The Secret Mistress

Chapter 18

BY THE MIDDLE of the following afternoon Angeline was in despair—for more than one reason.

The least important—oh, it was very much the least—was that she had seriously underestimated her leftover feelings for the Earl of Heyward after she had rejected his marriage offer. She had been angry with him at that time and horribly disappointed, so of course she had convinced herself that she did not love him at all and that she was loving all the busy activities of the Season and the attentions of numerous other gentlemen. She had even persuaded herself that she was on the brink of falling in love with two or three of them.

It was all nonsense, of course. For she had fallen in love with Lord Heyward the first time she set eyes upon him, and she had not fallen out of love since. It would be done, but it had not happened yet. And yesterday had not helped at all. Why had he not gone to Miss Goddard’s rescue as she had been confident he would, instead of insisting upon helping Angeline get rid of the nonexistent stone in her shoe? And why had they not remained with the group afterward? Why had he kissed her? And why had she allowed it? Why had they waltzed on the terrace last evening instead of inside the drawing room? Even that would have been bad enough, but being outside was disastrous. She had never been so deliriously happy as when they were dancing, and never so deeply in the grip of despair as when she came to her senses afterward.

For he had then danced with Miss Goddard, and it had been another waltz because that was what everyone had wanted, and they had talked the whole time, never taking their eyes off each other’s. She had glowed with obvious happiness, and his eyes had smiled warmly at her the whole time even if the rest of his face had been in repose.

Oh, they were meant for each other. There was no doubt in Angeline’s mind—and surely there could be none in the minds of his mother and sisters either, or in that of his grandmother. And she could not resent the fact, because she liked Miss Goddard exceedingly well and genuinely wished for her happiness.

Why, instead of teaching her poetry and drama and needlework, had her governesses not taught her the most important lesson anyone could learn—that life was really not going to be easy after one was free of the schoolroom?

And there was the second, and more important, reason for Angeline’s despair. For she had pledged herself to bring Miss Goddard and the Earl of Heyward together. She had even gone so far as to tell Miss Goddard what she was doing so she could help bring about her own happily-ever-after. She had agreed to do it, had she not? That meant she wanted the Earl of Heyward, that she loved him. Angeline was so happy for her that she sank one rung further down the ladder of despair.

And the answer to that was to redouble her efforts. Though they were not working nearly as well as she had thought they would. Well, not at all, in fact. Goodness, she had schemed to have both Miss Goddard and Lord Windrow invited here, only to discover that Lord Heyward did not seem unduly alarmed by the attentions Lord Windrow was paying the woman he loved. It was all very frustrating.

Angeline went out riding in the morning with a group of other guests. Miss Goddard was not one of them, however, so there was no chance to implement anything. For some distance she rode between Lord Windrow and Tresham, and the two of them talked of going fishing with some of the other men after breakfast. Lord Windrow also mentioned the fact that it was his mother’s birthday and that he really ought to ride over to his home later to dine with her and spend the night before returning tomorrow.

“Will she not come here?” Angeline asked. “I am sure Cousin Rosalie would be delighted to have her, and we could all give her a grand celebration.”

It was perhaps not quite the thing to invite someone to Rosalie’s house, especially for a birthday party, without first consulting Rosalie herself, but Angeline was sure she would not mind.

“Alas,” Lord Windrow said, “my mother is not strong, and she is something of a recluse. If I am to see her on her birthday, I must go to her.”

“You will upset the balance of numbers here if you do,” Tresham said, “and doubtless throw Rosalie into consternation. Such things matter to the ladies.”

“Far be it from me to do anything so dastardly,” Lord Windrow said, smiling at Angeline. “I shall think of some solution. Tell me, Lady Angeline, is there a color not represented in your rather splendid riding hat? It would be a shame if there were. It would be sitting all alone on a palette somewhere, feeling rejected and dejected.”

Tresham barked with laughter.

“If there is such a color,” Angeline said, laughing too, “let it come to me in the form of a feather or a ribbon and I shall add it to the rest.”

