by Mary Balogh
His forebodings were well founded, he discovered less than a week later, just after he had read the official announcement of the betrothal in the morning paper. Actually, the situation was even worse than he had anticipated, for it was not just the wedding that was to bring the families together.
Lady Palmer had decided to celebrate the betrothal with a brief house party at Hallings in Sussex, her husband’s country estate. Edward and his family were invited to attend, of course, and he did not need to be told that Fenner’s family would be there too. The party was to last five whole days.
Nothing could be more conducive to further depression. Five days of trying to avoid Lady Angeline Dudley in the intimacy of a country setting. If he had known what was facing him when he left Wimsbury Abbey less than two months ago, he would never have left. The duty of taking his place in the House of Lords be damned. And he would have chosen a bride from the ranks of the local gentry.
But it was too late now.
The rest of the drama is yet to be written, Eunice had said to him a few weeks ago. It was utter nonsense, of course. There was nothing still to be written. It was unlike Eunice to be so very wrong.
He had not set eyes upon her since the morning she had said it. He missed her.
ANGELINE WAS DESPERATELY gay during the three weeks following her rejection of the Earl of Heyward. She spent almost every morning out riding with Ferdinand and his friends or walking in the park with Maria or Martha, sometimes both together, or shopping on Oxford Street and Bond Street. She bought three new bonnets as well as feathers and ribbons and fans and reticules that she did not need but could not resist. She visited the library twice and borrowed books each time, though there was really little point as there was absolutely no time to read—there was too much fun to be had doing other things. She called upon Miss Goddard twice, careful to take a recovered Betty with her, and they sat and talked all morning both times, since both times it was raining and they could not go out for a walk. She could not remember afterward what they had talked about except that it was not bonnets and beaux and not Lord Heyward. They had each talked an equal amount, though, and really had not stopped for a moment.
She spent the afternoons paying calls with Cousin Rosalie or attending garden parties or Venetian breakfasts or picnics or driving in Hyde Park with one or another of her many admirers. There was not an idle afternoon.
And there were always more evening entertainments to choose among than there were evenings. There were balls, soirees, concerts, the theater, the opera, dinners. Sometimes it was possible to attend both a dinner and a concert or the theater.
Everywhere she went there were people she knew, and she was gradually learning to put names with faces without making too many errors. And there were always new people with whom to become acquainted. There were ladies who were friendly—younger ones who would link arms with her and stroll at a party, older ladies who remembered her mother or her father and loved to talk to her about them, elderly ladies who remembered her grandparents. And of course, there were her particular friends, Martha and Maria, who had also taken well with the ton and were always abuzz with excitement about various beaux or would-be beaux. There was Miss Goddard, by whom she sat at one concert and with whom she felt free to be quiet and actually enjoy the music.
And there were the gentlemen. There were the older ones, who tended to be courtly and who occasionally paid her the compliment of actually conversing with her. There were Tresham’s friends—Sir Conan Brougham and the blond and handsome Viscount Kimble in particular—who treated her in an avuncular manner, though they were not many years older than she. And Ferdinand’s friends, who tended to treat her as a regular one of the fellows, especially as she saw most of them only when they were all out riding. And there was a whole army of younger men, as well as a few older ones, who flocked about her wherever she went and paid court to her and flirted with her and flattered her and danced with her and walked and drove with her and occasionally proposed marriage to her.
There was Lord Windrow, who always pursed his lips and regarded her with laughing bedroom eyes whenever they were at the same social event, but generally kept his distance from her. She found him amusing and would have flirted outrageously with him if he had given her the chance since he clearly understood the game and would not take her seriously.
And there was, of course, the Earl of Heyward, who was at many of the same events that Angeline attended. It was unavoidable. The ton was not huge in number. Everyone tended to get invited everywhere, and everyone usually accepted the invitations. Angeline became quite adept at never being closer than half a room away from him and never looking his way and never ever meeting his eye. It was not difficult, of course, for he was clearly just as intent upon not seeing her. And he always was intent upon some other young lady, always a pretty, dainty young lady.
