A Lady's Point of View (8 page)

“Yes?” he asked irritably.

“I’ve heard so much about the
lovely walks one can take about the grounds, but they say it’s dangerous
without a gentleman escort,” said Angela. “Could you show me one of the paths?”

Edward glared at her. “Do you
realize how improper that request is, young woman?”

The blue eyes widened with alarm.
“No. Why?”

Edward steered her to one side,
where they were not so directly in public view. “That is not a place where a
gentleman takes a lady, unless they are betrothed,” he said. “Improper things
may occur.”

“Oh.” Angela bit her lip, gazing
up at him with that annoyingly innocent demeanour. “I do beg your pardon, Mr.
Cockerell.”

“Furthermore, if you had the
least regard for common decency—” He stopped himself abruptly, but the harm was
done.

“Pray finish your sentence.” A
dangerous note lurked beneath the chit’s calm voice.

“I should not have spoken.” He
offered his arm to return her to the box, but she stood as if planted. “Miss
Angela, I hope you are not about to make an unpleasant scene?”

“I wasn’t the one who spoke of
regard for common decency,” she snapped. “Pray explain yourself, sir.”

From across the grass, Lady
Darnet observed this conversation with a deepening frown. “I spoke out of
turn,” Edward said, wishing only to end the confrontation. “Now let us go
back.”

“Not yet.” Angela took a deep
breath. “I know people are avoiding us, and I understand that this is embarrassing
to you, Mr. Cockerell.”

“Indeed.” He could not abandon
the girl, and so must hear her out.

“But I had expected Helen’s
brother to be less... less... judgmental, particularly when he is unacquainted
with the facts,” she finished in a rush.

“Oh?” This had gone far enough,
Edward decided. “I believe I know enough of what happened to form my own
conclusion, for I was present at Almack’s Wednesday last. Your sister, who has
established a reputation for haughtiness unbefitting her station, intentionally
cut a close friend of the Prince Regent, in full view of the cream of society.”

Angela was on the point of
responding when she appeared to recall something and bit her lip. “There are
matters of which I cannot speak, but you are being most unfair.”

“No, I am not.” Matters she could
not speak of, indeed! Did she wish him to believe Brummell had insulted her
sister? Not likely! “But your private affairs are your business. As concerns
Helen, however, I will thank you to avoid her presence in public lest she too, find
herself ostracized.”

“Oh, indeed!” Anger fired through
those blue eyes, turning them a deep turquoise. “Your sister thinks
differently.”

“My sister is too young to know
much of the
ton
,” replied Edward, pleased at having regained the
offensive. “She is not so unassailable as to be above reproach, should she be
linked with you.”

“And you think so highly of these
friends of yours, who condemn and reject others for some imagined infraction of
their rules?” she demanded. “And you wish your sister similarly to abandon her
bosom bows to suit the false opinions of others?”

“You are an ignorant child,” he
returned haughtily. “Miss Angela, you are not even out yet, and I think it best
that you remain that way until next season.”

“No, I shall not!” She stamped
one small foot in frustration. “Such pettiness! Such meanness of spirit! I had
always believed elegant gentlemen like yourself to be noble and just, and you
are a grave disappointment to me, Mr. Cockerell!”

The thrust took him aback. How
dare this little nobody chastise him this way? Yet at the same time, Edward
felt a peculiar twinge of dismay, that he should have been found wanting.

“Very well, I shall demonstrate
my fairness,” he said, holding himself rigidly erect. “Explain to me how I have
misunderstood your sister’s conduct, which I myself witnessed.”

Angela swallowed and glanced over
at her mother, but Lady Mary was facing the other direction.

“Come, come,” Edward pressed.
“The next dance will begin soon! We cannot stand here all night.”

The girl faced him again, looking
grimly determined. “You must promise me that nothing of what I say will be
repeated to anyone save your sister, who already knows of it.”

“Very well.” Edward prickled with
curiosity, a trait he had done his best to suppress, for he despised gossip.
But this was no rumour; he was speaking with the subject’s own sister. “I will
repeat nothing.”