“Ah,” Lord Windrow said, “but how can one improve upon perfection?”

Angeline enjoyed the ride, as she always did. She rode back with Ferdinand, and he gave her a blow-by-blow account of a bare-knuckled boxing match he and a group of friends had ridden twenty miles from London to watch a week ago. It had gone fifteen rounds before the champion had finally knocked out the contender, and by that time both their faces had resembled raw meat. It was the best, most enjoyable fight he had seen for ages. Angeline scolded him for going, and begged for every detail he had omitted.

“But don’t you ever fight anyone like that, Ferdie,” she said. “Have some regard for my nerves.”

But really the morning was wasted, for of course most of the men did go fishing after breakfast and did not return until just before a late luncheon. The second day of the house party was already more than half over. And Lord Windrow was indeed going home to Norton Park to see his mother on her birthday—he spoke of it again at the table. Her campaign would have to proceed without him, Angeline thought, at least until tomorrow. Not that she was having a great deal of success with him here anyway.

Matchmaking clearly was not as easy as she had expected it to be.

However, something happened after luncheon to cause her to brighten quite considerably. Miss Goddard linked an arm through hers as she was about to wander into the drawing room, where the Misses Briden were settling at the pianoforte to play a duet and a number of the other guests were going to listen to them. Miss Goddard led Angeline to the conservatory instead, where they sat on a wrought-iron seat among the potted plants.

“Edward needs to be jolted out of his complacency,” she said. “Yesterday’s plan did not work well, did it? He could see, both during the afternoon when I walked alone with Lord Windrow and last evening when I danced in the drawing room with him, that I was in no danger whatsoever. In both cases there were other people within sight or at least hailing distance all the time. And Lord Windrow is a guest here at Hallings and would not behave badly here. He is a gentleman, after all.”

“Then our plans will not work at all,” Angeline said with a sigh. “Not here at least. I so thought they would if I could just get you all here, where you are in daily contact with one another. Oh, what is the matter with Lord Heyward? I know he loves you, and of course you love him. That was perfectly clear when you danced together last evening. Why does he not simply declare himself?”

“He is clearly in love,” Miss Goddard agreed. “I do believe he needs only a nudge in the right direction and all will be well. Everyone will live happily ever after.”

Angeline felt rather as if someone must have poured lead into the soles of her shoes—or into the base of her heart. He must have said something last evening to make Miss Goddard so confident. She looked confident—she was smiling. Perhaps there was no need to do anything else after all. Perhaps matters could just be allowed to take their course. Miss Goddard had strolled in the formal gardens this morning with the Marchioness of Beckingham, the Dowager Lady Heyward, and Lady Overmyer, and they had all looked perfectly happy with one another when they returned to the house.

But Miss Goddard herself felt that he needed a nudge.

“Perhaps we must wait until after we return to London, then,” Angeline said, “when Lord Windrow is no longer on Hallings land.”

“Ah, but,” Miss Goddard reminded her, “he will not be on Hallings land later today, will he—or tomorrow until about noon. And he has already suggested that I accompany him to Norton Park.”

“To meet his mother?” Angeline was saucer-eyed.

“We have only his word for it that his mother is at Norton Park,” Miss Goddard said, “and that today is her birthday. And ten miles is a long way. I daresay there are inns along the route. I am not at all sure I should agree to accompany him. But he explained that his going alone would embarrass Lady Palmer as it would upset the balance of numbers here.”

“Oh,” Angeline said, her hands clasped to her bosom, “he does have dastardly designs upon you, then. Lord Heyward cannot fail to come galloping after you if you go. But you absolutely must not go alone. Oh, good heavens no. I will come with you.”

“I made it perfectly clear to Lord Windrow that I would not go unless you agreed to come too,” Miss Goddard said. “Of course, he pointed out that then the numbers here would be unbalanced again. But he is not correct on that, for of course Edward will follow us.”

It was perfect, Angeline thought, ignoring the heaviness of her heart. Perfect. Except for one thing.

