Page 241 of Once an Angel
When Penfeld tried to slip away and join the servants, Justin clutched his arm. "Stay, please," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "You can catch me if I faint."
They all watched through the windows as the driver threw open the carriage door. A bony hand protruded and Justin stiffened as Amelia Winters climbed out. His only regret lay in having to pay her the reward he had offered. It was her perverse good fortune that the child had returned to the only home she had known, however lacking in care and comfort it might have been.
The driver cast the house a surly look, and Justin recognized him as the same lad he had met at the seminary. His steps were hampered by a definite limp, and even from this distance Justin could see the mottled bruise blacking one of his eyes.
Justin's breath froze in his throat as a diminutive figure in a simple navy frock and wide-brimmed bonnet climbed out of the carriage, disdaining the driver's assistance.
Penfeld leaned over and whispered, "A bit large for a ten-year-old, isn't she?"
Justin frowned.
The severe parade made its way up the walk with the driver lagging behind. As the butler ushered them in, Miss Winters's cane clicked on the marble tile. The girl appeared in the doorway.
Justin's heart tripped into double time. He locked his hands at the small of his back and forced a smile
he feared was more grimace than grin.
She didn't even look up. Head bowed and hands shoved into a ratty muff, she marched past the somber column of servants and family, straight toward him. His frown deepened. There was something in the sway of her hips ... a false submissiveness to her sullen stance that struck a disturbing chord of recognition. A bell of warning jangled in his head.
She stopped dead in front of him. He gazed at the top of her bonnet, holding his breath without realizing it. Even before she slowly tilted her face to his, he knew what he would see. Tumbled chestnut curls framed by the bonnet's brim. A mocking dimple slashed in a plump cheek. Coffee-brown eyes glittering not in merriment, but bitter triumph.
Her hand came out of the muff and crossed his face with a resounding crack. Someone in the room gasped. He stood there, paralyzed, feeling all the blood drain from his face except for the vivid burn of her handprint against his cheek.
Tilting her pert nose in the air, she dismissed him coolly and turned to Penfeld. "You may show me to
my room now. The attic will do if you've nothing more suitable. I've grown quite fond of rats and
pigeons over the years. They're far better company than most people."
Penfeld made a helpless gurgle, but Justin gave him a curt nod and he recovered enough to lead her past the gaping servants and white-faced family. She marched past the piles of toys and games without so much as a disdainful glance, but at the piano she paused.
A strange emotion flickered across her face, squeezing Justin's heart like a vise. Ignoring all the elegantly garbed and coiffed dolls, Emily picked up the ragged doll on the music stand and hugged it to her breast. As Penfeld led her from the drawing room, the doll peered at Justin over her stiffened shoulder and he would have almost sworn he saw mocking amusement sparkle in her vapid blue eyes.
Chapter 19
I still long to think of you as a child.
One by one the candle flames winked out, leaving the Christmas tree shrouded in darkness. Justin stood unmoving, hands in pockets, as the maid set down the brass snuffer and brushed past him, averting her eyes. Two footmen wheeled away the shiny velocipede, their voices lowered to somber whispers.
Outside the drawing room windows the sky faded from dull pewter to smoky black. Servants came and went, sweeping away the last traces of mistletoe and tinsel until Justin stood alone, the naked tree towering over him like the specter of his own folly. He reached up and plucked a stray holly leaf from
the gilt cage where the mechanical birds now hung in silence.
Penfeld appeared in the doorway, clutching a stuffed bear nearly as big as himself. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Sir, there's still the matter of the pony."
Justin ran his thumb over the sharp points of the leaf, remembering how Trini had laid the sprig of greenery at Emily's feet to welcome her into their lives. At least the native hadn't been foolish enough
to lay his heart there.
"Have the groom stable it for tonight. It can be returned in the morning."
"Aye, sir. As you wish." The valet hesitated as if he would have liked to say something more, then
hefted the bear to his shoulder and lumbered away.
How could he have been such a fool? Justin wondered. Emily had scattered clues like the crimson petals of the pohutukawas along every path he took, but his own obsessive desire had blinded him. Could he blame only himself, though, when she had deliberately and maliciously deceived him about her identity? As the full realization of her betrayal struck him, a new emotion ribboned through his self-contempt—anger, dark and compelling and dangerous. His gaze lifted to the ceiling above his head.
His terse interview with Miss Winters had provided some of the answers he sought, but he had some questions of his own for the elusive Miss Scarborough. Ignoring the prick of its points, he crumpled the shiny leaf in his hand and started for the stairs.
