She could bear it no longer. This pompous swell was insulting not only Angela, but also the mother and sister she loved. “Get out! Our engagement is at an end.”
“Indeed it is.” He nodded in grim satisfaction. “Your schemes have been found out, and you play the righteous lady. Well, I will do this much for you, Miss Angela. Because my sister’s reputation might also be harmed, I will say nothing of this. How fortunate that the invitations made no mention of an engagement. And now, good day to you.”
He picked up his hat and departed.
Angela glared after his retreating back, her fury abating only when she heard his phaeton moving away in the street.
He was gone. The man she loved did not, in the end, love her. She’d been a mere convenience, and he had cast her off without a second thought.
Angela sank onto the sofa, a heavy weight settling on her chest. The ball. They couldn’t call it off now without revealing the truth. They’d have to go ahead with it, pretending they never had any motive but to entertain friends. She would have to smile and dance and chat, aware that a hundred eyes examined her for any sign of heartache. Worse yet, Lady Mary couldn’t afford the expense, and Angela suspected her mother planned to sell the few jewels that remained to pay the costs.
Why had Meg engaged in such a mad business? Why, oh why, had she written about it to Helen?
But that wasn’t the heart of the problem. It was Edward. He cared nothing for her, nor ever had. Perhaps it was better to suffer this way now, than to spend a lifetime yearning for the love he was unable to offer. Now if only she could persuade her heart to agree with her reasoning.
A carriage halted in the street outside. Hastily Angela dabbed a kerchief to her eyes, wishing her mother were home, but Lady Mary had gone calling and wouldn’t return back for hours. She would have to keep up a front as best she could.
When Sir Manfred entered, he was pleased to find Angela alone. She should not entertain a gentleman in this fashion, but she clearly gave the matter no importance. Doubtless their frequent rides together had led to this increased intimacy, which suited his purpose well.
“My dearest Angela.” He swept across the room to take her hands in his. “How well you look.” Although in fact she seemed a trifle strained.
“Thank you.” She gestured to the sofa. “Would you care for some refreshment?”
He was on the point of saying he would like a drop of brandy when he recalled that a glass might prove a handicap. “No, no, not necessary, my dear.”
They took their seats politely. Seeming recalled to propriety, Angela gazed about nervously. “I... I think I should summon a maid. For appearances’ sake.”
“Of course, but first let me say how glad I am to hear that your dear sister is returning to London.”
This conversational dodge effectively distracted her. “Yes, she arrives tomorrow.”
“Then she’ll attend the ball.” Sir Manfred noted how the girl grew ashen and wondered whatever was the matter. He could scarcely ask her point-blank. “I never could understand that business at Almack’s. Danced with her myself that night, and she behaved splendidly.”
“Meg is always splendid,” Angela agreed, perking up.
Seeing where her weak point lay, Sir Manfred continued to praise the absent Meg, and noted with gratification that there was no further mention of summoning a maid. He estimated that another quarter of an hour would elapse before Cynthia arrived. He mustn’t play his cards too soon.
“May I know the colour of your gown?” Meeting a puzzled expression, he added, “For the ball. So that I might send flowers.”
“Oh. It’s yellow.”
She made no mention of an engagement, he noticed. Why should it be kept a secret, if in fact it existed? Perhaps Cynthia was mistaken. But in any event, he had decided upon his course, and planned to pursue it to the end.
“That should suit you splendidly.” Sir Manfred saw his chance to move nearer the young lady. “Are you aware that some colours flatter one’s skin and others detract?”
This gave Angela pause. “Well, I don’t suppose I had considered it. Although I do observe that some ladies appear to advantage in black or dark blue, and others look finest in pale shades.”
“Precisely. Hold out your hand.”
Before Angela could respond, Sir Manfred moved from the sofa to kneel beside her chair. He laid a fold of the girl’s creamy muslin skirt across her hand, and, with a rapid motion, untied his snow-white cravat and laid it down as well.
“Sir Manfred!” the girl protested.
