Margaret nodded. Her gratitude for the shift in topic was apparent. “You must purchase a new fan. The one that matches your gown for tonight is frayed. Now hurry on to bed. I cannot have you looking like a corpse at Almack’s tonight.”
Angelica grinned. “A corpse at Almack’s… now that would be a great story!”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare start in on that morbid nonsense again!”
As Angelica made her way up the stairs, she shook her head when Margaret murmured, “It is a pity His Grace will not be there.”
A small part of her agreed. If she allowed him the opportunity to get her alone, she could be ruined, her mother had said. Now that was a tantalizing thought… too tantalizing. If her fascination with His Grace last evening was any indicator, such an endeavor would be far too risky. Besides, he’d seemed to have grown bored with her quite rapidly once she began to speak of her writing. Angelica frowned as she lay down for her nap. It was a shame the Duke of Burnrath wasn’t really a vampire. He was certainly handsome enough to fit the role perfectly.
Four
When Angelica arrived at the headquarters of The New Monthly Magazine, not only was the owner, Henry Colburn, present but he was also unoccupied and eager to read new material. Best of all, her disguise seemed to pass muster. Without the slightest odd glance, an assistant served her a cup of tepid tea and bade her to wait in the outer office while Colburn retired to his private office to read. Out of the corner of her eye, Angelica peered out the window and watched Liza’s pacing, envious that her maid was allowed to indulge in an outward display of nervousness.
Angelica lounged in her chair instead, trying to look bored and resisting the urge to pick at invisible lint on her coat. Just as she was ready to tap her uncomfortable Hessians in impatience, Colburn emerged from his office.
“I like it,” he said.
“You do?” Angelica held back a whoop of joy.
As if sensing her restraint, Colburn’s thin lips twitched in a slight smile. “Indeed. These tales are all the rage and I admire your descriptive ability. I’ll give you six pounds.”
Six pounds! Angelica could hardly contain her glee. Finally she was a real author, paid for her work.
The money exchanged hands, and her joy was compounded when Colburn asked, “Do you have any more?”
Angelica coughed and stammered, “W-well, I do have an idea about a haunted mansion.”
The editor nodded stiffly. “Excellent. Have the manuscript ready by next week and I’ll pay you double. That is, if this first one sells, which I believe it will. Good day, Mr. Winters.”
Angelica grinned and almost curtsied. She recovered herself and shook his hand, squeezing with all her might. “And a good day to you, Mr. Colburn!”
Once she and Liza were settled in their rented hack, Angelica bounced up and down as she changed back into her dress and recounted the events to the maid, punctuating each sentence with, “I will be a published author!”
“’Ey, there’ll be no ’anky-panky goin’ on in my coach, gov’ner!” the driver shouted.
“We’re behaving,’” Liza called back as she untied Angelica’s neckcloth.
Changing back into her dress was a struggle, but the task was managed by the time the carriage stopped. Angelica patted her reticule containing her disguise, her head spinning in delirious glee as they walked around the block to her home.
“Whatever took you so long?” Margaret demanded the moment they entered the front parlor.
Not even her mother’s anger at the lateness of their arrival dampened Angelica’s spirits. “I am sorry, Mother. The traffic was a veritable stalemate out there.”
Margaret sighed and looked at the mantel clock. “Very well, just do not let it happen again. Now, hurry up to your bath. The doors close at Almack’s at eleven o’clock sharp, and not even the King himself would be admitted one minute after.”
Liza helped her into her ivory silk ball gown while Angelica muttered, “I wish I didn’t have to spend the evening being paraded about the marriage mart drinking lukewarm lemonade and making small talk to the dandies as they sniff out my dowry. Do you think Mother would let me stay home and write if I plead the sick headache?”
The maid chuckled. “She wouldn’t believe the lie for a second, miss. Now I’ll see to your hair and you can tell me about your next chilling ghost story.”
***
Angelica’s heart warmed when she entered the dining room to see her father seated at the table in evening wear. As her eyes met his, she realized that Jacob Winthrop was a noble man, no matter what the ton said.
“You look stunning, my dearest,” he said and rose to pull out her chair.
She smiled and curtsied. “Thank you, Papa.”
“Well, Jacob,” Margaret said, her voice trembling with ill-concealed excitement, “are you going to tell her the good news?”
Her father cleared his throat with authority and winked at Angelica. “Your season is already a success. While you were gone, I’ve received three offers for your hand today.”