Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(93)

He pressed his lips together to stop the torrent of memories. He must sound mad.

Angelika said the right thing. “Don’t stop. Tell me everything you want to.”

“I had a best friend named Michael at the seminary. He was so witty, he had me crying with laughter. He found the absurdity in it all, and he helped me gain my confidence and to see that the place we lived was also a game we must play. He loved pigeons, and he bred and trained them up in the loft of the barn.” Arlo was surprised now. “I think Victor’s pigeons reminded me of my long-ago friend.”

“Perhaps we could go together and find Michael.”

Arlo could only now think of a plain white cross. “He died of consumption. We were around fifteen, I think.”

“Oh,” Angelika said with heavy sympathy. “The only true friend you had died?”

“I was crippled by the grief. I cried into my pillow, and during the day I had to pretend I was all right with the apparent fact that he was in heaven, and it was his purpose. But for me, his purpose was to make my life livable.”

She ran a gentle hand over his head. “How did you live without him?”

“I went outside and pulled out an entire flower bed of weeds. It gave me a momentary release.” The clock in the hall chimed. The real world grew impatient, one floor down. “The garden saved me. Just like you saved me.”

She was smiling. “Well, I am dressed like a rather large violet.” She gave a small curtsy in his arms.

“Like a little larkspur.” Arlo stood, and let her fuss as he knew she wanted to. His collar was fixed, his buttons tweaked, his cravat retied. It was how she demonstrated her love, and when her eyes glowed with pleasure, he realized this was something he could do for her. “Could they make me a topcoat in this wool?”

Now she was very happy, and they kissed slowly, with smiles on their mouths. But when they pulled apart again, she had a new realization in her expression.

“You still had no choice, did you? You woke up here, and you were mine. You know that if it was what you truly wanted, I would let you—”

He didn’t let her finish, and kissed her until she was smiling and convinced once more.

When they broke apart, Angelika said, “Come along, let’s get these men out of our house. Victor might be still asleep, which would be for the best.”

Arlo followed her down the hallway, then put an arm around her waist and stepped in close. Against the back of her ear he said, “Don’t forget who you belong to.”

“I never have,” she replied breathily. She allowed him to hold on to her and it was at the top of the staircase that he halted her again, his arms tighter.

“Don’t forget that you are marrying me.”

The diamonds at her throat shimmered. “I could not forget.”

Now he had to ask her something, and it was not very manly or brave, but he knew he could. “Don’t let them take me.”

The portrait of his mother-in-law, Caroline, had a smile dimpling her cheek when they looked up at her.

“I never will.”

Angelika swept ahead of him into the drawing room, and Arlo tagged along behind to enjoy the drama of her imperial bearing. It would have made Lizzie grab for her notebook. “Pray, tell me the meaning of this early visit,” she said the moment she was in the room. “Explain yourselves at once.”

The three men sitting with empty teacups all jolted.

“Angelika! Are you well?” Christopher’s eyes darted from her throat and creamy bust back to her face. His expression soured when Arlo stepped beside her and put an arm around her waist. “I believe you should unhand her, sir.”

“I will not,” Arlo replied, strengthened by Angelika’s calm power. Christopher was still a very handsome, well-connected man, but he no longer had any chance of winning her heart.

“We are here to ask Will some questions,” Christopher answered her. “There is a strange matter to reconcile, down at the church.”

The church representative looked to Arlo and made his own introduction. “My name is Robert Thimms, and I am Father Porter’s personal valet. He wishes you to meet with him as a matter of urgency. We believe a miracle of some sort has occurred.” A smile split his cheeks unexpectedly.

Christopher addressed Angelika. “Father Porter believes that this is the priest who was sent to replace him.” Miracles did not occur in Christopher’s line of work; only mistaken identities and nefarious motives.

She did not so much as blink. “That man died in a carriage hijacking.”

“That’s what I believed, but apparently not,” Christopher said, narrowing his eyes up and down on Arlo. “Until we can all sit down and sort this out, we need you to come with us, Will.”

Angelika puffed up in outrage. “He goes nowhere.”

Arlo squeezed his arm around her waist in wordless thanks.

Christopher turned his frustration on Arlo. “You remain silent, as you often do. This is the magistrate, Mr. Samuel Carter. He has accompanied us in his official capacity, until we can clear up what I’m sure is a misunderstanding. Let us depart now for his offices.” The threat in his tone was unmistakable.

“How do you do, Mr. Thimms, Mr. Carter?” Arlo gave a polite bow. “I truly can only think of one way to completely clear up this strange matter, and I propose we reconvene at the church at my convenience; that is to say, nightfall. We must ask you to leave now.”