“I am merely proving a point,” he said in a mildly offended tone. “See how your gown flatters your skin, whereas were you to wear stark white, it is quite another matter.”
Angela stared at her hand in perplexity. “I...I’m not sure I see what you mean, sir.”
“Hmm.” He gazed rapidly around the room. A bedchamber would have offered more scope, but then, if he were alone with Angela in her bedchamber, no such stratagems would be necessary.
A light blue embroidery cloth lay not far off in a sewing basket, and beneath it he found a spool of dark blue thread. “Now I shall demonstrate with these two shades,” he said, returning to Angela’s side.
He lifted the cornflower-blue cloth, much like the shade of her eyes, and set it against her ivory skin. “Very pretty,” Sir Manfred observed. “You should wear this frequently.”
“I have several blue gowns in that shade,” Angela confirmed.
“Now see the effect of the darker colour.” He laid the spool against her skin. “An entirely different picture. You see for yourself how it overpowers you.”
“I had always assumed young girls avoided dark hues because they were depressing to the spirits.” Angela was clearly fascinated by these revelations. “But it’s because they make one look a dowd.”
“Nothing could make you look a dowd,” corrected Sir Manfred. Damn, not time yet for his move. “Let us examine some other colours.”
“Oh, yes!” Angela seemed—he searched for the right word—relieved. Perhaps she had feared some other topic of conversation. The forthcoming ball? No time to plumb the matter. After a rapid calculation, Sir Manfred shrugged off his bottle-green jacket.
“Sir!” Angela made fluttering motions with her hands. “You mustn’t do this! Your sleeve would have sufficed.”
“What? Oh, what a ninnyhammer you must think me!” Sir Manfred feigned a laugh. “All the same, regard this shade against your hand. What do you think of it?”
“It’s better than the dark blue but not nearly so flattering as the light,” Angela declared.
Fortunately Sir Manfred’s vest was yellow, a hue they hadn’t yet explored. “I promise not to disrobe further, Miss Angela. Merely place your arm next to my chest. Yes. Ah, that is an excellent tint. I can scarcely wait to see you in your ball gown.”
He knelt beside her chair, holding her hand close to his heart. From the street came the sound of a carriage drawing to a halt.
Angela’s eyes widened in alarm, and she opened her mouth to protest. As she did so, Sir Manfred gave her hand a sharp tug and the girl lost her balance. As he had intended, she fell upon him. Quickly he pressed his lips to hers, just as Lady Cynthia Darnet thrust ahead of the butler through the door.
“Oh, gad!” the countess squealed, a touch too dramatically, in his opinion. “I never imagined... Well! I’ve never been so shocked in my life.”
The unfortunate target of this outburst looked as if she might expire. Sir Manfred felt a wave of pity as he helped her to her feet. She was a taking little thing, and there was no proof she had abused his kindnesses. Why not use this opportunity to accomplish what he had hoped for?
“I assure you, Lady Darnet, matters were not as they seemed,” he muttered.
“Were they not?” Cynthia was in full sail now. “I find Miss Linley unchaperoned in a closed room, lying upon the floor, and you, Sir Manfred, in a state of undress!”
He glanced down at
Angela where she sagged on the sofa, and caught a glimmer of tears threatening to overflow. “Surely you would never repeat such a tale,” he declared protectively. “If there’s any fault, it must be mine.”
“Not repeat it?” Lady Darnet stared at him indignantly. “If a young lady chooses to behave in such a disgraceful manner, society should know the particulars! As for its being your fault, sir, when a lady entertains a gentleman without proper supervision, she cannot cry foul if he takes advantage of the situation.”
Angela shook her head dazedly. “I shall go away.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “Meg and I...we shall go back home—”
“Nonsense,” said Sir Manfred.
His cousin frowned and drew back her leg as though she would like to kick him. “The girl is right. A most sensible idea. The Linleys don’t belong in London. Two scandals in one season!”
“There will be no scandal,” he informed her. “Miss Angela and I are going to be married.”
