Angelica picked listlessly at her breakfast, wishing that the previous evening had been a dream. Perhaps if she didn’t get out of bed… no, she had to face the truth. Ian was going to abandon her. And he had done so with others. She couldn’t believe that she had been such a fool. She’d thought the only danger in marriage was losing her freedom. She’d never imagined she’d lose her heart.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?” Liza asked when Angelica set her fork aside.
“I am perfectly well,” she snapped, guilt striking her as the maid jumped in surprise at her tone.
Angelica’s pain was so apparent that when Liza took away her tray full of uneaten food, she gave her mistress a look of such pity that Angelica’s heart clenched in bitterness.
She climbed out of bed and straightened her spine. She wouldn’t give anyone a chance to pity her. And never would she let Ian know that he had hurt her. No man would ever have that kind of power over her. She would live her life, and God help her, she would have her vampire duke exorcised from her heart by the time he left her. She yanked open her wardrobe and looked for an ensemble that would inspire confidence.
She pulled out a sophisticated black gown of watered silk. The dressmaker had protested vehemently against the color, but Angelica had put her foot down. Now the ensemble suited her emotional state perfectly. After Liza helped her dress, Angelica fixed her reflection with a stern glare. I need not wait until Ian’s farce of a “death” to mourn him. My heart is dead now.
She had just finished her breakfast when the butler announced the arrival of her mother.
“Angelica, I must speak to you about your ball last night.” Margaret stormed in and was immediately attacked by Loki.
Angelica smiled wanly. Even the kitten’s antics were not enough to bring her cheer. “Perhaps we should speak elsewhere.”
“Indeed, we shall.” Her mother lifted her nose in pious disapproval as she extracted the kitten from her skirts and followed her daughter into the blue salon.
Angelica sat in a wingback chair by the fireplace and endured her mother’s blistering tirade about the ball with patience that went beyond admirable. In truth, anything was preferable to thinking about her own impending abandonment.
Margaret immediately noticed her daughter’s abnormal lack of argument. “Whatever is the matter, Angelica? You look dreadfully pale.” Her eyes widened. “Do you think that you are carrying the Burnrath heir already?”
Angelica shook her head. Things would be so much easier if a mere pregnancy was the problem.
“Then what is wrong with you, dear?” The compassion in her mother’s voice was genuine and irresistible in its sincerity.
Angelica longed to talk to another woman about her predicament, but her mother was the only married woman with whom she had more than a nodding acquaintance. Of course, there was the Duchess of Wentworth, but speaking with her was out of the question, not only because they did not know each other that well, but because her husband and Ian were such good friends. The Wentworths were unaware of Ian’s secret, and Angelica was certain he wanted to keep it that way.
She nibbled her lower lip in indecision for what seemed an eternity before looking down at her slippers, face burning in shame. “I think my husband means to leave me.”
The silence was thicker than the morning fog. Angelica’s gaze crept up to her mother’s face against her will. Margaret’s eyebrows were threatening to disappear into her hairline, and her mouth gaped.
Finally, she spoke. “Do you think he’s upset about the ball?”
Angelica thought no such thing, but the real reasons were impossible to reveal. She nodded.
Her mother’s voice was heartbreaking in its disappointment. “I have told you time and again that a married woman, especially a duchess, is held to certain standards of conduct. It is past time for you to let go of your eccentricities.”
“But that is who I am!” Angelica protested. “He knew from the start that I didn’t fit in the mold of propriety. If he takes umbrage with the fact, he should not have married me!”
Margaret held up a hand. “I am finished arguing with you on the matter. Lord knows we never get anywhere with this subject. As for your marriage, I am certain the situation may be salvaged. I’m sure you know that your father and I did not always have the most amiable relationship.”
Angelica’s unladylike snort echoed into her teacup. Now that was the understatement of the century. Margaret’s rapier glare quelled most of her mirth.
“But our marriage has survived, despite its trials,” Margaret declared. “I am certain the same will work for yours. After all, His Grace seems quite fond of you, despite your early efforts to make that otherwise. Don’t think for a moment that I did not notice.”
A faint tremor of hope arose. “Perhaps you are right, Mother. Maybe if I just speak to him about—”
“No!” Margaret cried. “Do not consider such a thing. Your quarrelsome disposition will only increase his ire.”