My Lady Angel

‘Angel, no! You must not make such a spectacle of yourself. Truly you must not! If you stride about like a…like a man, you will do your reputation no good at all. Imagine what Society would say of you! You must behave like a lady at all times. You really must. You know how important it is.’

Angel swallowed the hot words that rose to her lips. She would not let her irritation show, not this time. She must try to be fair to Aunt Charlotte, who certainly had Angel’s best interests at heart. Unfortunately, there would never be a meeting of minds on what those best interests were. Aunt Charlotte was convinced that Angel should behave, in almost all respects, as if she were a demure débutante. And she would continue to urge restraint on Angel at every opportunity. It was intolerable! But it was also understandable. Aunt Charlotte loved her and wanted her to find happiness. Sadly, they disagreed on the role of a husband in that blissful state.

Angel forced herself to smile at Lady Charlotte. Let the old lady believe she had won the argument and that Angel would behave exactly as her aunt wished. After all, Angel was mistress of her own household. She should certainly be able to find ways of escaping from the oppressive rules her aunt wished to impose.

There must be a way. She would not be caged!

Angel stood in the imposing entrance hall of Rosevale House in Berkeley Square, watching her aunt mount the stairs and disappear in the direction of her bedchamber. Angel was still inwardly fuming, but she was determined to control her ire in front of the servants.

She turned a friendly smile on the waiting butler. ‘Good evening to you, Willett. I am glad to see that you made much better time than we did. I am afraid we were delayed by the traffic. I hope that Cook’s efforts will not be spoiled if dinner is delayed for an hour.’

‘Your ladyship’s wishes will be conveyed to the kitchen at once,’ Willett said.

Angel looked hard at the man. He sounded rather more pompous than usual. And he seemed to be lacking his normal composure. Strange. She would quiz Benton about what was going on. But first, she needed a bath. She felt hot and dirty from the journey.

As Angel turned towards the staircase, Willett coughed delicately. ‘Your ladyship has a visitor.’

Angel spun round. Who would be so rude as to intrude on a lady at such a moment? After more than a day on the road, she was in no fit state to greet a guest. Unless it was Pierre? Was he in trouble?

‘The Earl of Penrose, m’lady. He is waiting in the bookroom.’

With a sharp intake of breath, Angel picked up her dusty skirts and marched smartly towards the bookroom. Willett only just reached the door in time to open it for her.

Cousin Frederick turned as she entered. He was immaculate in a blue coat and pale pantaloons. There was not a speck of dust on his shining hessians. And there was a superior smile on his face that made her want to slap him!

‘To what do I owe this singularly ill-timed visit, Cousin? An emergency of some kind, I collect?’

Penrose’s smile vanished and was instantly replaced by a black scowl. Then his gaze travelled over her dust-stained clothing. She thought she detected a sneer at the corner of his mouth as he bowed to her. It was intolerable!

Angel did not offer even a nod in reply. She was much too angry. ‘I will thank you to state your business, Cousin, and allow me to go about mine. As you have clearly observed, I am in no fit state to entertain casual callers.’

Cousin Frederick’s eyes narrowed as he straightened once more. He looked coldly furious. ‘Your pardon, my lady,’ he said in clipped, formal tones. ‘I will relieve you of my unwelcome presence on the instant. I should not wish to inconvenience you in any way.’

With another perfunctory bow, he strode towards the door where Angel was standing, effectively forcing her to make way for him. How dare he?

‘Sir! You—!’

It was too late. Her impossible cousin had thrown open the door and marched out into the hallway. She heard the click of his heels on the marble floor, and then the sound of the front door.

Angel sank into the nearest chair and let out a long slow breath. Stupid! Stupid! Why had she not stopped to think before she spoke? She, after all, was the one who had said that they must make peace with Cousin Frederick’s branch of the family. Instead, she had taken one look at his haughty face and lost her temper. Again! What was it about that man? He made her behave like a foolish child rather than a grown woman.

Whatever the cause, there was no hope of reconciliation after an encounter like that. Her own hasty tongue had made an enemy of the man who was both her cousin and her heir.

