by Maggie Dove
“I’ll do as you ask, but you won’t be happy.” Marguerite smoothed her skirts with the palms of her hands. “It is you who shall be the curious one. For you will not know when I shall deem to forgive you.”
“Stubborn wench,” Edmund teased lovingly. “I’ll wager you’ll forgive me by tonight when I hold you in my arms.”
“Edmund, stop!” Marguerite protested with open-mouthed mortification, trying to ignore the earl’s boisterous laughter. “Angelique, I apologize for Edmund. I shall go. There are many things that must be attended to before tomorrow’s reception.” Blushing like a schoolgirl, she rushed out of the study.
Watching her in-laws, Angelique sighed wistfully. Sometimes it was difficult to understand how two such loving, kind individuals could have produced a son like Nicholas. A month’s time had passed since her arrival at Windword, and there was still no sign of him. To her relief, his business affairs had kept him longer than previously anticipated. Having no clue as to how she would cope when he would finally return from France, her stay at Windword Hall had commenced with flurried nerves, but soon the hours had turned into days, and the days had become weeks, and to her complete surprise, she began to find tranquility within the walls of the lovely country manor.
Bewitched by Windword’s rugged beauty, she had quickly settled into a comfortable routine. Pushing her husband’s arrival way back to the far corners of her mind, she felt that as long as Nicholas was still in France, she could continue to partake of the small and simple pleasures that came her way. On most days, she would rise early and ride Champagne throughout the countryside. Although this region was quite different from the Loire, it was nonetheless spectacular.
As she galloped across acres of green velvet lawns or treaded softly through lush, untamed forests and woodlands, she would stop only to listen to the different sounds of the many creatures existing within its copious emerald confines. On such mornings, she deeply regretted that she would not remain here for the rest of her days.
Although it was late September, most at Windword were taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather. The cool winds of autumn had not yet descended upon them, bringing drenching rains and the pre-winter cold. On these sunny afternoons, Angelique would take long walks through Marguerite’s gardens and sit by the lily pond for hours, her problems disappearing while she basked in the gentle fragrance of wild flowers.
The evenings also served to distract her from her worries. Most were spent entertaining prospective clients from London over interesting conversation and elegant dinners. After dessert, all would retire to the music room, and Lord Edmund would insist that she play the piano. Each evening as she bent over the ivory keys and heard the guests applaud after her repertoire, she would pray that Nicholas would continue to stay away … at least for another day.
“Angelique, now that we are alone, I’ll get right to the point,” Lord Edmund announced to his daughter-in-law, interrupting her musings. “Bertrand has returned to London, and I have arranged for him to come to Windword tomorrow night. The gardens are private after dark. Everyone will be much too busy at the reception to notice when you go to meet him. Good luck, my dear. I only hope I have done the right thing.”
Chapter Twelve
The next evening, Janie ceased her humming, and Angelique looked up in surprise as a beaming Tante Mattie burst into the room, proudly carrying a shiny, rectangular box wrapped in silver foil. “Chérie, he’s back! Oui, your husband has returned and look what he has brought me. How simply divine of him to disrupt his busy schedule and visit a bonbonnière for me.”
Janie set down the tortoiseshell hairbrush from Angelique’s hair, mumbling something inaudible as two hairpins moved comically up and down her clenched lips. She quickly removed the pins from her mouth and placed them beside the brush on the dressing table. “Did you hear, my lady? Lord Kent has returned from France.”
Angelique kept silent. She felt ill.
A smiling Tante Mattie turned to Janie. “I saw a little something with your name on it waiting for you in your mother’s kitchen. Cook has already opened her present.”
Janie gushed. “Isn’t this perfect timing, my lady? Now you will be able to enjoy the party by his side, as you should.” She looked at her mistress and waited for an answer, but she received none.
Angelique was much too preoccupied with her own terrible thoughts.
“Oh, yes—such perfect timing!” Tante Mattie clapped her hands with delight. “The earl and countess will certainly be pleased that he is back for the reception. Marguerite has told me many important guests will be attending tonight.”
Angelique ignored her aunt and the chipper maid, who moments before had been diligently gathering her hair into a round coil at the nape of her neck. Perfect timing, indeed, she thought angrily, the timing couldn’t possibly be worse! Lord Edmund had instructed her to meet Henri at the lily pond later tonight. She was prepared to tell Henri everything, and he would, no doubt, be furious with Nicholas once he learned the truth of her betrayal. Mon Dieu—no ! It was imperative that Henri not seek Nicholas out for a confrontation. Nicholas was the stronger of the two. He lacked scruples. She had no doubt he would enjoy harming poor Henri.
Tante Mattie quickly untied the red ribbon from the box of chocolates and discarded the silver wrappings on the floor. “I can’t wait any longer,” she murmured hungrily. “I must have one of these. Won’t you both join me?” Opening the box, she gestured for each of them to choose a bonbon and when they politely declined, she carefully selected one for herself and popped it into her mouth, closing her eyes in rapture as it burst open, and the sweet heavenly liqueur oozed from the fondant-coated candy.