She would have been quite indifferent to him, would have forgotten him entirely, if it had not been for one fact. She still believed Miss Goddard was in love with him and he with her and that they would surely marry if only society was not so silly about such things. She found herself wishing that she could do something to bring them together. It would somehow soothe her sore heart if she could do that and be noble and selfless about the whole thing. She would be perfectly happy if the two of them married, and then she could get on with the business of falling in love and marrying and living happily ever after. No, forget the ever after part, for there was no such thing, of course, and it would not be desirable even if there were. It would be tedious. Quarreling would be fun when one knew one would kiss and make up and be happy all over again. Sometimes she thought wistfully of that sort-of quarrel she had had with Lord Heyward when he escorted her home from Lady Sanford’s, but she put the memory firmly from her mind. She was going to be noble from now on.
Besides, she was too busy enjoying herself to brood upon quarrels or almost-quarrels, too busy smiling, laughing, chattering, dancing, doing whatever exuberantly happy people did, having the time of her life.
And then came the day when she realized that she was not going to be able to avoid closer contact with the Earl of Heyward forever. Cousin Leonard had proposed marriage to Lady Heyward and been accepted, and Angeline was as overjoyed about it as Cousin Rosalie was. But Rosalie was planning a special celebration of their betrothal by having them at Hallings in the country over a long weekend and making a house party of it. They were all to go—Leonard’s family, that was—and so were the countess’s in-laws, even though they were only in-laws and she was about to marry out of their family. But she had only a reclusive father, Rosalie explained, and looked upon her late husband’s family as her own. They had been exceedingly kind to her.
Angeline must suggest any other guests she wished to be invited, Rosalie told her, since the intention was not to make it just a family gathering. For her part there were a few neighbors she would ask to come to stay.
At first Angeline could feel only a sick sort of dread and excitement—a horrid and bewildering mix—at the knowledge that she and Lord Heyward were doomed to spend five days in the same house with the same smallish group of people. But it was unavoidable. She had no choice but to go—both Tresham and Ferdinand were going and Rosalie, of course, was the hostess.
And then she had a grand flash of inspiration. Though perhaps flash was the wrong word, suggesting as it did that the idea came to her instantly and full blown. It actually took a little longer than that to come to full fruition, but it certainly was inspired when it did.
She was attending Lady Loverall’s garden party in Richmond one afternoon with Cousin Rosalie. The grand mansion in which Lord and Lady Loverall lived had a back garden that ended with the River Thames, actually jutting out into it in the form of two jetties. Angeline thought it might well be the loveliest place on earth to live. Certainly it was a perfect setting for an outdoor party on a perfect summer afternoon. Even though clouds occasionally covered the sun, they were actually welcome as a break from
the heat.
As she was looking about for a group of acquaintances she might join, her eyes alit upon Miss Goddard standing, as she usually did at the few entertainments she attended, with her aunt and a group of older ladies. They were on the terrace close to the refreshment tables. Angeline’s face lit up with delight. Miss Goddard was just the person she most wanted to see. She had been intending to call upon her tomorrow morning, in fact.
“Miss Goddard,” she said, as she approached her, “how lovely that you are here. Do come strolling down by the water. Would you not give everything in the world to live here?”
“Perhaps not everything,” Miss Goddard said, laughing. “But it is certainly a pleasure to visit. I will come, thank you. Perhaps we may stop along the way to look at the flowers. They are a feast for the eyes, are they not? And probably for the nose too.”
Angeline linked an arm through hers and drew her away from the other ladies after exchanging greetings and pleasantries with them all.
“Did you receive your invitation?” she asked. “Have you replied to it yet? I do hope your answer is yes. I shall be vastly disappointed if it is not.”
“I did indeed,” Miss Goddard said, “and was greatly surprised by it as well as gratified. Why would Lady Palmer invite me to spend a few days at her country estate in Sussex? I scarcely know her.”
