The Secret Mistress

by Mary Balogh

  And Angeline would have been the mastermind behind it all. She would have done a noble thing. True love would have triumphed over adversity.

  Angeline’s parasol was twirling again and setting the flowers on her bonnet fluttering in the sudden wind.

  Lord Heyward drew his attention away from the boat and turned to look directly into her eyes. Neither of them spoke for endless moments.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said abruptly at last. “Your safety is not my concern. I must appear like an interfering busybody.”

  “But perhaps Miss Goddard’s safety is your concern,” she said. “You are fond of her.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, looking suddenly bleak.

  Oh, it would work. Of course it would work.

  But why did her heart feel broken in two and her spirit as though it were crawling along the bottom of the river on its belly?

  “You will wish to wait here for the boat,” she said, “so that you may rescue Miss Goddard from the evil clutches of a rake. I see Maria Smith-Benn strolling up there with Mr. Stebbins and Sir Anthony Folke. Maria is my particular friend, you know. I shall go and join them.”

  And she smiled brightly and waved an arm in their direction. They stopped to wait for her, all of them smiling a welcome. Sir Anthony, despite the fair curls that spilled all over his hat brim no matter how often he pressed them ruthlessly beneath it, was really rather good-looking in a boyish sort of way. And Mr. Stebbins had had his eye on Maria for the past week or two—to Maria’s delight.

  Within moments Angeline was laughing and happy again.

  And she could not wait to talk with Rosalie, to suggest one more guest for Hallings. Her idea was quite, quite brilliant and could surely not fail.

  Chapter 15

  HALLINGS WAS A solidly built, no-nonsense gray stone square of a mansion set at the end of a long, winding driveway that meandered through a spacious, well-landscaped park. The house was fronted by rather old-fashioned formal gardens consisting mainly of box hedges and gravel walks and some statuary. It looked a pleasant enough place in which to spend a few days if the weather held. It would at least provide a welcome break from all the busy hurry of London. At least, that was the consensus of opinion among the occupants of the carriage in which Edward traveled—his grandfather’s rather than the old one from Wimsbury, which everyone but his mother thought a monstrosity of discomfort.

  Edward wished he was anyplace else on earth.

  It was bad enough that he was going to be spending a few days in close proximity with Tresham and his sister. Worse was the fact that the family committee had ruled just yesterday that the search for a bride was not going well enough, despite the fact that Edward had been halfheartedly courting no fewer than six young ladies during the past month and that all six were offering well-bred encouragement. And the committee had come up with the thoroughly alarming conclusion that he should return his attentions to Lady Angeline Dudley.

  It had been pointless to remind them that he had already courted her once, proposed marriage to her, and been rejected. That meant nothing, according to his grandmother and her dismissively waving lorgnette. No girl worth her salt was going to accept a man’s first proposal.

  “Especially when he cannot assure her that he loves her,” Juliana had added pointedly.

  “And you will be spending five days in company with her,” Alma had said. “You will have the ideal opportunity, Edward, to try again and to get it right this time.”

  “I like her very well indeed,” Lorraine had said. “She has spirit.”

  “I even like her hats,” his grandmother had said, “and wish I dared wear ones like them myself. At least then people would look at them instead of at my wrinkles.”

  “And she has not looked happy since she refused you,” his mother had said.

  What? What?

  Was she talking about the same Lady Angeline Dudley as the one he knew? Had she seen her lately, as he had—or, rather, as he had tried not to do? She flirted with simply everything that happened to be male, and everything that was male flirted right back. A new regiment could be made up out of her admirers to swell the ranks of the British army. And she was always simply spilling over with exuberance. Every host could save a fortune in candles if he so wished when she was at a ball—her smile could light up even the largest ballroom.

  She had not been happy?

  “You have not looked happy in the last few weeks either,” his mother had added.

  He frowned. Not happy? Had she not seen him constantly dancing attendance upon some lady or other—and sometimes even literally dancing? Did she not know that he had attended dinners and theater parties and garden parties and who knew what else every single day?

  He was shown to his room soon after his arrival, as were all the other guests, but he could not skulk there forever, even if he would dearly like to do just that for the next five days. Having changed and shaved afresh, he dismissed his valet and went down to the drawing room for tea.

  Fortunately there were a few more guests than just family. Lady Eagan was here, though she was family, of course. She was Fenner’s cousin. There were also a few strangers. There was a tall, cadaverous man with a kindly face, bushy gray eyebrows, and sparse gray hair that looked untamable by comb, brush, or water. Lady Palmer introduced him as the Reverend Joseph Martin, the newly retired vicar, who had always been a particular friend of Lord Palmer’s. She also introduced Mr. Briden, a neighbor who had come to stay for the duration of the house party, and his two young daughters, Miss Briden and Miss Marianne Briden. Fenner’s close friend Sir Webster Jordan was also present.

  And there were two other guests, who took Edward totally by surprise. Eunice was here. He could think of no reason why she would have been invited apart from the strange friendship that seemed to have developed between her and Lady Angeline Dudley. He was, nonetheless, delighted to see her. He had not spoken with her since the day of that garden party, when she had looked actually annoyed to see him waiting for her on the bank of the river. Though she had taken his arm after Windrow had strolled away, and they had spent a pleasant half hour together.

