Chapter Text
Prologue
“Miss Woodhouse, I think we’ve finally found the ideal opportunity for you.”
“Truly? My Knightley has been a guardian angel first class for ever so long. And not just of me on earth.”
“Truly. While your proclivities for… managing people’s lives have proven to be stumbling blocks in the past, they could be just the thing in this case.”
Emma clasped her hands together in delight. “Are… are you telling me I shall earn my wings by matchmaking?”
“Miss Woodhouse! Please remain focused. This is not some cheap carnival sideshow. We are guardian angels, not matchmakers.” Emma’s lips pouted in a moue of disappointment.
“That being said… Well, perhaps you should hear the requests and then you can review the file and see for yourself.” Emma grabbed at the papers, eager to begin as soon as possible. “Miss Emma Woodhouse, meet Mr. Alexander Colbourne.”
A flood of images danced in front of her, shadows and shades. Young boys and older men. Two young charges, tenants, and animals. A dark-haired beauty with expressive eyes. Rolling hills and a seaside village. At the center of it all, a lonely figure.
“He is a gentleman,” Emma said approvingly. “And most handsome.”
“That is not the material point, Miss Woodhouse. He is a soul in trouble. Just listen…”
Please help papa, he is so sad.
Dear Lord, may you keep and watch him. He is the best of men and deserves happiness.
An’ blessings upon the master who treats us kind. We’d not still be here but for him.
Even if he is stubborn he is a good person and I want us all to be happy at last.
Emma heard the voices, young and old, crisp accents and country tones, all sending up their prayers on his behalf. And then another voice, the low, musical tones of a young woman.
Please, I know I should forget him, but I cannot. I do not know what to do for myself, but please help him, help the girls, find their way to happiness.
Emma’s lips curved in a satisfied smile. Yes, this would do very well, indeed. After all, the most beautiful thing in the world is a match well made, and what better match than one literally heaven-sent.
Chapter One
Alexander collapsed into his chair, every muscle screaming with fatigue. Hours of labor and they’d lost both the calf and its mother. His thoughts drifted back yet again to the conversation he’d had not an hour before.
“I told ye, sir. Summat weren’t right.” George Clarence, one of the estate’s longstanding tenants, nodded sorrowfully, his hound-like features somehow drooping even more.
Alexander closed his eyes, tamping down the wave of weary aggravation. His father’s management style, when he had bothered to take an interest, had amounted to yelling and belittling. He was damned if he’d ever do the same. The tenants worked hard, stewarding this land as much as he did. That demanded respect. Furthermore, Clarence had told him. But because there was little the man enjoyed more than making doleful pronouncements, Alexander had not paid this yeoman Cassandra much heed. Yet another failure of judgment to enter into the ledger.
“So you did.” Alexander heaved a sigh. “I do not know if there was much else we could do, but even so… I am sorry we lost them.”
Clarence’s chin somehow sunk even further into his chest. “True, sir. Ain’t made much difference either way. Dragged it out more than anything.” He looked Alexander up and down. “If ye’ll excuse me, you look right done for, Mr. Colbourne. Best you get home. Mebbe shoulda stayed there at the start.” With that lugubrious dagger strike, Clarence tugged at his hat and shuffled off.
With each footstep back to the house, Clarence’s words had echoed in Alexander’s head. Now, he was so weary he could hardly stand. Normally he welcomed it, welcomed the distraction of aching muscles, the succor of an all-consuming exhaustion that gave no space for thinking. For memories, for impossible fantasies of a dear future that would never be.
Alexander’s skull throbbed. He needed rest, and silent oblivion.
He realized that each thump was not in his brain, but coming from the hallway. They grew louder, and were joined by the obnoxious clanging of a bell. Thump, ding. Thump, ding. Each one pierced his skull like an ice pick. And the shouting.
Thump, ding, “Fly! Fly!” Over and over. He couldn’t stand it for another moment. He heaved himself out of his chair and yanked open the door where he was met with the sight of Leo dressed in those old soldier’s rags marching and caterwauling her way through the house.
“Leonora!” He barked in a tone he had not used since… Well, had not used in quite some time now.
“Father! You are back! How is the calf? May I go and see it?” He held on to the threads of his temper and did not burden her with the harsh reality of the evening’s futility.
