The Secret Mistress (28 page)

That was all perfectly true. But it was not the whole truth, for it had not taken long for Angeline to realize that the house party would provide the ideal setting for a proper courtship between Miss Goddard and the earl, and that
she
might be the one to bring it about. It would have the added attraction that his mother and his sisters would also be there to observe how very genteel Miss Goddard was and how very much she and the earl adored each other and how well suited she was to being his countess even if she
was
merely the daughter of a Cambridge don. Not many ladies had that distinction, after all.

“Please come,” Angeline said, squeezing her arm.

“I have never attended a house party,” Miss Goddard said.

“Oh,” Angeline said, “neither have I. But I have
always
wanted to. They must be enormous fun. You will come?”

“I will be pleased to,” Miss Goddard said. “I think.”

Miss Goddard bent to smell one of the delicate pink roses they had been examining, though truth to tell Angeline had not been paying them a great deal of attention. She had been too busy noticing that the Earl of Heyward was at the garden party too, and that he had that red-haired lady on his arm again—Angeline never could remember her name. She was very careful not to look directly at them
and hoped Miss Goddard would not notice and become depressed at seeing him with someone else.

They strolled down to the riverbank and watched eight of the other guests out on the water in the four small rowing boats, two to a boat. The boats looked very small and unsteady to Angeline. She would not mind too, too much if she were riding in one of them and got tipped in. The water might be cold, but once in and over the first gasp of shock, one would soon become accustomed to it and would actually feel quite warm—until it was time to come out again. However, she did not believe she would wish to fall in today. She was wearing a new dress of fine sprigged muslin, which she loved despite its delicate colors. It would look like a dishrag if it got dunked in the river. Worse, her new hat would look like a dead duck, except that a dead duck would not necessarily be garlanded with multicolored bedraggled flowers and drooping ribbons.

“How lovely it must be out on the water,” Miss Goddard said with a sigh.

But as Angeline drew breath to reply, someone else did so before her.

“It would be all the lovelier for having the delectable Miss Goddard riding upon it,” the voice said, and they both turned in astonishment to find Lord Windrow about to step between them, almost forcing them to drop each other’s arms and take one each of his instead. “And so ride upon it you will. And, oh fair one, you must go out there also but not
with
Miss Goddard, alas. Those boats were made for two. If three were to try to cram into one, it would sink like a rock and leave nothing but three bubbles to be lamented over by spectators on the bank.”

“Assuming,” Miss Goddard said, “that none of the three could swim.”

“Or one—but that one would have all the bother of deciding which of the other two he would save,” he said. “Nothing but trouble could come of it, whichever one he chose.”

“Assuming,” she said again, “that the swimmer was the man. If it was one of the ladies, she would not hesitate to save the other lady.
If she were to save the man, he would feel humiliated and he would be ridiculed for the rest of his life. His life would not be worth living. It would be more merciful to leave him to die tragically beneath his bubble.”

“Alas,” he said, one hand over his heart, “you would abandon me to a watery death, Miss Goddard.”

“I daresay you swim, though,” she said. “Do you?”

“But of course,” he said.

Angeline laughed at the absurdity of the exchange and twirled her parasol. And when one of the boats came in a mere minute or two later, Lord Windrow seized it even though there were two other couples very obviously waiting for it too. He handed Miss Goddard in with exaggerated care and turned to bow over Angeline’s hand.

“It is always said,” he murmured, “that the wise man saves the best until last.”

Angeline laughed again.

“But alas,” he called to her as he hopped into the boat and pushed it away from the jetty, “no one has ever yet called me a wise man.”

The rogue! She gave her parasol another spirited twirl just as the Earl of Heyward appeared upon the scene—alone and looking like thunder. There was not a redhead in sight—except Lord Windrow, whose hair was actually more copper than red.

“Lady Angeline,” he asked, “has Windrow been bothering you again?”

His eyes were upon the boat, which was now well out in the river. Miss Goddard, her back to Angeline, was reclining in her seat and trailing one hand in the water. Lord Windrow was smiling lazily at her and saying something as he pulled on the oars.

“He is not quite the black-hearted villain you take him for,” Angeline said, feeling suddenly breathless. “Even at that inn he was just being silly. It is in his nature to be silly.” Though perhaps that was an unfair word to use. He
was
silly, but really in a rather witty and charming way. Angeline believed that he rather
liked
her. Nothing more. His flirtation was far too light to be either serious or menacing.
“I am quite safe with him. Besides, Miss Goddard always seems to be present to save me from him.”

She turned her face to smile at him and was jolted to discover how close he was. For three weeks now there had always been at least half a room’s distance between them. She had not looked into his eyes since that day he insisted upon escorting her home from Lady Sanford’s. And despite all the flowers and trees offering their myriad scents for her pleasure, not to mention the river, it was his light and subtle cologne that enticed her senses. His eyes were bluer than the water.

“But who is to save
Eunice
?” he asked curtly, those blue eyes squinting as they followed the boat along the river.

Angeline was about to make a tart remark about that tiny rowboat on the wide river for all the world to see
not
being the likely scene of any wicked seduction. But the breath she had drawn remained unused, and her mouth remained half open. Her parasol stopped twirling.

Inspiration had hit her like a flash of lightning.

But of course!

She would persuade Rosalie to invite
Lord Windrow
to Hallings too. Rosalie would not mind. On the contrary, she would be pleased. She had been growing concerned over the fact that Angeline did not seem to favor any one of her suitors over the others. Lord Windrow was handsome and charming and elegant. He was eligible even if he had never given any indication that he was in search of a bride. He was one of Tresham’s friends, which was perhaps not a great recommendation in itself except that Tresham did not befriend just
anyone
. No, Rosalie would be
delighted
.

And when they were all at Hallings, Angeline would maneuver him and Miss Goddard into more situations just like this one and drive poor Lord Heyward insane with fear for her safety and perhaps with jealousy too, for Lord Windrow really was handsome and he seemed to enjoy flirting with Miss Goddard, who could match his wit. Lord Heyward would realize that he could not live without Miss Goddard, and she would realize she could not live without him, and their great love for each other would be clear to everyone else at Hallings, including his family, and because they loved him and
would come to love her, they would give their blessing to the match and the two of them would be betrothed before the end of the house party and married in St. George’s, Hanover Square, as soon as the banns had been called, and they would live happily ever after.

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.

H
ALLINGS 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.