Angela cleared her throat, a
childlike gesture that he found oddly appealing. “Meg has... weak eyes.”

Edward, who had been expecting
some thunderous revelation, regarded her in perplexity. “Beg pardon?”

“She cannot see well,” the girl
explained. “She did not see Mr. Brummell.”

“He was directly in front of
her!”

“Nevertheless, she did not see
him, and Mother refuses to allow her spectacles.” Angela squared her shoulders.
“If she had worn a glass to Almack’s, what would people have said?”

“That she was young to have lost
her vision, and would make a poor wife,” Edward admitted. “Or at least, some of
them might have said so.”

“Now you understand,” Angela said.
“It’s disgraceful, the way women are paraded about in the marriage mart like
horses at Tattersall’s, as if a happy marriage were based on the length of
one’s shank and the colour of one’s coat.”

“You must not speak that way,” he
reproved in a low voice. “It is most unseemly.”

“I beg your pardon if I’ve given
offence.” Angela didn’t seem in the least contrite. “But it’s true. What choice
had my sister? She must go in public without spectacles or a quizzing glass,
and then she is censured when she fails to acknowledge someone.”

Her comment contained some
justice, Edward had to admit. “I suppose she cannot be held at fault, if the
slight were inadvertent.”

“Yet if she were to confess its
cause, she would be no less harmed,” said Angela. “Indeed, a scandal may be
forgotten, but weak eyesight endures forever!”

This touch of pomposity issuing
from those earnest lips startled a chuckle from Edward. He could see why she
amused his sister.

“You have made your point, Miss
Angela,” he conceded. “I apologize for my remark, although I had no way of
knowing of your sister’s weakness. I don’t agree that she would be so scorned
as you think for wearing a glass, although no doubt some would find her
wanting. In any event, I shan’t begrudge you Helen’s companionship.”

“Thank you.” She laid her hand on
his arm rather stiffly, and together they walked back to the box.

If Edward thought he had finished
with the business of the Linleys, however, he was very much mistaken. Not more
than a half hour later, Helen clapped her hands together and said, “I have it!
Edward, we shall introduce Angela to society ourselves.”

“You’ve gone mad,” he declared
before he could stop himself.

“Edward!” cried his sister in
horror.

For the second time that evening,
he blushed deeply. “Lady Mary, my apologies.”

“Indeed.” Helen glared at her brother and then
pressed her advantage. “We shall give a garden party at our house in Kensington
next week for that purpose. Everyone knows how lovely our gardens are at this
time of year, and they will attend out of curiosity if for no other reason.”

“You are too kind.” Lady Mary
looked as if she would prefer to decline, but dared not.

“Helen, you’re wonderful!” Angela
flung her arms around the older girl.

Under ordinary circumstances
Edward would have refused to consider it. This project was most ill advised,
and could harm both his and his sister’s prospects for an advantageous match.
Indeed, he suspected his suit with Lady Darnet was near lost already.

Yet after his rude remark in
front of Lady Mary, he could not object again, particularly now that he
understood the elder daughter had been blameless. “Very well,” he said with
what grace he could summon.

It was with relief that Edward
rose to bid the Linleys goodnight, and watched them walk away with their protective
groom. His gaze lingered for a moment on the figure of Miss Angela. What a
surprise she had turned out to be, standing up to him that way. Her vigorous
defence of a beloved sister spoke well for her, and brought out his most
chivalrous instincts.

This business of a garden party
was going entirely too far, but they had promised, and he could not back out.

Well, reflected Edward as he
resumed his seat, after next week he would avoid the unpredictable Miss Angela.
If fortune smiled, perhaps she might make a match quickly with some younger son
of a lord, and retire from the social scene.

Why that thought did not entirely
please him, he could not have said.

Meg awoke early on Wednesday,
blinking in confusion as she studied her comfortable surroundings. Where was
she? This certainly wasn’t the bedroom she shared with Angela in London, nor
was it the attic room of their cottage in Derby.

