Bite Me, Your Grace

Thirteen


Angelica groaned as the carriage lurched and bounced on the rutted country road. Pendlebur Park was only a two-hour drive from the city, yet already every part of her body felt bruised and battered. She sighed and flipped through a newspaper. Truly, this trip could not have come at a better time. Everyone and their servants had already heard about her incident at Almack’s.

Lady Dranston had even had the gall to come calling at an uncivilized hour this morning to ask if the engagement had been called off. Angelica hid a smile as she remembered her mother’s triumph in relating Ian’s side of the story and her final thrust in telling Lady Dranston about their trip to inform the Earl of Pendlebur about the upcoming nuptials.

“Put down that newspaper,” Margaret admonished. “If you keep trying to read that rag with all this bouncing around, you will get the devil of a headache.”

Angelica heaved another sigh and reluctantly obeyed. The advertisements for rooms for rent were blurring in her vision with every bump and sway of the carriage, and what she had managed to read was not encouraging. The cheapest rooms she could find were still far too expensive. Even with the average salary she could expect if she sold a new story every month, paying for food, clothing, and writing materials would be difficult.

A niggling voice in the back of her mind whispered that running away was a very bad idea. The cost of living in London, as portrayed in the newspaper advertisements, seemed to echo the warning. While the carriage rolled up the drive toward Pendlebur Park, her optimism sank as memories of previous visits to this cold place and its chilly owner came back to her.

Margaret retrieved her hand mirror and began making adjustments to her gown and coiffure. Her shoulders lifted and her already perfect posture became almost grotesquely straight as she forced her body to an angle that looked agonizing and impossible.

Angelica sighed and straightened her spine just as her mother seized her shoulders and forced her into the same uncomfortable position. This was only the beginning of the ritual torture that a visit to Grandfather’s house entailed.

“Lift your chin a little higher,” Margaret commanded, panic creeping into her voice. “And stop pouting. A future duchess does not pout.”

Every time she and her mother visited the Earl of Pendlebur, who may as well have been the King of England for all the fuss involved, Angelica felt as if she were being picked apart and crushed at the same time. Her mother heaped more than the already unbearable pressure upon her to be a perfect lady, and Angelica could taste the tension between Margaret and the earl as he scrutinized seemingly every hair on Angelica’s head in an effort to detect the “common blood” that tainted her and barred her from perfection.

Every time, Angelica broke under the oppressive conditions, either by saying the wrong thing—meaning whatever was really on her mind—or by being caught reading something deemed “inappropriate” in the earl’s library. Thus, the visits were always mercifully short.

“I wish Papa could have come with us,” she said despondently.

Margaret sighed. “You know how your grandfather feels about him, Angelica.” Then, she brightened. “Of, course, now that we have made such a brilliant match for you, there could be a chance that your grandfather will soften and give your father an opportunity to get on his good side!”

Angelica managed a wan smile, her feelings warring between hope of reconciliation between her father and the earl, and sickly guilt for her potential role in dashing those hopes when she ran away.

They alighted from the carriage and the butler escorted them to the drawing room. Angelica beheld the grandfather she only saw once a year. Was she mistaken, or were his blue eyes icier, his posture even more ramrod straight, his silver hair more impeccable, and were his weathered features harder and more unyielding? She felt a twinge of pity for her mother. It was hard to imagine her as a little girl, growing up under the stern eye of this cold, implacable widower.

“Margaret,” he said, his voice stern and gravelly. “You are looking well.”

Angelica’s mother dropped into a curtsy more suited to the throne room than a country manor. “Thank you, Father. I trust that you are in good health?”

He grunted in what seemed to be assent then turned to Angelica, the ice melting from his eyes and the ghost of a smile hovering on his thin lips. “Ah, here is my lovely granddaughter. I hear your beauty has taken London by storm. I cannot say I am surprised. You are the very image of your sainted grandmother.”

“Thank you, Grandfather,” she murmured and curtsied, hiding her ire that he refused to acknowledge that she looked like her father.