In the stunned silence that followed, Angela saw the events of the day flash before her. Edward’s fury, the end of their engagement, the necessity to give the ball even though it would further impoverish Lady Mary, Meg’s arrival full of the hope of resuming her place in society.
Seeing only one way of saving the people she loved, Angela took it. “Yes,” she told Lady Darnet, “Sir Manfred and I are betrothed.”
Chapter Seventeen
What a talent she had for getting herself into the briars, Meg reflected as the Bryn carriage rattled through the outskirts of Manchester. Oh, she would be so glad to get home!
At least she had Angela’s wedding to anticipate, and the end of their financial difficulties. Not that Lady Mary expected Edward to fund her establishment, but it would remove Angela’s expenses, and the Linleys might naturally spend considerable time each year visiting the Cockerells.
She wouldn’t mind in the least! Meg thought, her spirits beginning to rise for the first time in a day and a half as she pictured Helen’s beloved face. They had so much to discuss.
Her mind returned then to Lord Bryn, and the spurt of happy anticipation died within her. The marquis had avoided her the rest of Sunday afternoon and evening, and she’d taken a subdued supper in the nursery. The children were also down at heart, whimpering and asking who would take care of them.
Indeed, who? she wondered unhappily. Germaine was to marry Squire Roberts, and of course there was no governess at hand. That pathetic Myra wouldn’t have suited, in any case. Given to vapours! What would she have done when confronted with a mouse, or a ghost?
The idea brought a brief smile to her lips. Then it was replaced by the image of his lordship’s visage that morning, dark and glowering. What had happened to the love he professed?
He had come out to see her off, along with Germaine and the children. Nothing in his cold indifference had indicated she had been anything more to him than a governess for his children.
So many words had hung unspoken in the air. Part of Meg yearned to abandon propriety and run to him, cling to his sleeve, beg his forgiveness. A more spirited part of her had ached to give him a good shake. What kind of man would condemn them both to a lifetime of unhappiness as punishment for an error in judgment?
If only he did not hold so low an opinion of the ton, and therefore of her. Unfair as it might be, his anger at himself over the death of his servant, and at London society for its frivolity, had all devolved upon Meg. By her bumblings, she had come to symbolise all that he loathed and deplored. Could a mere woman overcome such condemnation?
Her musings broke off as the coach rattled into the innyard, and the coachman came round to hand Meg down. Instinctively she adjusted the spectacles. She had offered, this morning, to return them, but Andrew—no, Lord Bryn, she must henceforth think of him that way— had waved aside her offer in annoyance.
The courtyard looked entirely different now, no longer blurry and confusing, but full of gesticulating people, bright carriages, and scampering kittens. In some other mood, Meg might have enjoyed watching the activity. Now the details contrived to remind her painfully of his lordship—the arrogant turn of a gentleman’s head, the soft happiness in a lady’s eyes, the shouts of children.
Turning away, Meg proceeded to make arrangements for a seat on the mail to London. If fellow passengers favoured her with bold stares for travelling alone, she was not disturbed. The easily cowed girl who had left London a few weeks past was gone forever.
So Meg returned to London, and to the shocking news that Angela was engaged to marry the wrong man. It was worse even than her own predicament, for Angela’s happiness was far more important to Meg than her own.
“You can’t mean to go through with it!” she cried as she sat with her family in Lady Mary’s private parlour on her first evening home, trying to absorb the rapid sequence of events that had taken place shortly before her arrival.
“I can and I shall,” Angela said quietly. “Edward has no affection for me—of that I feel certain. One of us must marry soon, and Sir Manfred is an eligible specimen.”
An eligible specimen! What chill words from the sister who a few weeks past had been the most innocent and trusting of creatures. Meg turned to their mother. “You can’t mean to let her. Surely you see it will ruin her life.”
“I see nothing of the kind.” Lady Mary continued working at her embroidery, as if ordering a neat overlay of threads could bring order to the tangle of their lives. “From what you’ve told us there is no hope of a marriage with Lord Bryn, nor from what I can see is there any chance of Edward’s changing his mind. He can be infuriatingly pompous, although I’d not have said so were he my son-in-law.”
