Angel's Touch Read Free Page A

anger had vanished from his eyes, to be replaced by a
gleam which she strongly suspected to be of amusement. An amusement
she deprecated, for his conduct had been disgraceful. Then he
spoke, and his words disarmed her.
    ‘ It
is apparent that I owe you both apology and thanks,’ he said,
adding with an ironic little bow, ‘I have certainly been put very
firmly in my place.’
    Verity bit her lip on
a laugh, her outrage dissipating fast. The implication was not lost
on her. There was no doubt she had been extremely uncivil.
    ‘ I
have to beg your pardon, sir.’
    ‘ Pray don’t,’ he pleaded, and Verity thought there was a
lurking twinkle in the black depths of his eyes. ‘You have done me
a signal service—albeit unwittingly, for I do not flatter myself
that such was your intention—and I am only sorry that I cannot stay
to express my thanks more suitably. You see, I must get Margaret
home.’
    ‘ Margaret?’ repeated Verity, vexed to feel herself blushing at
the implied rebuke. How unhandsome of him when she had already
apologised.
    ‘ Peggy, he means,’ chimed in Braxted.
    ‘ Oh,
yes, of course. Do go at once,’ Verity said, thankful for the
excuse that would afford instant relief from embarrassment, and
feeling rather guilty for forgetting the infant’s needs while
championing the boy Braxted.
    But
when she looked up at the phaeton she saw that Peggy seemed quite
contented in the competent arms of the middle-aged groom who
managed both to nurse her and hold the horses without apparent
difficulty. It crossed Verity’s mind that perhaps the child was
more often to be found in the arms of servants than in those of her
own mother. She had certainly called in her distress for ‘Tittoo’,
her nurse Kittle, rather than for ‘Mamma’.
    There was no time for
further speculation, however, for the young man, having muttered
some words of farewell that she scarcely heard, was already
climbing laboriously into the phaeton, while Braxted hopped nimbly
up to take his own place, squeezing in between the groom and his
father.
    His father ?
Verity supposed he must have that identity. Though he did not
behave in the least like a father should. Admittedly, he had owned
himself at fault, but his attitude to the children had been far
from loving. And then, too, though everyone had addressed Braxted
as ‘my lord’, none had offered a similar courtesy to the young man.
Perhaps he was merely Braxted’s tutor. He certainly acted more in
the manner of a schoolmaster than of a father, she thought, with
severe disapprobation.
    ‘ You
may tell me your tale on the way, Braxted,’ she heard him say to
the boy as the phaeton started forward, in a tone that lent
credibility to her last theory. Especially as the childish treble
did not pipe up in response as it ought to have done at a parent’s
bidding. At least not to Verity’s ears. Or perhaps it had been
drowned by the clatter of the horses’ hoofs, she thought, trying to
be charitable.
    To
the obvious relief of Lady Crossens’ groom, who had been hovering
on the fringes of the group all this while, she began to walk back
to where the old coach stood waiting. The groom hurried ahead of
her to let down the steps and hold open the door.
    The phaeton and its
accompanying horses were already lost to sight as Miss Lambourn,
apologising to the groom for keeping him waiting all this time,
climbed into the coach. She was greeted by the querulous voice of
her patroness.
    ‘ And
now, miss, if I might trespass upon your valuable time, perhaps you
would be so obliging as to tell me the meaning of this
extraordinary conduct?’
    It
took some time to persuade Lady Crossens of the justice of her
actions. But although Miss Lambourn patiently explained the
circumstances, she could by no means subscribe to her ladyship’s
freely expressed view that she ought to learn to mind her own
business.
    ‘ You
would not have had me drive on and leave those poor little mites to
their fate?’ she