When the trio brought her and her maid back home, she strained every ounce of her patience saying good-bye politely to each one instead of bolting from the carriage as if the conveyance were on fire.
Angelica heaved a sigh of relief as Liza shut the front door behind her, silencing the platitudes at last. But the peace was not to endure.
Her mother practically charged at her in the foyer, breathless with excitement. “You must tell me at once everything that happened!”
She looked so girlish in her enthusiasm that Angelica could not suppress a chuckle. “Mother, we have only now returned.”
Margaret sobered and straightened her back. “Of course, I’ll allow you to get your breath and Liza may bring us some tea. Three suitors in one day! I am so proud of you, my dear.”
Before Liza had set down the teapot, her mother fixed Angelica with an eager, inquisitive stare. “Now, tell me everything that transpired.”
Angelica lifted her gaze heavenward as she poured her tea. “There was nothing of note. We discussed the weather. I inquired of their families, complimented Makepeace’s phaeton and horses, and greeted our acquaintances in the park.”
Margaret’s eyes twinkled. “I hear that Makepeace is one of Claire Belmont’s suitors. It appears you have pulled him from her grasp.”
Angelica closed her eyes at her mother’s mercenary tone. “I didn’t intend to do so.”
Margaret harrumphed. “She has plenty of other suitors. I daresay she is your biggest competition this season. Your dowry may be larger, but blondes are all the rage.”
Angelica felt an unexpected wave of pity for Claire. Like any respectable debutante, the girl was utterly consumed with the obsession of seeking a husband with the most elevated title and greatest wealth. Angelica had no doubt that the beautiful girl would succeed. But then what would become of her? After she went through the unpleasant business of producing the requisite heir, Claire’s life and purpose would be over. Angelica’s hands clenched into determined fists under the table. That must not happen to me.
Margaret interrupted her reverie. “Daydreaming about your suitors, I see. You didn’t favor one more than the others with your attention, did you?” Her voice sharpened.
“Of course not. In fact, I hardly said a word and allowed them to talk about themselves, which they were pleased to do.” Angelica refrained from saying that her head ached so badly that speaking took far too much effort.
Her mother nodded. “Good. I am glad you are seeking to atone for your scandalous behavior last night, though it seemed to benefit you greatly.”
“What do you mean?” The only thing Angelica regretted about last night’s conduct was that she drank too much and failed to scandalize anyone.
Margaret leaned forward conspiratorially, though they were privately ensconced in their own home. “I think your popularity is highly due to the fact that the Duke of Burnrath paid some attention to you last night,” she whispered. “He has never been known to do so to an unmarried lady, so all gentlemen, naturally, will seek to discover what he found so entrancing about you. Men are like that, my dear. Where one goes, the others will follow. You must endeavor to keep his interest, but do not, under any circumstance, allow him an opportunity to get you alone. Then you would be ruined.”
Angelica laughed at her mother’s contradictory instructions. “How is it that a man can bolster my reputation with one hand, yet destroy it with another?”
“Do not be glib.” Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “Everyone knows that he will never marry an English girl. Great catch though he would be, he would only offer indecent things to you.”
“What sorts of indecent things?” Angelica leaned forward. It was the closest her mother had come to discussing anything that went on between a man and a woman. A sudden and alarming dizziness and warmth curled through her body as she remembered the duke’s hands upon her during their waltz last evening.
“A lady would not endeavor to know,” her mother said primly. “Now you must take a nap and restore your color. You are much too pale.”
Angelica slumped in disappointment and changed the subject. “Lady Wheaton told me His Grace is rumored to be a vampire.”
Her suggestion had the desired effect, for Margaret’s agonized sigh heaved through the dining room.
“I was afraid you would hear that foolishness.” She frowned. “Put that twaddle firmly out of your mind. Vampires are nothing but the product of a drunken physician’s twisted imaginings.”
“Actually,” Angelica countered, “there have been legends of such creatures for centuries. I have researched—”
Margaret bristled. “I will hear no more of this foolish drivel.”
“Yes, Mother.” She struggled to keep the mutinous tone from her voice as she turned back to more important matters. “May I take Liza with me for some shopping this afternoon?”