“What do you think you are doing, making all of this racket?” Still that edge in his voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose as she rang the bell enthusiastically.
“I’m helping the angels. Miss Hankins says that every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.” Another set of clangs punctuated that ludicrous announcement.
“Will you stop that?” He finally snapped. “You are disrupting the entire household with this nonsense.”
The happy open expression on her face dissolved into shocked hurt, her blue eyes swimming with tears. Shame burned in his throat.
“It is not nonsense! It’s not! I have to help, I have to help my mama get her wings. You don’t care about her at all, but I do!” With that, he stared frozen and helpless as she turned and ran down the hall, ran away from him.
He tried to call her back, but the tightness of his throat would not allow the words out. He started to go after her, but Clarence’s words hobbled him. Better to leave her alone. Better to leave everyone alone, rather than stealing their joy, darkening their lives with his shadows. “They would all be better off if I’d never been born,” he muttered. Abandoning the solace of a bath and bed, he walked purposefully out of the house.
***
Emma lurked on a small hill near the cliffs. Every so often, she would shade her eyes with her hands and peer in the direction of the house, the drama in the gesture worthy of Nelson at Trafalgar. She shivered, though she no longer felt the cold. It seemed appropriate for a lady stuck waiting outside for a tarrying gentleman. There, at last! She saw a well-formed figure moving towards the cliffs. She took a moment to appreciate his lean frame, the purpose in his stride.
“Miss Woodhouse!” A chiding voice barked in her head.
“Yes, yes, not the material point, I know. But I have always made the effort to find every opportunity to enjoy myself no matter the circumstances thrown at me.” Somehow, the voice’s silence echoed more loudly than the initial reprimand. With a sigh, she returned her attention to the gentleman. Now that he was closer, she could see lines bracketing his mouth and dark circles beneath his eyes. His shoulders, which had always seemed so straight, slumped beneath the cape of his green greatcoat.
When he was a few yards away, Emma collapsed to the ground with a ladylike yelp.
He was at her side before she even had a chance to grasp dramatically at her ankle. Most vexing, she had the scene all planned.
“Are you alright?” He loomed over her, but his expression was concerned.
“In truth, I do not know. My ankle…” Good, it was still possible to set the scene back on course. But he did not drop solicitously to his knees, or look up at her with inquisitive eyes as he asked for permission to examine the injury.
“Are you able to stand?” His tone was concerned, but practical. Emma sighed. So much for him being immediately distracted and sweeping her up and carrying back to the house.
“Perhaps if you aid me?” Looking at him expectantly, she offered her hands.
In one smooth motion, he lifted her to her feet as though she were a feather. His touch was gentle, but impersonal. She stood in front of him, pondering her next move.
“It does not seem to be too worse for wear,” he observed.
Blast, she had forgotten to limp. Feigning a wince, she hopped on one foot.
“I take it the pain comes and goes,” Alexander said dryly.
“Yes, that is it exactly. I am Miss Emma Woodhouse, by the way.” He inclined his head.
“And you are?” she prompted. Really, despair should be no excuse for lacking all social graces. Did she need to add teaching him that to her list, as well?
“Alexander Colbourne. You are on my land.”
Her irritation with his brusqueness made her forget about her ankle again, and she started tapping her foot impatiently. His sharp eyes did not fail to note it. He was supposed to carry her back to the house, where she would be offered tea and sympathy, and everyone would be dazzled by her charm, and she could introduce her mission most delicately.
“Miss… Woodhouse. If you are sure all is to rights, I would beg you go on your way.” He looked at her with raised eyebrows and a weary expression. Well, there was nothing for it. It would seem directness was her only option.
“All is most certainly not to rights, else why would I be here?”
“I have no idea why you are here, other than to feign an injury for an afternoon’s entertainment, and to put it bluntly, I am not particularly interested.” His eyes drifted away from her and fixed on a spot along the cliffs.
“Men are such fools,” she sighed, though the sidelong glance she cast at him indicated that she most definitely intended to be overheard.
“I am a fool to even entertain this conversation,” he muttered.
"Paying heed to me is never foolish. And I am here because of you.” She looked at him rather like her nanny used to look at her when she was being naughty.