Max strode off round the square at a cracking pace. Ross had had the right of it. Max needed to hit something—or someone—soon, or he would explode. So much for his good intentions! What was the point in trying to make peace with such a termagant? The benighted woman was utterly without manners or common decency. Just wait until the tabbies started in on her! Then she would reap the rewards of her unladylike behaviour.

And he would happily watch from the sidelines while the lady’s nemesis approached. If she continued in this vein, she would find herself ostracised from Society.

Did she not deserve it?

Max did not attempt to pursue that question. He knew that reflection was impossible when he was in a black temper. He would do better to follow Ross’s advice. Unfortunately, at this time of day, he could not go to Jackson’s Boxing Saloon.

With an exasperated grunt, he turned his steps towards St James’s and his club. If he could not punch his way out of his temper, he would drown it instead.

Chapter Five

L ady Charlotte gazed across to where Angel sat at the pianoforte, playing exquisitely, as usual. Angel looked calm, poised and quite beautiful in a sapphire and silver gown, one of Célestine’s fabulous creations. Lady Charlotte sighed with pleasure.

‘Your niece plays quite delightfully, my dear Lady Charlotte.’

Lady Charlotte turned to the elderly dowager at her elbow. ‘Yes, indeed, Lady Perrimer,’ she said, nodding.

‘She is come up to town in search of a husband, I collect?’

Lady Charlotte swallowed a gasp. The old tabby was nothing if not direct. ‘The Baroness Rosevale has a position in Society to fulfil,’ she responded in a crushing tone. ‘It was not possible for my niece to do so while we were in mourning for her father, as I’m sure you, ma’am, would be the first to agree.’

Lady Perrimer bowed her grey head a fraction. The two enormous plumes in her purple turban wafted down and then up again, rather as an afterthought. She raised her lorgnette to scrutinise Angel yet more closely. ‘Whatever your niece’s intentions may be,’ she said, lifting her glass to indicate the young gallant who was bending over Angel’s shoulder to turn her music, ‘it is a pound to a penny that every fortune-hunter in London will be trying to win her. Young Rotherwell there is but the first.’ At that moment, Angel smiled gratefully up at her escort, and Lady Perrimer snorted in disgust. ‘Should have thought you would have taught her not to bestow her favours on just anyone. Rotherwell hasn’t a feather to fly with…and is a rakehell, besides.’

‘My niece was taught manners from the cradle, ma’am,’ Lady Charlotte said acidly, ‘and that included the importance of being polite to any gentleman who renders a service to her.’ She tried to ignore the fact that Angel now seemed to be openly flirting with her cavalier. Confound the girl! She should know better than to expose herself, and her relations, to the criticism of tabbies like Lady Perrimer. Just wait till they were alone!

‘Outrageous!’ Lady Perrimer was clearly paying more attention to the evidence of her eyes than to Lady Charlotte’s quelling words.

‘Are your own family arrived in town, ma’am?’ said Lady Charlotte, with a tight smile. She refused to be drawn further on the subject of Angel’s behaviour. ‘Your two younger sons are as yet unmarried, are they not?’ She was gratified to see a tiny flush on the dowager’s neck. Let her have a taste of her own nasty medicine.

Lady Perrimer raised her eyebrows haughtily. ‘My three eldest sons are already well married, ma’am. As for the two youngest…I dare say they will be settled eventually. It is of little importance, since the succession is in no danger. When one has a fine family of sons…’ She smiled in a particularly condescending way. ‘Such a pity that your brother did not succeed in siring even one son. In spite of having two wives.’

Lady Charlotte knew when she was outgunned. Fortunately, Angel had just risen from the instrument and seemed to be moving in the general direction of the supper room on the arm of young Rotherwell. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but I fear I must leave you. I promised to join my niece for supper.’ With a slight nod, she moved rapidly away, trying to ignore the fact that she had certainly lost that encounter. She must warn Angel about her behaviour before her niece’s reputation suffered irreparably. Angel might be a widow, and a Baroness into the bargain, but even she should not encourage the attentions of reprobates such as Rotherwell…or Lady Perrimer’s younger sons.