“But I do,” Angeline said. “She is my sponsor, and she specifically asked me if there was anyone I wished her to invite. I daresay she thought I might be embarrassed by some of the guests. Well, one in particular.”
“Embarrassed?” Miss Goddard said.
“Cousin Leonard,” Angeline said, “Lord Fenner, Rosalie’s brother, that is, has recently become betrothed to the widowed Countess of Heyward. You may have seen the announcement in the papers. We are enormously pleased by the news. She broke his heart a number of years ago, you know, during her come-out Season when she was dazzled by the Earl of Heyward—the then earl, I mean, of course—and married him, but now she loves Cousin Leonard as dearly as he loves her—that is clear for everyone to see—and all is going to be well that ends well. That is a quotation from Mr. Shakespeare, is it not? The actual title of one of his plays, in fact? Well, close to the title. Anyway, the house party is actually to be a betrothal party, and so of course all of the countess’s family will be there. Or her in-laws, anyway. There is no one of her own family in town. The countess’s family—her in-law family—were all very attentive to me during that short time when everyone seemed to imagine that the Earl of Heyward and I might make a match of it, though they must all have had windmills in their heads to think such a thing. Anyway, they will all be at Hallings as well as Lord Heyward himself. Rosalie is probably afraid I will be embarrassed, since he proposed marriage to me and I said no. And so she wishes to invite a few other people to come for my sake. It is very good of her. I suggested you, as I would particularly like to have a few days to spend in your company.”
That was all perfectly true. But it was not the whole truth, for it had not taken long for Angeline to realize that the house party would provide the ideal setting for a proper courtship between Miss Goddard and the earl, and that she might be the one to bring it about. It would have the added attraction that his mother and his sisters would also be there to observe how very genteel Miss Goddard was and how very much she and the earl adored each other and how well suited she was to being his countess even if she was merely the daughter of a Cambridge don. Not many ladies had that distinction, after all.
“Please come,” Angeline said, squeezing her arm.
“I have never attended a house party,” Miss Goddard said.
“Oh,” Angeline said, “neither have I. But I have always wanted to. They must be enormous fun. You will come?”
“I will be pleased to,” Miss Goddard said. “I think.”
Miss Goddard bent to smell one of the delicate pink roses they had been examining, though truth to tell Angeline had not been paying them a great deal of attention. She had been too busy noticing that the Earl of Heyward was at the garden party too, and that he had that red-haired lady on his arm again—Angeline never could remember her name. She was very careful not to look directly at them and hoped Miss Goddard would not notice and become depressed at seeing him with someone else.
They strolled down to the riverbank and watched eight of the other guests out on the water in the four small rowing boats, two to a boat. The boats looked very small and unsteady to Angeline. She would not mind too, too much if she were riding in one of them and got tipped in. The water might be cold, but once in and over the first gasp of shock, one would soon become accustomed to it and would actually feel quite warm—until it was time to come out again. However, she did not believe she would wish to fall in today. She was wearing a new dress of fine sprigged muslin, which she loved despite its delicate colors. It would look like a dishrag if it got dunked in the river. Worse, her new hat would look like a dead duck, except that a dead duck would not necessarily be garlanded with multicolored bedraggled flowers and drooping ribbons.
“How lovely it must be out on the water,” Miss Goddard said with a sigh.
But as Angeline drew breath to reply, someone else did so before her.
“It would be all the lovelier for having the delectable Miss Goddard riding upon it,” the voice said, and they both turned in astonishment to find Lord Windrow about to step between them, almost forcing them to drop each other’s arms and take one each of his instead. “And so ride upon it you will. And, oh fair one, you must go out there also but not with Miss Goddard, alas. Those boats were made for two. If three were to try to cram into one, it would sink like a rock and leave nothing but three bubbles to be lamented over by spectators on the bank.”
“Assuming,” Miss Goddard said, “that none of the three could swim.”