“There will be a dreadful scandal,” she said, “when it is known that we are gone. Tresham will kill me. At the very least. Even if he never lays a finger on me.”

“Not necessarily,” Miss Goddard said. “Not if we explain that we have been invited to meet Lady Windrow and have each other for chaperons—as well as my maid. Aunt Charlotte insisted that I bring one, you know, as she felt it would be inappropriate for me to arrive at such an illustrious house party without. It will not occur to anyone that there is anything remotely improper about our going.”

“But why then,” Angeline asked, “will it appear improper to Lord Heyward? Can we be quite sure he will come after you?”

“Well,” Miss Goddard said, “Edward knows something about Lord Windrow that no one else knows. He will certainly be uneasy, and unease will turn to alarm if you leave a panicked little note for him.”

Angeline thought about it. Yes. Oh, yes, she could do that.

“And indeed,” Miss Goddard added, “you would not even be lying. For I really do feel uneasy about the whole thing. Why did Lord Windrow suddenly remember now, after flirting outrageously with me yesterday afternoon, that today is his mother’s birthday? Would it not have made more sense, if that really were the case, for him to have refused the invitation to stay here altogether?”

“You mean,” Angeline asked, saucer-eyed again, “that he really is intending to abduct you?”

“Well,” Miss Goddard said, “I do not believe he would stoop quite so low, but I must admit to feeling some anxiety. Perhaps it is because I know what Lord Windrow did when he met you on the road to London. Though I must confess that apart from flirting with me, he has never given me any personal cause for alarm.”

“We will do it,” Angeline said. “I shall go and write the note now and leave instructions with cousin Rosalie’s butler or a footman to deliver it to Lord Heyward half an hour after we leave.”

She got determinedly to her feet.

“Give the note to me,” Miss Goddard said, “and I shall make the arrangements.”

By this time tomorrow, Angeline thought as she hurried up to her room, Lord Heyward would have proposed marriage to Miss Goddard, she would have accepted, and she, Angeline, would have been put out of her misery.

She could then proceed to enjoy the rest of her life untroubled by an unrequited love. For though he had kissed her yesterday and no doubt would have offered her marriage later, and though he had waltzed in the moonlight with her last evening, Lord Heyward did not love her. He had admitted as much a month ago, and nothing had changed since then. How could it? One could not simply fall out of love once one was in, and Lord Heyward loved Miss Goddard.

She sighed as she shut herself up in her room.

EDWARD HAD NOT gone riding during the morning, even though he had seriously considered it when he knew that Lady Angeline was to be of the party. He could have tried to ride beside her, to engage her in conversation, perhaps challenge her to a race. But no, not that. He did not know the terrain in the park at Hallings or in the surrounding countryside. He must never encourage her to be reckless. She did that more than enough on her own initiative. Twice he had jumped awake during the night in a cold sweat, imagining what might have happened to her when they hurtled down that hill. She might have broken a leg again—or her neck. Or she might have collided head-on with a tree.

Anyway, he had not gone riding. Instead he had sat in the conservatory with Alma, who was an early riser. And he had asked her advice on something that had been bothering him.

“Would it be in bad taste, Alma,” he asked her, “to steal some of the thunder from Lorraine and Fenner while we are here?”

She did not stare at him in blank incomprehension as most people would have done. She was his sister, after all.

“Lady Angeline Dudley?” she asked.

He nodded, his eyes upon a pink geranium that had bloomed before its fellows in the same pot.

“Though maybe I should not ask her so soon anyway,” he said. “She warned me not to. But it does seem like the ideal time with both our families here.”

“She warned you not to propose marriage to her again?” she asked him, drawing her shawl more closely about her shoulders against the early morning chill. “After you proposed last month, you mean?”

“Yesterday,” he said, noticing that all the other geraniums were red. There was just the one pink bloom. Lady Angeline’s favorite color—among about fifty others.

Alma placed a hand on his sleeve and patted it.

