had saved them, many and many a time. But, when it had come to saving her, Max and Ross had come too late.
‘A penny for ’em.’
Max looked up. Rather against his will, he found himself returning Ross’s smile. There was something about those glinting blue eyes… Ross’s sunny nature seemed to admit neither defeat nor despair. And his optimism was infectious on a dank February day by a graveyard.
‘What you need, my friend,’ said Ross, his smile broadening into a grin, ‘apart from the punch, of course, is a battle to fight. Can’t be brooding on your own troubles if the enemy is marching over the ridge.’
Max laughed, but there was precious little humour in it. ‘No chance of that, Ross. Boney’s finished now.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of Boney, as it happens, though I, for one, won’t write him off till he’s dead. Elba is too near France for my liking.’
The Earl shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing.
‘No, I was thinking about you, Max. You need to get your teeth into something. Something worthwhile. Why don’t you do something in the House? You were talking about the plight of the old soldiers begging in the streets. Why not take up their cause?’
‘Because I can’t afford to take my seat, if you must know. With no money, I’m a pretty sorry excuse for an earl.’ He realised he was sounding increasingly testy. It was yet another lamentable Rosevale trait. He must make more effort to curb it.
‘Forgive me, but I don’t understand. You were comfortable enough before.’
‘I still am—for an anonymous captain in a marching regiment. But an earl… That’s entirely different, Ross. An earl has houses, estates, retainers, obligations… I have the title and the obligations, but nowhere near enough blunt to meet them. That’s just one more charge to lay at old man Penrose’s door. He and that daughter of his have tied me hand and foot.’
‘You speak almost as if he were still alive. What on earth is the matter with you? Old Penrose is dead more than a twelvemonth. You are the Earl of Penrose now.’
‘Aye, but his daughter lives on to laugh in my face. The haughty—and wealthy—Baroness Rosevale carries on where her father left off. Both venting their spite on our family.’
‘You—’
‘Confound it, Ross. You know as well as I do how they treated Aunt Mary. Old Penrose was a black-hearted devil. I’d wager his daughter is the same.’
‘Word is, she’s barren.’
‘What?’
‘Married for years, but no children. Surely you knew that? So it’s just a matter of time. One day the barony, and all that goes with it, will come to you. You’ll be able to take your seat in the Lords then.’
Max shook his head. ‘I doubt that very much, Ross. You’ve forgotten that her ladyship is several years younger than I am. Probably disgustingly healthy, to boot. No, I’m afraid that if I’m eventually to inherit, it will have to be through my children.’
‘Er…doesn’t that require you to have a wife, first?’
‘You know perfectly well that it does,’ his lordship said sharply, pressing his lips together into a tight, angry line.
‘Mmm.’ Ross paused. ‘You know,’ he said musingly, totally ignoring his friend’s dark frown, ‘you could always think about marrying the Baroness yourself. That way, you would get control of your inheritance all the sooner.’
Penrose merely shook his head wearily. He had his temper well in hand now. ‘I had always thought you were out of your mind, Ross. Now, I’m sure of it. Must be the fiery red hair. Clearly all that heat addles the brain.’
‘No more! No more!’ Lady Charlotte pushed away the smelling salts that Angel had been waving under her nose. ‘I am perfectly recovered, I assure you.’
Looking at her aunt’s ashen features, Angel knew better. The old lady was still far from well, but argument would achieve nothing. Besides, there was still their astonishing visitor to consider.
‘Shall I tell the gentleman that your ladyship is not at home? I—’
‘No, Willett,’ said Angel, glancing up from where she knelt by her aunt’s chair, ‘that will not do. Not if he is part of the family. Ask him to wait in the library. Tell him I shall join him there presently. Lady Charlotte will remain here until she is recovered.’
‘As your ladyship wishes.’
The door had barely closed behind him when Lady Charlotte said urgently, ‘He is an impostor. He must be. If Julian were still alive, he would have contacted us long ago. It’s been more than twenty years. Why would he wait until now?’
Angel rose to her feet, still holding her aunt’s slightly clammy hand. ‘Because…because now he can claim the titles,’ she said slowly.
Lady Charlotte started, and then nodded reluctantly. ‘That would be true, of course. My brother was…is…was no fool. Though he would be nearly as poor as Frederick, since neither of them has any claim on the Barony. Oh, Julian…’ She shook her head, frowning slightly, but suddenly her expression cleared. ‘If it is Julian, just think how Frederick’s nose will be put out of joint. He’ll be mad as fire to be plain Mr Frederick Rosevale all over again. Why, it is famous!’
Angel released her aunt’s hand and moved towards the door. ‘Poor Frederick,’ she said under her breath. She closed it quietly behind her and started down the staircase to the library.
Poor Frederick, indeed. His earldom might not be worth much, but it did confer a certain standing in Society. To have it whisked out of his fingers, barely months after he had grasped it, would be humiliating in the extreme. Had he done anything to deserve this kind of treatment? Aunt Charlotte seemed to think so. But Aunt Charlotte’s views were not unbiased, judging by today’s outburst of venom. On occasion, she could be remarkably difficult. Why did—?
Willett had already thrown open the library door. And, as Angel reached it, the gentleman standing by the huge stone fireplace turned round to greet her.
‘Oh—’ Angel stopped on the threshold, transfixed. The man before her was certainly no newly discovered uncle. This man was probably no older than Angel herself.
But he was, without doubt, the handsomest man she had ever beheld.
Chapter Two
A ngel’s breath had caught in her throat. For a second, the two simply stared at each other. Neither seemed able to utter a word.
Then, with a tiny shrug, the apparition straightened and came towards her. An odd smile fluttered for a moment at the corner of his mouth as he made his bow, an old-fashioned courtly gesture, with an elaborate sweep of his arm. ‘My lady, you do me too much honour.’
That bow belonged to a bygone age, Angel thought. How strange. This man might claim to be a Rosevale, but he could not be English. He—
Just then, he straightened and smiled at her. It was such a dazzling