  He was even more surprised—and far less pleased—to discover that Windrow himself was also among the guests. But, as Lady Palmer explained, he was a neighbor, his country seat being a mere ten miles away.

  And so the house party began with tea and conversation and laughter. It continued later with dinner and cards in the drawing room afterward and some music. The Misses Briden both entertained the company on the pianoforte. Then Lady Eagan accompanied Lord Ferdinand Dudley as he sang a series of folk songs in a surprisingly pleasant tenor voice.

  Edward was relieved to discover that Lady Palmer was more tactful than his female relatives—or perhaps she had no wish to encourage a resumption of his attentions to her charge. She seated him at some distance from Lady Angeline Dudley at the dinner table and placed him at a different card table afterward.

  By the time he went to bed, he was cautiously optimistic. He had enjoyed conversing with the Reverend Martin and Miss Briden at dinner, and he had enjoyed being partnered by Lady Palmer herself at cards. Keeping half a room’s distance between Lady Angeline and himself had proved really no more difficult than it had in any of the ballrooms and drawing rooms he had frequented for the past month.

  Though it struck him as he got ready for bed that his reluctance to be any closer to her was odd. They were both adult members of the ton, after all. Their courtship, if it could be called that, had been brief and had ended with very little fuss—he had offered, she had refused. Why should they not meet now without any embarrassment or other discomfort?

  But they had met, very briefly, on the banks of the River Thames, when he had rushed quite thoughtlessly to her rescue after seeing Windrow step between her and Eunice and offer her his arm. Why had he felt it necessary to be her protector yet again when she was absolutely none of his business? He had felt like an utter idiot afterward, especially when it had tu
rned out that it was Eunice Windrow had taken out in a boat, not Lady Angeline. But he had made the mistake of looking directly into Lady Angeline’s eyes on that occasion, and he had felt a quite alarming discomfort. Her huge dark eyes had looked far more likely to cause drowning than all the waters of the river.

  No, it was safer to keep his distance.

  Safer?

  He doused the candle, climbed into bed, and addressed himself to sleep. He was not going to let his mind wander along that particular path.

  It took him only two or three hours to drop off.

  ———

  BY THE FOLLOWING morning Angeline had decided that she needed an accomplice if her grand scheme was to have any chance at all of succeeding. There was no point in maneuvering matters so that Miss Goddard and Lord Windrow were thrown together in Lord Heyward’s sight if Miss Goddard simply wandered away or allowed someone else to join them.

  Both things had happened last evening. When Angeline had used great skill to bring the two of them together at tea and had moved away herself as if she had heard someone call to her from across the room, Miss Goddard had done nothing whatsoever to discourage the Reverend Martin from joining them. She had even directed most of her conversation his way and had given Lord Windrow no chance at all to do anything that might alarm Lord Heyward and bring him dashing to the rescue. And when Angeline had gone to great lengths again after the card games were over to suggest, when Miss Goddard and Lord Windrow were close to each other, that it might be pleasant to stroll outside on the terrace, both agreed with her—but Miss Goddard had turned and linked her arm through the very shy Miss Marianne Briden’s, and Lord Windrow had been left to stroll between Lady Overmyer and Mrs. Lynd, causing them a great deal of laughter as he did so. It had all been very exasperating. If one was going to make the effort to matchmake, the least one could expect was that the lady concerned would cooperate. But how could she if she did not know what Angeline was trying to do?

  The only thing for it was to let her know, to enlist her active support.

  They were both up in time for breakfast—Angeline because she had arranged the night before to go out riding early with her brothers and Cousin Leonard and Sir Webster Jordan, Miss Goddard because Angeline suspected she always rose early. Angeline invited her to go walking afterward before everyone else was up, and they strolled arm in arm along the paths of the formal gardens.

  “It was very obliging of you,” Miss Goddard said, “to persuade Lady Palmer to invite me here. I am enjoying myself very much indeed even though the house party has scarcely begun yet. We have interesting fellow guests. Did you know that the Reverend Martin has actually been to the Holy Land?”

  “I did not,” Angeline said, but though she felt a stirring of interest, she was not to be distracted. “I arranged to have you invited here for one main reason, you know, even though I hope I would have thought of inviting you anyway, as I value your friendship a great deal.”

  “Oh?” Miss Goddard turned an inquiring face toward her.

  “I thought it was high time,” Angeline said, “that you and the Earl of Heyward were brought together in the same house for a few days—with his family present.”

  “But for what purpose?” Miss Goddard asked, all amazement.

  “I know,” Angeline said, “that you are a pair of star-crossed lovers. Just like Romeo and Juliet, though they were ridiculously young, of course, and their families were feuding quite viciously because they were Italian and that is what Italians do, though I suppose families of other nationalities can be just as bad and I do not suppose all Italian families feud with one another or it would be a very uncomfortable place to live. Really, the two of them were nothing like you and Lord Heyward except that they were star-crossed. It is as plain as the nose on my face that you love him and he loves you and that you would make a perfect couple. A married couple, that is.”