“Suddenly, right out of the blue,” she said, “she told you not to ask her to marry you? I need a little more context here, Edward. Was this when you waltzed with her outside the drawing room last evening?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” he said. “We went up the hill beyond the lake—the one with that tower folly on top. While we were up there, her bonnet blew off in a gust of wind and ended up in a tree down below. We went down to get it, but we lost our footing on the slope and rolled down the last part of it. And I—well, I kissed her. I did not force it upon her. She—well, she kissed me back. And then she told me that this time I must not offer for her. She said she would refuse me if I did.”

“Oh, Edward,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Of course she did. And of course she would.”

There it was again—female logic. Quite frankly, it baffled him.

“I had better wait, then?” he asked her. “Perhaps forever?”

“Of course not,” she said. “But you must make it very clear to her that you ask because you love her, because you cannot contemplate life without her. You do love her, do you not?”

“Of course I do, but it makes no sense, Alma,” he said. “She is the sort of person …” He made circles in the air with one hand. “Well, this is the sort of person she is. Instead of letting me walk down the more gradual slope of the hill and back around the base to the tree where her bonnet was stuck, or at least make my way very carefully straight down the steep part while she remained safely at the top, she grabbed my hand and ran down. We might both have broken our necks.”

“And you lost your footing and rolled and arrived safely and kissed,” she said. “Did you also laugh?”

“How could we not?” he said. “Though it was not really funny, was it?”

“Life is not funny,” she said, “except when it is. Except when we make it fun. Edward, Lady Angeline Dudley is perfect for you. We have all seen it from the start. You are finally seeing it for yourself, though you are still puzzled at the realization. You have always been so afraid that you will lose control of your life if you should ever relax and enjoy it.”

“I am not as bad as that,” he said. “Am I?”

She leaned toward him and kissed his cheek.

“You are not bad at all,” she said. “That is sometimes the trouble.”

“You would have me be more like Maurice, then?” he asked, frowning.

“I would have you be more like Edward,” she said. “More like Edward as he can be if he lives to his full potential. If he does more than just love. If he also allows himself to be in love—with life and with the woman who was surely created just for him.”

“Hmm,” he said. He was a little embarrassed. Alma was his sensible, practical elder sister. He did not expect to hear poetic outpourings from her.

“But if you expect her to listen to another marriage proposal,” she said, “you must first make it clear to her that you ask from the heart, Edward. You must do something very decisive to convince her.”

He sighed and turned his head to look into her face.

“All I asked,” he said, “was whether you thought it would be in poor taste for me to make an announcement—if there is an announcement to make—during Lorraine and Fenner’s betrothal party.”

She laughed and he grinned.

“Well,” she said, “there is a simple answer to that one at least. No. It would not be in poor taste. Indeed, I believe Lorraine would be overjoyed. She is exceedingly fond of you, you know, Edward. You were always kind to her—and Susan.”

You must do something very decisive to convince her.

Right. But what?

He went fishing with most of the other men after breakfast. It was one of his favorite activities when he was in the country. And while he fished, he planned to take Lady Angeline walking again during the afternoon. He would talk with her, laugh with her again, kiss her again. And tell her he loved her. He might feel like a prize idiot as he did so—undoubtedly he would, in fact—but he would do it anyway. Such things were important to women, it seemed, and it was not as though he would be lying. He did love her.

Heaven help him.

The afternoon walk was to be delayed, though, he discovered after luncheon when Eunice bore Lady Angeline off to the conservatory for what looked like a private tкte-а-tкte. He did not see them again, even though he paced about the house long after everyone else had tired of the music in the drawing room, including the Misses Briden, who had been supplying it, and had gone outside or into the billiard room or to their own rooms for a rest.

Windrow was going home for the night—apparently it was only ten miles away. It was his mother’s birthday. A little while ago, Edward would have been delighted. Indeed, he would have hoped that Windrow would fail to return. He had got over that, though—as long as Windrow did nothing to threaten Lady Angeline’s safety or peace of mind.

And then, late in the afternoon, that was just what happened.

The butler waylaid him as he was passing through the hall, and placed a folded and sealed piece of paper in his hands.

“I was asked to deliver this to you personally at four o’clock, my lord,” he said with a bow.