“But Sir Manfred?” Meg protested, remembering the drunken gentleman who had abandoned her on the dance floor at Almack’s. That foppish fool must never touch her sister. “I’d sooner marry him myself, if someone must.”
“I scarcely think we can hand Sir Manfred about like a prize horse.” Angela produced the first genuine smile Meg had seen since her return to London.
“But you love Mr. Cockerell!”
“And you love Lord Bryn,” responded her sister. “Since neither of us can have what we want, we must take what we can get.”
“Most sensible,” said Lady Mary.
Meg clamped shut her lips. In her weeks away from home, she had dwelt in her mind upon her family’s endearing traits. She had all but forgotten her mother’s narrow practical streak and her sister’s stubbornness.
What was she doing, thinking ill of the two people she loved most? It was because of her that they had come to this pass.
“I’m terribly sorry for my misadventures and for writing about them to Helen,” Meg said. “It never occurred to me she would show the letter to her brother.”
“I can scarcely believe it myself.” Angela pricked her finger on her embroidery and tossed it irritably aside. “What do you suppose she had in mind? When I suggested telling him of our financial straits earlier, she rejected the notion.”
“Quite rightly, too,” said their mother.
“Surely you don’t advocate intentional deception,” Angela exclaimed.
“The world in general and the ton in particular are built upon intentional deception,” responded Lady Mary, to the girls’ amazement. “Aging widows disguise their wrinkles with powders and paints, young rakes borrow endlessly and live beyond their means, and our own Prince Regent seeks to hide his bulk by squeezing it beneath a corset.”
“But you cannot support dishonesty,” said Meg. “I behaved most shamefully in disguising myself as a governess, did I not?”
“Where does one cease keeping up appearances and begin to be dishonest?” This flight of philosophy by the usually prosaic Lady Mary left both her daughters speechless. “Angela has a respectable dowry. The state of her family’s finances is none of her fiancé’s concern.”
Mrs. Pickney, the housekeeper, made a noisy approach down the hallway and stepped through the open door. “M
iss Cockerell has come to call, and begs your forgiveness for the lateness of the hour, my lady.”
“What! Come to visit after supper?” Lady Mary stared at the housekeeper in horror. “Unheard of!”
“Perhaps she means to apologise,” Meg said hopefully.
“It’s most improper. We are not at home to her.”
“Nonsense, Mother.” Angela spoke with a note of authority that her sister had never heard before. “She’s had to wait to slip out until Edward went to his club. You don’t imagine he’d let her come calling, free as you please, in the middle of the afternoon?”
Grudgingly, their mother conceded the point, and instructed the housekeeper to show their guest inside. Helen ran up the steps in a most unladylike manner, and arrived at the parlour breathless, her hair askew. “Meg! Welcome back!”
Without hesitation, Meg ran to embrace her friend. “Have you had to sneak out?”
“I’m afraid so.” Helen greeted Lady Mary and Angela before continuing. “I had to explain about the letter, and see what I can do to patch things up.”
“Nothing, I’m afraid.” Meg joined their guest on the threadbare sofa. “My sister has managed to get herself promised to Sir Manfred, of all people.”
“It seems a logical solution,” said Angela, but the tears glimmering in her eyes belied the surface calm.
“Logical? It’s absurd, and so is my brother!” Had he stepped into the room at that moment, Helen left no doubt she would have assaulted him with any weapon at hand. “You can’t go through with this, Angela, although I dare say even Sir Manfred is an improvement over Edward, when it comes to good manners.”
Mrs. Pickney carried in an armful of paper-wrapped packages. “Where would you like these, Miss Cockerell?”
“Right here, thank you.” The girl jumped up. “These are some of my gowns for you, Meg, as you requested.” She tore open the paper and pulled out masses of silk and lace and muslin. One bundle held matching ribbons, fans, gloves, and slippers.
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