  Miss Goddard’s eyes fixed disconcertingly upon Angeline’s nose for a moment, but she said nothing.

  “And it is perfectly absurd,” Angeline continued, “that you cannot marry just because he is an earl and you are the daughter of an academic gentleman. I daresay his family assumes that you must be inferior or even vulgar. During the next few days they will see just how wrong they are, and they will see how he loves you and how you love him, and because they love him too, they will … They will give their blessing to your marrying, and …”

  She could have sworn before they started walking that the garden was flat. But it must be sloping quite steeply upward and they must be walking much faster than she had thought. She could hardly catch her breath. And where was the wind coming from to make her eyes water so? She could not feel any wind.

  “Lady Angeline,” Miss Goddard said quietly and gently, “Edward and I are friends.”

  “Of course you are,” Angeline said, blinking her eyes and realizing that they had come to a stop before a fat little stone cherub whose sightless eyes seemed to be gazing skyward. “That is the whole beauty of it. When he briefly courted me, entirely because I was the bride his family picked out for him because I am so eligible, they did not know me. They had not even met me. When he briefly courted me, he kissed me, just once and just briefly, you understand, because we were at Vauxhall and the path was secluded and the moon was almost full and one does tend to do silly things under such circumstances, I—What was I saying?” She ought not to have told Miss Goddard the earl had kissed her.

  “When Edward briefly courted you,” Miss Goddard said, reaching out a hand to touch the sculpted curls of the cherub.

  “Well,” Angeline said, “we were not friends at all, you see. He said he was fond of me, which really means nothing at all, does it? For I had asked him if he loved me, and he could hardly just say no, could he? At least, he could have, but he would not because he is a gentleman and he would not wish to hurt my feelings. And I daresay if I had said yes and married him, he would have been fond of me for the rest of my life. He would not have allowed himself to do any less. But we would never have been friends. I think a husband and wife really ought to be friends, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do,” Miss Goddard said as they strolled onward.

  “But he was playing cards last evening with Cousin Rosalie as a partner,” Angeline said, “and you with Sir Webster Jordan. And so it might go on for five days. I do have a plan, but I need to tell you about it so that you can do your part. It is not wrong, you know, actively to pursue what you want. And it is not wrong for you to want the Earl of Heyward. It is not his fault he had to inherit the title.”

  “What is your plan?” Miss Goddard asked after a short silence.

  “Lord Windrow,” Angeline said.

  “Lord Windrow?”

  They had stopped walking again, but not to look at anything in particular. Just at each other. Miss Goddard’s eyebrows were arched above her eyes, and she looked nothing like a startled hare. Only like someone who did not understand what was being said to her.

  “At the garden party,” Angeline said, “Lord Heyward came rushing up just as Lord Windrow rowed you out onto the river. He asked if Lord Windrow had been bothering me, but it was you he was concerned about. When I said I was quite safe and that you always seemed to be there to save me, he asked who would save you. And he did not take his eyes off you.”

  “He was there waiting when we returned,” Miss Goddard said. “I was really rather annoyed, for I do not need Edward or any other man to rush to my defense every time another man pays me some attention—which is not often, you know. He took me up to the terrace for refreshments and we enjoyed half an hour of each other’s company.”

  “I saw,” Angeline said. “When we were going home from the party I asked Cousin Rosalie to invite Lord Windrow here so that we can do it again. And again if necessary. Lure him into your company, that is, so that Lord Heyward will go wild with worry for your safety, though you will not be in any real danger, you know, as you will never be far from everyone else, and besides, I do
not believe Lord Windrow is a real rogue. He likes to tease and he likes to flirt. But deep down he is a gentleman—not as honorable a one as Lord Heyward himself, perhaps, and he does have a tendency to want to settle arguments with his fists, but men are brought up to think that is a manly way to behave and so one cannot entirely blame them, can one? My brothers are just the same. We will … Will you do it?”

  “Lure Lord Windrow into my lair and flirt with him?” Miss Goddard asked.

  “Oh, not flirt,” Angeline said. “But appear to be … trapped in his company. Appear … oh, not unsafe exactly, but uncomfortable and a little anxious. Lord Heyward will then rush to your rescue as he did at the garden party, and he will realize, if he is not already realizing it, that the only way to keep you permanently safe is to marry you. And his family will see how he cares for you, and … Well.”

  Miss Goddard looked gravely at her until a smile grew deep down in her eyes. It never arrived full-blown in the rest of her face, but it was definitely there.

  “Lady Angeline,” she said softly. She tipped her head to one side. “Oh, Lady Angeline.”

  And absurdly Angeline wanted to cry. Fortunately she did not do so.

  “Will you?” she asked.

  Miss Goddard nodded slowly.

  “I will,” she said.

  Experiencing contradictory feelings was nothing new to Angeline. She could feel pride and triumph over any of her brothers’ mad exploits at the same moment as she felt that every nerve in her body was vibrating with terror at what might have happened and fury that they would subject themselves so foolishly to such danger. But nothing compared with what she felt now.