“Or one—but that one would have all the bother of deciding which of the other two he would save,” he said. “Nothing but trouble could come of it, whichever one he chose.”
“Assuming,” she said again, “that the swimmer was the man. If it was one of the ladies, she would not hesitate to save the other lady. If she were to save the man, he would feel humiliated and he would be ridiculed for the rest of his life. His life would not be worth living. It would be more merciful to leave him to die tragically beneath his bubble.”
“Alas,” he said, one hand over his heart, “you would abandon me to a watery death, Miss Goddard.”
“I daresay you swim, though,” she said. “Do you?”
“But of course,” he said.
Angeline laughed at the absurdity of the exchange and twirled her parasol. And when one of the boats came in a mere minute or two later, Lord Windrow seized it even though there were two other couples very obviously waiting for it too. He handed Miss Goddard in with exaggerated care and turned to bow over Angeline’s hand.
“It is always said,” he murmured, “that the wise man saves the best until last.”
Angeline laughed again.
“But alas,” he called to her as he hopped into the boat and pushed it away from the jetty, “no one has ever yet called me a wise man.”
The rogue! She gave her parasol another spirited twirl just as the Earl of Heyward appeared upon the scene—alone and looking like thunder. There was not a redhead in sight—except Lord Windrow, whose hair was actually more copper than red.
“Lady Angeline,” he asked, “has Windrow been bothering you again?”
His eyes were upon the boat, which was now well out in the river. Miss Goddard, her back to Angeline, was reclining in her seat and trailing one hand in the water. Lord Windrow was smiling lazily at her and saying something as he pulled on the oars.
“He is not quite the black-hearted villain you take him for,” Angeline said, feeling suddenly breathless. “Even at that inn he was just being silly. It is in his nature to be silly.” Though perhaps that was an unfair word to use. He was silly, but really in a rather witty and charming way. Angeli
ne believed that he rather liked her. Nothing more. His flirtation was far too light to be either serious or menacing. “I am quite safe with him. Besides, Miss Goddard always seems to be present to save me from him.”
She turned her face to smile at him and was jolted to discover how close he was. For three weeks now there had always been at least half a room’s distance between them. She had not looked into his eyes since that day he insisted upon escorting her home from Lady Sanford’s. And despite all the flowers and trees offering their myriad scents for her pleasure, not to mention the river, it was his light and subtle cologne that enticed her senses. His eyes were bluer than the water.
“But who is to save Eunice?” he asked curtly, those blue eyes squinting as they followed the boat along the river.
Angeline was about to make a tart remark about that tiny rowboat on the wide river for all the world to see not being the likely scene of any wicked seduction. But the breath she had drawn remained unused, and her mouth remained half open. Her parasol stopped twirling.
Inspiration had hit her like a flash of lightning.
But of course!
She would persuade Rosalie to invite Lord Windrow to Hallings too. Rosalie would not mind. On the contrary, she would be pleased. She had been growing concerned over the fact that Angeline did not seem to favor any one of her suitors over the others. Lord Windrow was handsome and charming and elegant. He was eligible even if he had never given any indication that he was in search of a bride. He was one of Tresham’s friends, which was perhaps not a great recommendation in itself except that Tresham did not befriend just anyone. No, Rosalie would be delighted.
And when they were all at Hallings, Angeline would maneuver him and Miss Goddard into more situations just like this one and drive poor Lord Heyward insane with fear for her safety and perhaps with jealousy too, for Lord Windrow really was handsome and he seemed to enjoy flirting with Miss Goddard, who could match his wit. Lord Heyward would realize that he could not live without Miss Goddard, and she would realize she could not live without him, and their great love for each other would be clear to everyone else at Hallings, including his family, and because they loved him and would come to love her, they would give their blessing to the match and the two of them would be betrothed before the end of the house party and married in St. George’s, Hanover Square, as soon as the banns had been called, and they would live happily ever after.