“I have never laid eyes on you in my life, and whatever you may have heard about the hermit of Heyrick, the madman on the cliffs, I am neither in want of another victim or another wife.” A muscle jumped in his jaw as he clearly struggled to keep a rein on his temper.
“I, a victim? The very idea. And as to marriage, do not be preposterous.” She drew in a deep breath. “I did not introduce myself fully. I am Miss Emma Woodhouse, guardian angel.” She shuddered before adding, “second class.”
“You haven’t hurt your ankle, you must have hit your head,” he said, eyes a bit wild.
“I did twist it a bit. In fact, we should return to the house so it can be tended to.”
He gaped at her. “Did you just invite yourself to the house?”
“I would not have needed to if you had behaved more like a gentleman and invited me yourself,” she said sulkily. “We really do not have time for shilly-shallying, so I had to take action.” Before he could respond to that, she shot a question at him. “What were you up to just now?”
“I am not in the habit of explaining myself to strangers, particularly mad strangers who have wandered their way onto my estate uninvited,” he said.
Emma heaved an exaggerated sigh.
“And I am not in the habit of playing ministering angel to recalcitrant gentlemen, but nevertheless here we are.” Crossing her arms, she held his gaze.
He let out a mirthless laugh. “So you await what, my three wishes?”
“I am an angel, Mr. Colbourne, not a genie,” she replied with thinly veiled irritation. “Please tell me what you were about.”
“I honestly do not know what I was doing. Something mad, which seems to be the theme of today. What I do know, Miss Woodhouse, is that everyone who has the misfortune to come into my orbit suffers in some way. I have failed everyone I’ve ever cared about. And as for what I wish… I rather wish I’d never been born.” He closed his eyes, a faintly sick expression on his features.
She perked up, her eyes going bright as she tapped her finger against her lips.
“Yes, that is it!” She clapped excitedly before instantly sobering. “I do not mean to mock your pain, Mr. Colbourne. But I have been wondering how I can help you and you have given me the perfect idea. It’s just the thing. First, we really should return to the house.” She linked her arm with his and exerted all of the charm and reassurance her new role afforded her. His muscles stiffened before he finally shrugged.
“Very well, Miss Woodhouse. You shall have your way.” Emma raised her eyes to the heavens and murmured a thank you. This first and most difficult obstacle had been cleared.
***
Alexander strode across the rolling fields, fields that should be familiar. A sense of unease prickled between his shoulder blades. The shape of the land remained the same, its hills and valleys, the sound of the sea, the ancient trees standing like sentries before the house itself was in view. But so much was altered from just a few short minutes ago. Too much of the land lay fallow, and he could not hear the lowing of cattle.
He quickened his pace. After a few minutes of walking, he had reassured himself that the mad Miss Woodhouse’s ankle was none the worse for wear and pulled away from her grip on his arm. Something about it made it hard for him to think. Not in the way Charlotte’s touch robbed him of every thought, but something about Miss Woodhouse lowered his natural defenses. He could not believe what he had confessed to her.
Miss Woodhouse had initially attempted to move at a sedate pace, issuing faint ahems as he pulled further ahead before finally exhaling an aggrieved sigh. She now trotted along several paces behind him. He barely spared her a glance as he tried to make sense of the world around him, a world he seemed to be viewing through a warped mirror. Over there, a tumbled-down cottage that had this morning been neatly tended. Whole sections of fences were missing, and what remained were fallen down and twisted.
“Your ankle seems to have made a swift recovery,” he said as they drew closer to the house.
“Yes, quite providential.” Miss Woodhouse remained unfazed.
“You seem to appeal to providence quite a bit,” he said as they finally reached the front door. The bell dangled uselessly, and the decorative urns not only lacked plants but were gone altogether. He hesitated for the briefest of moments before opening the door.
“What do you think you are doing?” A rasping and slightly slurred voice barked from the shadows.
“Walking through my front door.” Like everything else since he had met Miss Woodhouse, the figure seemed both familiar and somehow sinister. The man took a few steps forward.
“Sam!” His brother stood in a belligerent posture, wavering on unsteady feet as he thrust out his chest. His name seemed to startle him, and he stiffened slightly.
“Yes, I am Samuel Colbourne. Who in the hell are you?”