This time his smile was unmistakable, and his blue eyes twinkled down at her. “I have also heard that you are to be the Duchess of Burnrath. I am proud of you, my dear. You bring honor to the Pendlebur name. Come, give your grandfather a kiss, and we shall have tea and refreshments once you’ve changed out of your traveling costumes.”

Her knees shook as she pressed her lips to his parchment cheek. She had never seen the strict Earl of Pendlebur in such good spirits before and found it to be almost unnerving.

As they dined, Angelica wanted to squirm in discomfort as her grandfather regaled them with details of the Duke of Burnrath’s lavish estates and vast wealth. “They say he is as rich as Croesus. Everyone expected him to wed outside the country as all the previous dukes of Burnrath have. How ever did you nab him, my dear?”

“I-I do not really know, Grandfather,” she murmured weakly.

“What a pleasing display of modesty, Angelica,” her mother said with a tight smile. She then gave a vastly edited account of the past few weeks’ events.

The earl laughed and pounded his cane on the floor. “Whoever would have thought that the Duke of Burnrath would have such a weakness for a damsel in distress? Good show, my dear! Good show!”

Angelica wished she could sink through the floor as she watched her mother and grandfather speaking more companionably than they had in years. For the first time, she could see the girl Margaret used to be, rather than the strict, yet fearful woman who had raised her.

“May I choose one of your horses and take a short ride, Father?” her mother asked after tea. Horses were one of Margaret’s passions… yet another difference that widened the chasm between her and Angelica.

“Of course, my dear. I just purchased the most beautiful sorrel mare that I am sure will take your fancy. You may name her, if you wish.” He cleared his throat. “And while you are gone, Angelica and I can have a pleasant little chat about her new beau.”

Her mother and grandfather exchanged a conspiratorial glance before Margaret departed for the stables. The back of Angelica’s neck prickled with suspicion. They had planned something. She had no idea how this could be, but somehow they had planned something.

The earl turned to her. “I will wait for you in the library.” He bowed and walked away with brisk strides before she could reply.

Angelica wondered what the earl wanted to “chat” about. She could think of nothing except that perhaps he would lecture her about getting thrown out of Almack’s. Oh well, she thought. I may as well endure this ordeal now. She straightened her shoulders and went to the library, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Her grandfather was seated in a plush burgundy wingback chair by the fireplace, with another chair set companionably near his.

“Come in, my dearest,” he said cheerfully, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It has been so long since we visited, but that is soon to change.”

“Whatever do you mean, Grandfather?” she said, looking at the gorgeous array of books adorning the shelves, which, at any other time, she would be perusing with the excitement of a child in a sweet shop on Bond Street.

He followed her gaze. “I am leaving you my entire collection, you know.”

Normally she would have jumped up and down at such news. Instead, she merely inclined her head and thanked him quietly.

He nodded in approval at her manners, oblivious to her suspicion. “Yes, I have not forgotten that my library seems to be your favorite place in the world,” the earl continued gruffly. “I am also signing over two of my estates, the dowager cottage in Sherwood for your mother, and for you I will deed my castle in Herefordshire. Because of you and your brilliant match, your mother and I have at last mended fences. Though I was terribly disappointed when she defied me and married a banker, it seems that mixing common blood did not impede you from making wiser choices.”

Angelica bit her tongue to curb an angry retort for the infuriating slur on her father. Her gaze strayed to a letter on the table beside him. She was too far away to read the words but close enough to recognize her mother’s handwriting. The earl followed her gaze and frowned.

“Now,” he said with deceptive calm as Angelica braced herself for the forthcoming lecture. “I must speak with you of another matter. Your mother has informed me that you have behaved terribly over the past few months. To my everlasting shame, I hear that you have been gallivanting around in men’s clothing and even had the gall to publish two horrid stories under a man’s name.”

His eyes spat blue daggers at her. “Despite such crimes, you were fortunate enough to wring an offer of marriage from the country’s most desired bachelor. But did you go down on your knees and thank the good Lord for your fortune and repent your disgraceful ways?”

