How his heart ached like no time before. What was it he needed to say to her to bring her happily into his arms and permanently into his life?
“Then let me hold you for a little while longer, Angeline. I may not have the chance again.”
As he extended his arms to her, she leaned in against him. He felt her body shake with the tears she was trying to hold back; only because she was being stubborn was she in such distress. But the dampness against his skin testified to her own agony.
He could not cry but he was in pain as well. This was the one woman he had ever wanted. Yet she would not be his and still he did not know or understand what she held in her mind that kept them apart. Their pairing seemed rational enough for him. Her father approved, would be gleeful, yet she would not give over.
Angeline cried herself to sleep in his arms. He dozed but never fully slept. When the dawn was near to breaking he settled her beneath the linens so she would not be chilled. He dressed quietly and with haste. As he kissed her lightly on her lips, his heart was heavy and aching. How it had come to this he would never comprehend.
Brushing her cheek lightly with his fingertips, he turned and let her gather the rest she could. He needed an early start to London regardless of the fact he had no desire whatsoever to leave.
Chapter 21
The days passed slowly as Angeline tried valiantly to keep herself incessantly busy, her mind from wandering to thoughts of Geoffrey. When the weather was nice, she was out in her garden tending the blooms and staying as far away as possible from the bench in the bower she had shared with him on numerous occasions. Nor did she return to the swing under the willow.
When the weather turned rainy or cool, she stayed indoors in her bedchamber. The library and the music room only instigated memories of the afternoons they had spent together discussing a myriad of subjects while enjoying each other’s company. Always there had been an underlying tension between them. An accidental touch of a hand or even the fabric of their apparel always brought heat to her face and fire to his eyes.
It was on one such rainy afternoon the Sisters Grimm and their niece came to call once again. She welcomed them into the drawing room while Thomas went to fetch tea.
“We have not seen you in town of late, my lady,” Patience commented as she sat on the settee straightening her skirts. She looked up into her hostess’s face with concern.
“Quite right,” put in Prudence. “Is there cause for concern?”
With a knock on the door, Thomas entered, set down the tea tray then quietly left.
“Gertrude, would you care to serve the tea? It would be an excellent opportunity for you to practice.” Angeline sat in an embroidered fauteuil next to the settee.
“As you wish, my lady. Are you well? Please say you are not ill.” The pert young blonde rose gracefully from her seat and started the ceremony. She had improved greatly since she had come for her visit. Her hands no longer shook. She spilled not a drop pouring or handing the cups to the ladies.
“I am not in the least ill. But I have been occupied with my garden. It is flourishing and takes much time.” Angeline stirred her tea listening to the subtle clink of the spoon against the porcelain.
“Well,” continued Patience, “we have not seen the marquess either and then come to find out this very morning he is in London. Were we not surprised, ladies?”
Other teacups tinkled as spoons stirred. “Indeed we were, my lady.” Prudence set her spoon on her saucer and took a gingerly sip of tea. She replaced the cup as she looked toward her niece. “Why do you not tell Lady Angeline the news we have heard this morn, Gertrude? You were the one who overheard it from Lady Smithington in the bake shop.”
Angeline took a sip of tea and tried to school her thoughts and her features. She turned her attention toward the young miss.
“As you wish, Aunt.” Gertrude set her cup aside, sat up straight, then folded her hands in her lap. She was really very eager to impart the story she had to tell.
“Lady Smithington returned from London just yesterday, my lady. She has a sister who attends all the routs and salons in town so she accompanied her during her visit. Well,” the miss leaned forward in her chair indicating she was getting to the point of the tale, “Who do you think she saw not once but thrice in the last few days at such affairs? It was our marquess. Yes, Lord Colburn. And he was dancing with every available miss each ballroom had to offer. Or so says Lady Smithington.”
Angeline felt the heat rise to her face so she turned her face toward the window as she listened. She did not want to hear of Geoffrey’s efforts to find a bride. She did not want to know if he was successful or if he was enjoying the pastime. She wanted to run to her room and cry in her pillow. Why must she be so stubborn? Who would care he did not love her as long as she loved him? Most marriages were arranged and loveless. At least she would have him for a little while longer. There was always a chance he would return to her in his older years when the younger women had younger men from which to choose.
She fought for composure. After taking a deep breath, she returned her gaze to her guests.
“Lord Colburn told me he was going to London. He left over a week ago. He was called away on business matters.”
“Do you think it is true, my lady? Do you think the rumors of his looking for a bride are true?” Gertrude was anxious for her answer.
“Gertrude, you are being much too forward,” reprimanded Patience.
“Rude, my dear. You are being rude.” Prudence looked gently toward Angeline. “We had thought you and the marquess had formed a special connection, Lady Angeline.” She hesitated as if to find her words. “We all expected, well, um . . .” It was not like either of the sisters to be at a loss. “We just assumed that he would be asking you . . .”