Edward looked down at it. His name was written on one side in a neat, precise feminine hand. Eunice’s. He raised his eyebrows. A letter? Rather than a word to him in person?

“Thank you,” he said, and he went up to his room to read it in private.

Lord Windrow had invited Lady Angeline Dudley and her to accompany him to Norton Park as a special birthday treat for his mother, Eunice had written. Edward would know about that—he did not. It had all been arranged quite properly, of course. Both Lady Palmer and the Duke of Tresham had given their permission.

“But, Edward,” Eunice had continued, “I know that I have been invited only because permission would not have been granted for Lady Angeline to go alone. I am foolish perhaps to feel anxious. I am not normally given to groundless anxieties, as you know. But I am uneasy. How can I be certain that Lady Windrow is at Norton? Perhaps she is not. And how can I be certain that somehow I will not be spirited away somewhere, leaving Lord Windrow and Lady Angeline alone? Oh, these concerns must be groundless, must they not? I must be doing Lord Windrow an injustice. He is a gentleman, after all, despite what you witnessed on the road to London. But, Edward, he has mentioned an inn on the way to Norton, where he says we will stop for refreshments and a change of horses. But the whole distance is only ten miles. We ought not to need to stop, ought we? Forgive this letter. It is unlike me, I know. But Lady Angeline is such an innocent. I fear for her. And Lord Windrow is such a determined flirt—or maybe worse. Do ignore these meanderings if you will—or come in pursuit. I did mention to Lady Palmer when Lord Windrow was not listening that you might follow us over to Norton, and she even seemed pleased. I believe she still has hopes for you and Lady Angeline. Oh, please—it is time to go. Please come. Your ever devoted friend, Eunice.”

Edward had turned cold.

It was unlike Eunice to panic. She was the most sensible person, of either gender, that he knew. If she was uneasy, there was something to be uneasy about.

And that villain, Windrow …

Edward flexed his hands. His fingers itched to be about the man’s throat. His knuckles ached to make contact with his jawbone.

This time, Windrow would not need to waste his breath issuing a challenge. He could save it to defend his life, of all but an inch of which he was going to be deprived before the day was over.

Lady Palmer was in the drawing room with Edward’s grandmother and mother, the Reverend Martin, and Mr. Briden. It took all of Edward’s willpower to smile and greet everyone and wait for an end to the discussion on the merits of remaining in the country all year as opposed to spending parts of it in London or at one of the spas. It took all of his willpower to speak quietly to Lady Palmer.

“Ma’am,” he said, “I will be riding over to Norton Park, if the absence of yet another of your guests will not seem a great discourtesy. I did not want to crowd Windrow’s carriage, but I did say I might follow after it.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know that, Lord Heyward. And I am happy for you young people to have an excursion you will enjoy. I am even secretly happy that you have decided to go too, for my numbers are now even again and the dining table this evening will not look sadly lopsided.”

She laughed, as did everyone else in the room. His grandmother, Edward noted, waved her lorgnette in his direction and actually winked at him.

“Lady Windrow will be so pleased to have company,” Lady Palmer said. “She suffers with rather delicate health and rarely leaves Norton. But she loves to have visitors. Let me not delay you, though. It is a longish ride.”

So Windrow’s mother was at Norton, Edward thought as he hurried from the room and upstairs to change into riding clothes. Perhaps Eunice’s fears were quite ungrounded, then. But there was still that matter of a stop at an inn on the way, and Edward certainly did not trust Windrow at inns. He was going. And let Windrow just try something. Edward almost hoped he would. His long-held conviction that a gentleman did not need to resort to violence to make a point was all very well on occasion, perhaps even on most occasions.

But this was not any occasion, or even most.

This concerned Lady Angeline Dudley. Whom Edward loved. How had Alma phrased it? Without whom he could not contemplate living. That was it, or something very like it. And what else had she said?

You must do something very decisive to convince her.

Right.

Right!

Ten minutes later, having saddled a horse himself, he was moving away from the stables at a gallop.