Lord Bryn! She sat bolt upright.
Good heavens, it hadn’t been a dream!

In the full sunshine pouring through
the window, Meg’s situation struck her as even more precarious than it had the
previous night. She was no governess, and what would happen when the marquis
discovered that fact?

She rested her head on her knees,
letting her soft brown curls tumble about her face. How pleasant Brynwood
seemed in comparison to living with the Barkers, and how free of the pressures
that had pounded her from every side in London.

What would Lady Mary say? The
question reminded Meg that her mother and sister had planned an outing to
Vauxhall the previous night. Had it come off? Had they been slighted? She
wished she could know at once, and hoped they’d respond to her letter
immediately.

Perhaps a note was already on its
way from London to Derby, and she would miss it!

Indecisively Meg rose and
dressed.

A thin-faced maid, whose name she
believed was Bertha, knocked timidly. “Will you be taking breakfast with the
children, miss?”

“Yes, that’s an excellent idea,”
Meg said.

She didn’t fancy meeting his
lordship again in her present state of mind. Already she was beginning to
perceive the dangers inherent in living in the household of an attractive,
unmarried man.

It might well be considered
improper, even though the marquis didn’t strike her as the type of blackguard
to force his attentions on a lone female. Indeed, she couldn’t imagine that he
would need to force his presence on anyone. The man’s magnetism showed itself
in every move, in every expression on his handsome face
   

Dear me,
she reflected as
she rose and went to the nursery.
I must guard my thoughts well. This man
belongs to someone else.

To Meg’s relief, the sunny
morning faces of Tom and Vanessa quickly drew her mind to more comfortable
topics. Both seemed genuinely glad to see her, and although she doubted they
had permanently reformed, at least it was apparent that for the moment they
accepted her.

Meg was surprised how easily she
slipped into her new role, teaching them to read from books that she found on
the schoolroom shelves. The children were intelligent if undisciplined, and
quickly applied themselves to their lessons. Even the rambunctious Vanessa kept
her worst excesses under control, so long as Meg agreed to answer a question
now and again about life in London and how a young lady went about becoming an
Incomparable.

“I shall be a Diamond of the
First Water,” declared the girl when they halted for luncheon.

“They won’t let you go swimming
in town,” protested her younger brother, misunderstanding the phrase. “Why
would you want to do a thing like that, anyway?”

Vanessa rolled her eyes in
disgust, and Meg laughed. “A Diamond of the First Water is a young lady who is
highly regarded,” she told Tom, “as I’m sure your sister will be, by all the
gentlemen.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. I
shall never hang upon ladies. I shall be like Uncle Andrew and live here by
myself.”

Meg merely smiled, and handed him
more bread and cheese.

The next few days passed with
similar pleasantness. Lord Bryn remained a polite, dark shadow along the
outskirts of their awareness, only occasionally intruding upon the schoolroom.

Despite her resolve to push his
lordship from her thoughts, Meg was aware of him always. Did he watch her, or
was that only her imagination? If not, why did she feel a new sense of herself
as a woman whenever he came near? Never before had she noticed the way her
skirts swished when she turned, or how artfully the bodice was sculpted across
her bosom. Never before had her skin prickled as if a feather were being run
across it.

When she dared to observe the
marquis directly, she noted a restlessness to his movements that reminded her
of a caged creature. He seemed drawn to the schoolroom, where he displayed
undisguised warmth toward the children. With Meg, he was more guarded, rarely
meeting her gaze directly, yet from time to time he would take her elbow, or
brush her shoulder as he moved past, small unintentional touches that fairly
jolted
 
through her.

At other moments, when the
marquis believed himself unobserved, she would catch upon his face an
expression of sorrow mingled with something she guessed to be self-loathing.
Had this anything to do with the Peninsula and the injury to his leg?

He was a many-faceted man, unlike
the shallow pleasure-seeking bucks Meg had met in London. She understood now
why Lord Bryn avoided going to town. But there were other things about him
beyond her understanding.