Angeline had to take this matter in hand and she must do it now. “The marquess and I are special friends. We have spent quite a lot of time together. But, he is in need of filling his nursery and both of you ladies know I have vowed to remain unmarried just as the two of you have done.”
It was Patience’s turn. “Of course, we did understand that at one time, Lady Angeline. But, sometimes things change. An opportunity arises that allows one to re-decide, to pick a different future. Prudence and I had hoped you had that chance.”
“Yes, I had. But the one thing I would require to change my mind was not offered. I choose not to live without it.”
“Love,” said Prudence sagely. “You fear he does not love you.”
“He has never said so, no,” answered Angeline. Her hands retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and she pulled at it in her lap.
“But everyone could see how very fond of you he is,” put in Gertrude. “Surely even you could see he had eyes for no other when you were in the room.”
Ah, the very young, Angeline thought. Always searching for a happy ending. She felt her eyes tear. She would not cry.
“Gertrude,” said Prudence in remonstrance. “Angeline,” she continued in a soft, motherly voice. “Patience and I both know you love him. I am sure even Gertrude has guessed.”
“Oh, yes,” Gertrude interrupted again.
“Gertrude,” it was Patience this time.
Prudence continued. “I fear the two of us have done you a disservice and been unknowing models for your present situation. Do you think Patience and I are spinsters by personal choice? Do you not think we would have chosen another path had we had the chance?”
Angeline’s eyes came back to her. “Well, yes. I thought you both had decided to stay unattached.”
“My dear, few women prefer the unmarried state. It becomes so very lonely as one gets older. No husband. No children. Often dependent on relatives. No, the two of us are not here by choice.” Prudence paused to take a fortifying sip of her tea. “I was madly in love with a sai
lor and engaged to be married. All our plans were set and we needed only the groom to return from his last voyage. The ship encountered a storm at sea. All hands were lost as was my heart that day. I never found another but I must be honest and say my heart was not really strong enough to trust the Fates again.”
Angeline heard a sniffle from the other side of the room. When she looked over, a tear trickled down Patience’s cheek. Her niece came to kneel at her side.
“Oh, Aunt Patty,” the young miss let slip an endearment she must have used as a child. “Don’t cry, Aunt. It cannot be as bad as that.” Gertrude took her aunt’s hand in hers and patted it gently.
“Tell your tale, Patience. It is much more like Lady Angeline’s.” Prudence commanded. “It may help her to make her own choices differently.”
“I just can’t, Sister.” Patience fumbled for her own handkerchief in her pocket but was given one by her niece before hers was found.
“Yes, you can, my dear. Tell Gertrude, too. It will be good for them both to hear.”
“Well, if you insist.” After sniffling a number of times, then blowing her nose, she began. “I met Simon at the Church bazaar. He had ridden over from another shire because of the fine weather that September.
“He was a fine looking young man at the time. He came calling many times. I fell head over heels for him but I remained aloof. I had watched Prudence’s pain when she lost her young man and I did not want to suffer as she had. And, he had not told me of his feelings either.”
Plucking at the linen in her hands, she looked at Angeline, Prudence then Gertrude in turn. “But he had no idea how I felt for him. He stopped coming.” Patience stifled a sob. “Then I heard he had married a girl from his own town. Because I would risk nothing, I had lost all!” Sobs broke from her then and Gertrude’s consoling did naught to ease them.
Angeline was beside herself with sympathy for her two older friends. With a soft voice she murmured, “I had no idea. Neither of you have ever told me any of this before. I am so sorry for your pain. And your loss.”
“Lady Angeline,” Prudence was no longer motherly, “you had best think seriously about what you are about. Do you really want to grow old alone? You know your father will not live forever. What in heaven’s name would you do in this big house all by yourself? Patience, have some more tea, dear. Maybe it will calm your nerves.”
Angeline rose from her seat, “I will pour it, Patience. Gertrude, you are so good to care for your aunt so.” As she poured the tea for Patience she could see the spinster gathering her wits about her. The storm was over. Angeline refreshed each of the other cups. Gertrude went to take her seat once again.
“Well,” said the young miss, “I never knew either of my aunts had such heartbreak. But I know I only want to wait until I find the man I love. I can only hope he will love me but, if he does not and he wants to marry me anyway, then I shall swallow my pride and marry him. At least I’ll have what I want. How could I live and watch some other girl take it from me?”
And there, thought Angeline, from the mouths of babes, was the crux of the matter. Pride. Her damnable pride would keep her from finding even the least bit of happiness.
With the disappointments of the past revealed and soothed behind them the remainder of the afternoon passed in pleasant discussions of the local events. The marquess was mentioned no further. Angeline did not bring up the debacle of Hexford as it was no business but her own and she wished not to have it spread about the countryside. She felt it unlikely Hexford would say a single word but if she was ever approached she would quickly clarify the matter.
