harlow and offered each an arm. Miss Harlow grinned and her eyes sparkled with mischief, suggesting she knew precisely what he was about. With luck, she’d prove a valuable ally in his attempt at courtship.
Angelica on the other hand was surprisingly demure today. Unlike herself. Only the ghost of a smile graced her lips as she glanced up to acknowledge his presence, and uncomfortable looking creases marred her forehead.
“I must commend you,” he said, deciding to start with a compliment. “It was good of you to defend Miss Stevens yesterday.”
Her lips parted. Surprise widened her eyes. “You heard?”
“We all did,” Lucy chimed in. She quickly bit her lip. “Sorry. I should have mentioned it.”
A lovely blush flooded Angelica’s cheeks. She directed her gaze forward. “I couldn’t keep silent. To do so would have gone against my moral compass.”
“I know,” Randolph said. He dipped his head a bit closer to hers and added, “Yet another reason why you have gained my regard.” Her blush deepened and he mentally marked the moment as a small victory. “While I did suggest visiting the teashop and haberdashery, I would like to stop by the bookshop for a quick look.”
“Oh.” The singular word – more of an exclamation, really – popped out of Angelica’s mouth with startling rapidity.
Randolph smiled. He hadn’t known she was fond of reading. It wasn’t something they’d discussed. But it pleased him to know they shared a common interest, for he simply adored books – loved the smell of them, the feel of them, the knowledge crammed between their pages.
“I’ll just inform the others in case they’d like to join us.” Randolph did so, but the rest of the ladies were far more interested in shopping for trimmings, though Lady Bloomfield did consider his invitation for a moment. She changed her mind, however, when Mrs. Harlow pointed out that their daughters would have each other for chaperones.
“Is there a particular genre you favor?” Randolph asked once they’d stepped inside the overcrowded shop. Books lay everywhere: stacked on counters and practically bursting from shelves. It was perfect.
“Poetry,” Miss Harlow told him. “I’m especially fond of Robert Burns and poems written in his style.”
Randolph wasn’t surprised. There was a softness about most of Burns’s poems that made for light and uplifting reading. They weren’t the tormented writings of some tortured soul, determined to convey his despair and heartache to the world.
“I’ve an excellent collection of his work right over here,” the shopkeeper said. He led Miss Harlow between two bookcases.
“And how about you?” Randolph asked Angelica.
“Ordinarily…” She stopped herself and glanced about. “This is a lovely shop.”
“I’m glad you think so. I’ve always had a particular fondness for books. They allowed me to pretend I was someone else. They offered escape.”
“What were you escaping from?” She asked the question quietly, almost reverently, as if being given an insight to his soul truly mattered.
With anyone else, he would have ended the revelation there with a shrug of his shoulders and a flip answer. But not with her. She deserved better. “My brother is ten years younger than I. We never had much in common.”
“Where is he now?”
“In Scotland, attempting to gain his independence, as he put it.”
“And your parents?” she asked softly.
Randolph grimaced. “My father woke up one day and decided he’d had enough of being an earl. Only a hastily written note left behind on his desk informed me he’d gone to America.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“He writes me every now and then. Usually when he’s running low on funds.” Randolph shifted his weight and propped one shoulder against the bookcase beside him. “Meanwhile my mother, the timid lady who lived in constant fear of his temper, used the occasion of his departure as an excuse to leave for France indefinitely.”
“One could say you have something of a temper as well.”
He knew she didn’t mean the words as an insult, merely an observation, yet his skin still stretched and tightened while heat began rising to the top of his head. “Don’t ever compare me to my father,” he told her darkly, then swallowed and forced himself to relax upon noting her startled expression. Had he just proven her point? He sighed. “Again, I apologize for the other evening, especially if I frightened you. It really wasn’t my intention but I cannot—”
“Shh… It’s all right. It could not be helped.”
His fingers flexed. “Nevertheless. I should have practiced greater control.”