Page 37 of The Lady’s No Angel

Angel knew she ought to object. It was indecent, allowing him to make such arrangements for her, but he was being kind and taking care of her, and she was too exhausted to care about propriety, not that she’d ever cared much to begin with.

They were shown to their rooms, and Angel and Milly stood shivering as the maid stoked up the fire.

The moment she left, they stripped out of their damp clothes, hanging them to dry, and wrapped themselves in the blankets from the bed.

The bath arrived, along with a bottle of brandy and two glasses, no doubt care of Mr Cleaver.

“He thinks of everything, I’ll give him that,” Milly said with a laugh once the bath had been filled and the servants had gone.

“You go first, Milly,” Angel offered, huddled in a chair by the fire.

Milly pulled a face and shook her head. “Certainly not. As if I would. You get in, miss, afore the water cools. I’ll enjoy my brandy while you have a soak.”

Knowing better than to argue, Angel exclaimed as she dipped her frozen toes in the water, giving a shiver of delight when she sat and allowed the heat to soothe her aching limbs.

“Here, this’ll warm the cockles,” Milly said with a grin, handing Angel a glass of brandy.

Angel took it, feeling rather decadent, and they chinked the glasses together. “To tomorrow,” she said, with a stab of apprehension.

“May you find what you’re looking for,” Milly added before taking a sip of her brandy. She shivered dramatically. “Oh, that’s splendid, that is. Just what the doctor ordered.”

Angel sipped from her own glass, glancing up at Milly uncertainly. “What if we can’t find her, Milly? What if there are acres and acres of heath, and no way of knowing—”

“Don’t borrow trouble, pet,” Milly advised her as she rummaged in Angel’s carpet bag. “We’re safe and warm and we’ve come this far.”

Angel nodded, but all the things she had not allowed herself to think about seemed to weigh heavy tonight, crushing her spirits. “Mama will be so worried. I ought to send word, but I don’t want to give any clue to where I am.”

“Did you leave her a note?” Milly asked, looking up as she found the bar of soap Angel had carefully wrapped in a clean handkerchief, and handed it over, exchanging it for Angel’s glass of brandy.

Angel nodded. “I did, but what could I say? I didn’t dare tell her the truth. Papa might be keen to track me down, but if he thought there was treasure, he’d be unstoppable.”

Milly nodded her understanding as she drew her chair closer and sat down. “What will you do if you find it?”

It was a fair question, and one Angel had not allowed herself to face full on. Anything she owned belonged to her father, unless she married, in which case it would belong to her husband. She had no rights, none at all.

“I shall go abroad,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll take a new name, start afresh. I’ll style myself as a merry widow. They get a deal more liberty than an unmarried lady. I speak French, you know. That dreadful finishing school had some uses, at least.”

Angel glanced up, noting the worried look in Milly’s eyes. “Don’t worry, love. I shall share my good fortune with you. If there’s enough, you shall have funds to buy a little cottage, or set up a flower shop, or do whatever it is pleases you.”

“Don’t you want me to come to France with you?” Milly looked affronted and Angel’s heart leapt with relief.

“Oh! Oh, yes, I do, ever so much. But I could never ask you to—”

“Ask me, indeed!” Milly tsked. “As if I’d let you go without me. Imagine the trouble you’d get into!”

Angel laughed, unable to refute that. “Bless you, Milly. I would have gone alone, but I should be so happy to have you with me. Whatever should I do without you?”

“I shouldn’t like to wager a guess,” Milly said tartly. She eyed Angel, her gaze shrewd and knowing. “And what about Mr Cleaver?”

Angel stiffened a little as she lathered the soap between her hands. “What about him?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. Any fool can see you’ve a fancy for the fellow. Not that I blame you. He’s a handful, I’ll grant you, but a fine, lusty one.”

“Milly!” Angel said on a choked laugh.

“Well, I got eyes, don’t I?”

Angel returned a rueful smile. “Oh, I don’t know, Milly. I like him dreadfully. But I don’t really know him, do I? I don’t know if I can really trust him. He doesn’t even know who I am. I suspect he’s rather a fine gentleman. What if his father is well–to-do? A nobleman, even? I doubt he’ll want his son to marry a girl whose grandfather was a notorious pirate.”