When the threesome left, Angeline was exhausted mentally and physically. She asked Thomas to have her evening meal sent to her rooms. She stopped in the library to tell her father she was retiring for the evening. He had given her a tender hug and a look that indicated he might have some inkling of her dilemma.
Of course she knew his opinion. She should marry the marquess and move on with her life. Her papa would be gloriously happy if he lived to love a grandchild or two though he never pressured her on the subject.
But all thoughts of marrying Geoffrey might be a moot point. He may have already found himself a young chit who would happily wed such a handsome, rich and titled lord whether she loved him or not. Whether he loved her or not.
As she entered her bedchamber, she prepared herself for another night of torment.
Each night she stayed up as late as she could trying to read herself into exhaustion or at least boredom. But the Graces were never with her. No matter when she laid her head upon her pillow thoughts of Geoffrey would come to her mind. Images of their lovemaking, their passion, would sear themselves upon her brain leaving her to toss and turn relentlessly while her body ached to be held, to be touched, to be entered by his. She was sure she was going completely mad and it was all his fault. Never before in her life had anyone had the power to so disorient, disrupt and distress her serenity.
Later that night, she was once again laying in her bed trying unsuccessfully to get some much needed rest. She tossed, she turned, she drank cool water but still her body was flushed and hot, her thoughts wild and vivid. She wanted him, desperately. Where was he? When would he return? Would he be betrothed to another? Or worse yet, would he already have married?
Her body ached with the need of him. Her sheath throbbed with the need of him. Her breasts were swollen with the need of him. Her breasts were swollen and tender . . .
Chapter 22
Geoffrey strolled around yet another ballroom. It was the third such affair in the last four days. In the ten days he had been in town he had attended more soirees, routs and salons than he cared to credit. He had danced with more debutantes and widowed ladies than he thought could exist. And this was neither the Season nor the Little Season. What more hell would either of those hold?
It had become more than tedious.
Perusing the room, his gaze fell upon one available miss after another. If they happened to be looking his way, they invariably flashed him a coy smile.
As if that wasn’t obvious enough. He swore every eligible female of the Ton had been through the same courses in how to catch a husband. Did other men fall for such nonsense? None of his cronies who survived the war had.
Nor would he.
He must continue his search. If Angeline continued to refuse to wed, he must have an alternate plan. As loath as he was to take on the responsibility, there was no choice. Ronald’s death had forced his hand. He was the only one left to carry on the family name.
Damn the bastard.
His eyes continued the search. As his gaze met men of his acquaintance, he would nod. Other than that he stood still leaning against a column in an overly lit, hot and gauchely decorated ballroom.
If he were back at the estate, he could have spent his night making love to Angeline.
How much more pleasant would that be than this cursed search? And the business matters he had to tie up seemed to unravel as quickly as he handled them. Would it never stop?
Without realizing, his gaze had stopped on a particularly attractive female. It was not until she moved her head as she talked with her companions did he realize he had been aimlessly staring in her direction. When his vision focused he was surprised but pleased to see she was, indeed, a rose among a great many thorns.
And she happened to be speaking with an acquaintance of his.
Their eyes met across the crowded room and with a slight almost imperceptible tilt of her head, her acknowledgment gave him permission to approach.
He took his time circuiting the ballroom. There was no need to appear eager. After all, he was not.
When he came to her circle of admirers, her back was toward him. He cleared his throat.
“Geoffrey, Lord Colburn. It’s been an age since I have seen you.” The Vis
count of Warren extended his hand and welcomed him to the small gathering. Besides the lady, there were three gentlemen in attendance.
“Marcus, it is my pleasure. How’s the leg?”
“Well, Geoffrey, I do tend to limp when the weather is bad, but I feel I got off lightly compared to many of the others. Do you know all of us here?” The viscount gestured to his companions.
Geoffrey nodded and shook hands with the gentlemen. “I of course know Michael, Lord Efrem, and John, Lord Sussex,” he turned to the lady. “But I have not had the pleasure of meeting this confection. Is she your wife, Marcus?”
A laugh was had by all. “One could only hope. This is Lady Summersborne.”
Geoffrey bent chivalrously over the lady’s hand as he kept her gaze. Cool blue eyes, not the warm green ones he had so been missing.
“My lord,” came the soft, cultured voice of the lady. “It is a pleasure to meet you. At last.”
“Have I been tardy, my lady?” he twitched his lips in his most rakish smile.
“Not really, but your name has been on the lips of every unattached female in the Ton for the last week. And their mothers are beside themselves with trying to have their daughters impress you.”
“Ah, it is difficult to be new meat on the market.” This brought another round of laughter as the orchestra returned from an intermission and a waltz was stuck.
“Do you waltz, my lady? May I ask for this dance?”
Lady Summersborne’s eyes shone with amusement. “Yes to both questions, my lord,” as she held out her hand.
An Improper Seduction Page 19
