The Solemn Bell(66)

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX





Angelica cried all the way upstairs. She’d never been in such a situation before, and did not know how to handle it. She felt embarrassed, sad, and angry all at once. She wept for Mary Rose, who was surely troubled, and for Marcus, who somehow held the family together while the parents couldn’t be bothered to care.

Captain Neill brought her to her room, and closed the door behind them. He stood there for a moment without saying a word. He let her get it all out of her system. Then, he asked, “Shall I ring for Bessie?”

“No. I don’t want her.”

“What do you want, then?”

She sniffled. “An apology.”

“From Mary Rose? Because, you won’t get—”

“No. From you.”

He stepped forward, touching her. “Why me? What have I done?”

“You brought me here, to this place where no one is kind. Where everyone hates me, and are always trying to trip me up. No one here is good, Brody. These people are all rotten.”

“I know,” he said, sadly. “Sometimes I think you’re the only good thing left in this world.”

She turned to him. “Then can we leave?”

“Angelica…”

Now, she understood—he intended them to stay here with his family. That’s why he’d brought her to his home, because they didn’t have money to go anywhere else. Oh, God. How long did he expect her to go on living like this?

Captain Neill held her against him. “Mary Rose didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t mean any of it. You simply don’t have enough experience with drugs and drink to understand.”

“I understand I don’t have to be treated like that! Does your family hold no one accountable for their actions? Is this how you were raised? Because, if so, it answers so many questions…”

“Yes, Angelica. This is how I was raised. My parents hate each other. Father barely sleeps here, and keeps a mistress somewhere else. Mother has a slew of lovers, though that revolving door has slowed a bit. Quite possibly, Mary Rose isn’t even my father’s child, but we all choose to ignore the fact. Markie’s silently miserable, and has been for years. As for me, well, I’m the family disappointment—yet some days I think I’m the only sane one!”

“Then I feel sorry for you.”

He scoffed. “Why, because my family is a disaster?”

“Because your family is a disaster, and still you crave their approval. We all want to be loved and accepted—and forgiven for our mistakes—but, often, that moment never comes.”

“You think I ought to give up on them?”

She shook her head. “Pick your battles wisely, Brody. You’ve been fighting too long.”

“Perhaps you’re right. But I don’t want to think about them just now. You were wonderful tonight, Angelica. No one would have ever believed it was your first party.”

“I was so nervous…”

“In fact, I think that was the real reason Mary Rose lashed out—you showed her up at her own birthday.”

Surely that couldn’t have been it. Angelica was a nobody, and Mary Rose Neill had the world at her feet. “She needn’t worry. I doubt I’ll attend another one of her parties.”

“No, indeed,” he said, laughing. “You’ll throw your own.”

What a preposterous idea. Who would ever come to a party of hers? “You might as well help me out of this dress. I think I’m dropping beads by the minute.”

Captain Neill moved to unfasten the hooks and eyes holding her together. She had loved the frock, and he had loved seeing her in it. The silk underneath might be salvageable, but the elaborate, jet-beaded net was destroyed. It was, perhaps, a sad metaphor for her life—beautiful, yet ruined.

Angelica was feeling sorry for herself. It was only a stupid frock. Granted, it was her favorite stupid frock, but there would be others. Just as there would be other nights, and other parties. Thankfully, she would always have Captain Neill by her side.

He stripped her out of the dress, and tossed it aside. Beads clattered as it landed on a nearby chair. She eased off her shoes, and then began to remove her stockings.

Captain Neill stopped her. “Let me.”

He went down on his knees. Angelica held onto the edge of the bed as he slowly, deliberately rolled each silk stocking down her leg. Her heart danced as his fingers brushed the backs of her knees, the turn of her ankles. When he finished, he pressed his lips to the bared skin just below her lace combinations.

She wanted him to go further. To kiss higher. He stopped when he reached the purpled bruise on her inner thigh.

“You should have let me kill Peter when I had the chance,” he said, softly.

“He’s your friend.”

“I have no friends. Only you.”

Lonely man. Her heart broke for him. “You’ll make new friends. Better friends.”

“Ones who know nothing about my past…”

She ran her fingernails lovingly through his thick hair. “Or mine. We’ll make a fresh start.”

“Would that we could.” He rose up from his knees to face her. She felt his warm breath on her lips. There was something in his voice—a hitch, perhaps. He knew something she didn’t, yet could not find the courage to tell her.