Her nerves in turmoil, Angelique watched as Tante Mattie’s rosy, round cheeks slowly expanded and deflated in wide circular motions while she continued to choose bonbon after bonbon. “Umm—umm,” she managed to say between swallows.
“Mon Dieu, Tantie, are you certain Nicholas is back?” Angelique finally asked.
Tante Mattie’s eyes widened. “Oui, chérie, he is back. I saw him a few minutes ago. You don’t look happy. Oh, I see. Tonight is not such a good night for a reunion, n’est-ce pas? Too many people around,” she said, licking her fingers. “He told me he received a wire from his maman, stressing the importance of the reception this evening. Did you not know Monsieur Brownell, the famous industrialist, will be attending? He is thinking of investing quite heavily in the venture.”
“Never mind the American, Tante Mattie—tell me about Nicholas. Where did you see him?”
“I know you are anxious to be with him, chérie, but you don’t have to be rude. I first bumped into him in the front parlor. Fearing he would be late for the reception, he told me he had stopped to bathe and dress at a roadside inn.”
“Where is he now?” Angelique asked, trying to keep her voice even.
“Last I saw him, he was on his way upstairs to find you, but he was detained by his father and a few guests. I followed them to the terrace. I suppose he is still there. Angelique, he looks so dashing in his evening clothes. What a handsome rogue he is! You had best hurry. I already took notice of a few young ladies flirting shamelessly with him.”
“Tantie, what did he say? Is he going to be staying long? Or is he on his way to another port?”
“Do not worry, ma petite, he is not leaving any time soon,” Tante Mattie reassured. “After the reception, you will have all the time you will need with your husband. But for now, let Janie get back to your toilette. Then you’ll be able to give those young women downstairs a taste of the green-eyed monster.”
Angelique did not pay attention to her aunt’s words. The women could have him. Let Clarissa Blake worry about Nicholas and his promiscuity. Right now, her one and only thought was for Henri Bertrand. Hopefully, the young ladies attending the reception would keep her husband busy … busy enough to allow Henri to leave Windword Hall with his body intact, harboring a broken heart, but free of broken bones.
* * * *
Angelique glanced at her image before the gilded mirror above the staircase. Mon Dieu, her face was as pale as the white chiffon gown she wore. How she longed to hide in her bedroom, curled beneath her silken bed sheets, forgetting her troubles in sleep. Unfortunately, she was expected elsewhere.
Gathering up every ounce of courage, Angelique slowly descended the marble stairs. Her feet dragged and her heart pounded against her chest as each step took her closer to the terrace. Halfway down, she almost turned and fled.
Quelle horreur, she cursed silently. As if helping to charm forty of the world’s wealthiest notables into investing in the family enterprise were not enough; tonight she would have to hurt poor, dear Henri. She would have to admit that instead of waiting for him, she had given herself to Nicholas who had taken her love, only to laugh at her while basking in the arms of another woman.
Worst of all, tonight she would have to face Nicholas.
Angelique had to admit there was a part of her itching to get her hands on Nicholas. Having had the audacity to confiscate her good jewelry while in London, he had left for France before she could demand an explanation from him. The nerve of Nicholas to spite her in retaliation for what she had said about Henri. This evening, Angelique had been forced to borrow Tante Mattie’s pearls to complement her attire. Kent could keep the precious jewels he had lavished on her since their marriage, but she would be damned if he did not cough up every last piece of jewelry originally belonging to her! The more she thought about Nicholas helping himself to her valuables, the more she fumed. She would give him a piece of her mind soon enough.
With this thought in mind, Angelique took a deep breath and walked through the arched French doors leading to the terrace. Standing on the terrace steps, she beheld the guests below as they chattered among themselves, drinking champagne and sampling the aperitifs offered by Lady Marguerite’s white-gloved, uniformed staff. Her eyes quickly took inventory of all present. To her relief, Nicholas was not among the guests.
“My dear, do come here,” Edmund beckoned her as she descended the steps. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Brownell. Richard, this is my daughter-in-law, Angelique,” he said proudly, introducing her to their most distinguished guest.
Smiling, Angelique extended her hand to the American. “I’m honored, Monsieur Brownell. My father-in-law has mentioned you often.”
“A pleasure, my dear. Edmund, she is an angel. She reminds me of my daughter, Daisy.”
The earl placed an affectionate arm around Angelique’s shoulders. “Indeed, she is a godsend,” he agreed wholeheartedly, before excusing himself to join Marguerite and Anna, who were doing their best to entertain the other guests.
For the span of an hour, Angelique nodded, laughed on cue and fervently agreed with Mr. Brownell on all topics ranging from French food to African safaris. The approving smile on her father-in-law’s face from across the terrace told her the earl was highly pleased with her performance. All the while, her eyes continued to search for Nicholas. Where could he be? she asked herself, hoping foolishly that maybe the news of his arrival had been a bad dream. Perhaps, Tante Mattie was losing her mind, and the box of chocolates was an optical illusion, a mirage of some sort.
No such fortune.