Max watched with distaste. His cousin was continuing to flirt openly with Rotherwell. Rotherwell, of all people! Was the woman so naïve, or so lacking in self-esteem, that she must stoop to consorting with Rotherwell?

She was laughing up at her companion now, reaching out to touch his sleeve in a revoltingly familiar way. Women! Did she have any idea of the risks she was taking with a man like Rotherwell? Probably not. She had led a sheltered life until now. Perhaps no one had warned her about the dregs of Society and the harm they might seek to do her.

He was relieved when Lady Charlotte drew her niece aside and began whispering urgently to her. High time the chit learned what was what.

But the Baroness was clearly in no mood to heed her aunt’s advice, for she was shaking her head and cutting short the old lady’s words. Lady Charlotte was beginning to look quite indignant. Was the chit so determined on her folly that she would dismiss her companion’s warnings without a hearing?

Max watched, astonished to see that his cousin would abruptly desert her aunt and return to resume her flirtatious tête-à-tête with Rotherwell. After only a few minutes, they were joined by two more of London’s most notorious fortune-hunters. Max was not in the least surprised. Such men would never willingly leave the field to only one of their number.

Max’s disgust grew. The haughty Baroness was clearly basking in the false compliments being showered upon her by her three money-grubbing suitors. Somewhat unwillingly, he admitted to himself that it was not only her money that was drawing them to her like wasps to a pool of honey. Her person, too, was more attractive than he had remembered. She seemed to have blossomed since he had last seen her. It was not simply that she was beautifully gowned. There was something more. Some men might even have called her beautiful—but only if they knew nothing of the character beneath.

Suddenly he was no longer in any doubt. She must be perfectly aware of what she was doing. She was sparkling with animation, smiling and laughing with the gentlemen and occasionally gazing coyly up at one of them through her lashes. So much for Ross’s warning that she might be an innocent in need of protection. She was nothing of the sort! And he would take pleasure in saying as much to Ross, as soon as his friend returned from France.

The longer Max watched, the angrier he became. The woman was drawing the censure of all the tabbies for her outrageous behaviour. Every eye was upon her! If she was not stopped, the Rosevale family would have no reputation left!

Max was striding across the floor to her before he was fully aware of what he was doing—or what he planned.

Rotherwell and his companions reluctantly made way for Max’s approach. He offered them only the briefest military bow. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said frostily, ‘you will allow me to deprive you of my cousin’s delightful company.’ He held out his arm imperiously, frowning down at the Baroness until she placed her gloved fingers on his sleeve. Then, with a curt nod to the three rakes, Max moved her away, leading her to the far side of the main saloon where empty sofas stood against the wall.

‘Will it please you to sit for a while, ma’am?’

She glowered up at him. ‘It pleases me not at all, sir. Why did you insist on bringing me apart, pray? We can have nothing to say to each other.’

‘Smile, Cousin,’ Max said coolly. ‘There is already enough conjecture in this room about your behaviour without adding the speculation that you and I are at outs.’

‘How dare—?’

‘Smile, Cousin.’ He waited, but she did not respond. ‘Watch. It is not so very difficult to do.’ He affected to smile down at her.

‘That is not a smile, sir. That is a grimace,’ she said sharply. ‘However, since you clearly wish to have speech with me, I can grant you…a few moments. I take it that will suffice?’

Max said nothing. He simply waited while she took her seat. She arranged her skirts demurely, taking much more time than was necessary, and then she looked up at him with a spark of challenge in her eye and a tiny smile on her lips. ‘You are squandering your allotted time, sir. I am waiting to hear what it is you wish to say to me…but my patience is not infinite.’

‘Neither is mine, madam,’ he said flatly, taking his seat beside her and stretching out his legs with an appearance of nonchalance. He refused to let her suspect how much she exasperated him.

He raised a hand to beckon a waiter with a tray of champagne. Without saying a word to the Baroness, he took two glasses and offered one to her. ‘I am sure you are in need of something to drink now.’

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