“Gracias, Lord Kent, for giving us a personal tour of your beautiful estate. Si, Rodrigo, si—I just thanked him. I said, I just thanked him! You will have to excuse, my husband. Pobrecito Rodrigo—his hearing is not what it used to be. I’m sorry we have to speak so loud.”
Angelique heard the high-pitched female voice and sensed Nicholas’s presence even before she caught a glimpse of him. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck raised like a porcupine’s as she reluctantly turned to face him.
Fluttering her eyelashes over the black lace fan that matched her gown, Doña Isabella del Castillo, the sultry Spanish marchioness, flirted openly with Nicholas.
Fanning herself, she smiled coquettishly up at Nicholas, paying little heed to her hard-of-hearing, elderly husband beside her. “Now that you will be establishing the Bank of Kent in Madrid, I’m certain Rodrigo and I will be seeing much of you. Por favor, Nicholas. Promise, you will visit our villa when your business takes you to Spain. You can stay as long as you want. Our home is your home.”
“Count on it, Isabella. My parents enjoyed your hospitality when they visited Madrid last year. It’s kind of you to offer it to me,” Nicholas replied tactfully. “Now if you and Don Rodrigo will both excuse me, I see my wife.”
The aging marquis looked confused as he stared after Nicholas. “What have you done now, Isabella?” he demanded in a loud voice. “Why is our host walking away? I hope you have not offended him.” Raising his eyepiece, he suddenly exclaimed, “Dios mio, mis ojos me mienten! Who is the beautiful vision in white?”
With a twist of the wrist, an indignant Isabella snapped her fan shut, whacking her husband on the arm with it.
“Ay!” The old man gasped, rubbing his arm where her fan had made contact. “No me peges, mujer. Eso me dolio! Eres tan bruja como tu madre!”
“Callate, Rodrigo! Everyone is looking. Do you want them to hear? I will not stand here while you ogle another woman,” she barked. “Put your tongue back in your mouth, viejo verde! She is his wife.”
Angelique caught her breath as Nicholas approached her; her heart beat fast against her chest, her palms began to sweat. She longed to run but his look, dark and penetrating, froze her to the spot. Mon Dieu, he was more handsome than ever, she thought angrily. It infuriated her to be so attracted to him, even now when she knew him for the cad he was.
Coming to stand beside her, Nicholas put his hand on the small of her back and drew her near. “Brownell, I see you’ve met my loving wife,” he said, planting a kiss on her brow, infuriating her all the more.
“Let go of me,” Angelique demanded against his ear as she tried to disentangle herself from his embrace. But instead of releasing her, Nicholas tightened his grip, seeming to enjoy her struggle to capture her composure.
Cursing the day Nicholas was born, Angelique forced a smile. “Nicholas, darling, our guest was just telling me about his daughter, Daisy, and her recent betrothal. He wants us to attend the wedding in Boston,” she commented, as casually as she could manage. “Monsieur Brownell, I wish Daisy had accompanied you to England.”
“Funny you should say that, my dear. I had planned to bring Daisy on this trip, but with the upcoming wedding, she opted to go to New York City with her mother to shop for her trousseau.”
“New York City? How I envy her, monsieur. Maybe one day soon I, too, will be living in America. Isn’t that right, darling?” she taunted sweetly, ignoring Nicholas’s sudden stiffness beside her. “It is only a matter of time.”
Although she could not explain why Nicholas should care one way or the other what she did with her future, glancing sideways at him, she knew her words had made him angry and that pleased her greatly. The muscles in his cheeks flexed with irritation; his features were tight in dark, silent continence, as though it was all he could do not to wring her neck. Bon, she rejoiced inwardly. It serves him right!
Brownell raised an eyebrow. “Kent, I was not aware that you would be residing in the States. I was under the impression that it was your cousin, Lucas, who would be in charge of the banks in America.”
Let him wiggle his way out of this one! Angelique smiled innocently. “I beg you, messieurs, to excuse me. Please do not think me rude, but Lady Marguerite has asked me to play the piano tonight, and I must go and find my sheet music.”
Under that pretext, she moved away from the men and spent the remainder of the evening avoiding her husband, until Lord Edmund whispered to her that Henri had just arrived at Windword and was waiting for her in the gardens.
Looking around, Angelique caught a glimpse of Nicholas slouched lazily against the iron railing, his head bent low, in deep conversation with two adoring females. Grateful that he was preoccupied and would not notice her exit
, she slipped away from the patio and ran toward the pond.
* * * *
Henri sat on a stone bench and gnawed at his fingernail, taking little notice of the exotic rock gardens that surrounded him. Poor Gellie. What would he say to her? How would she react to his news? Would she ever forgive him … would he forgive himself?
Never expecting to be allowed to see Angelique before the year was over, he was taken aback when he returned to London three days ago and found an urgent telegram from the Earl of Windword; a telegram which summoned him to their country manor for a meeting with her.
He had already made up his mind to go to Windword Hall, with or without the earl’s permission. The events, which had taken place in Boston, had made it imperative for him to speak with Angelique, and he cared not an English farthing whether or not the earl approved. The Kents no longer held his livelihood in the palms of their hands.