Angelica stared in stunned silence. Why did her mother always conspire against her? She shouldn’t be surprised, but her heart still stung from the betrayal. She had never guessed that Margaret would tell Grandfather about her writing.

“No,” the earl continued, giving her the feeling that things were about to get worse. “You did not. Instead I fear you have been doing everything your ungrateful little mind could think of to repel the Duke of Burnrath’s suit—discussing unseemly topics and singing inappropriate songs. You even went as far as to get yourself thrown out of Almack’s! Now, explain yourself immediately!”

Angelica blurted out without thinking, “I do not wish to wed.”

The earl’s face turned a mottled red. “I will tolerate no more of this insolence!” He pounded his cane on the floor. “You will marry the duke, and you will obey him in everything. If you do anything to stop this match, I swear to God I will cut you and your mother off from every shilling I have, and then I will use my influence to be sure that your father loses his position at the bank, so you all shall be penniless and on the streets! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Grandfather,” she whispered through numb lips. This “pleasant little chat” had gone so much worse than she’d imagined.

“Now get out of my sight,” he snapped. “I do not wish to see or hear from you until you purge those scandalous thoughts out of your head. I am certain that you inherited them from your worthless father. Blood always tells.”

Unable to take anymore, Angelica fled to the guest room and fought the urge to cry. She collapsed on the bed, emotionally drained. All was lost. Even if she did have the means to support herself and run away, she couldn’t bear the thought of her father losing his job at the bank. Her mother and the Earl of Pendlebur had won, although Angelica doubted Margaret knew that the earl would sink so low as to threaten his own daughter and her husband to get his way. Angelica could not bring herself to believe that. To think so would kill all the love she had for her mother.

Her fists clenched the rich fabric of her quilt in impotent rage. She was ten kinds of a fool to have thought she could escape. She would have to forget her aspirations of a writing career and wed Ian.

Angelica waited for the suffocating feeling of dread to come at the thought of marriage and was surprised when it didn’t. Ian… A memory of his silver eyes and tender smile suddenly washed over her, accompanied by a feeling of longing to confide in him. The irony nearly bowled her over. I cannot believe I want comfort from the very man whom I am seeking to avoid becoming leg-shackled to! A bubble of bitter laughter escaped her lips as she sat up and straightened her hair.

Perhaps it will not be so terrible. She reached for her handkerchief. As she blew her nose, her head cleared of its panicked grief. She rose from the bed and began to pace the room like a caged tigress. For the first time, Angelica allowed herself to truly think about marrying Ian.

All the things that her mother and grandfather chastised her for had never seemed to bother him. If she married the duke, she would be out from under her mother’s thumb and she’d never have to see her cruel grandfather again if she so chose. A rush of glee filled her at the thought. As Angelica circled the bedchamber, she imagined living with Ian at Burnrath House, being alone with him, laughing with him… kissing him…

Angelica lifted her chin and stared out the window, facing the setting sun. I will do it. I will marry the vampire duke. She smiled, overcome by a warm rush of relief that her strenuous inner conflict was at last settled. Well, I have always been fascinated by Burnrath House. Now the manor will be mine, because I am marrying a vampire! She giggled at the irony and shivered at the deliciousness of the thought. I am marrying a vampire… She remembered the gleam of his fangs, the feel of his powerful arms around her.

He’d thought she was afraid of him, but that wasn’t true. Angelica felt safe with Ian. Safe… and valued. Every aspect of his behavior in their brief courtship implied he cared about her thoughts and feelings, and he never criticized her for being different from other females. The realization brought another thought. Perhaps he isn’t marrying me only to protect his reputation. Perhaps he is doing it because he’s lonely. She remembered the story of how he became a vampire, abandoned on the field of battle, attacked, and left for dead over two centuries ago. Now all of his family was gone. Of course he was lonely. But he shall be lonely no longer, she vowed.

Suddenly, Angelica couldn’t wait to return to London and shop for her trousseau. She strode to the door, ready to announce that she was eager to become the Duchess of Burnrath, but that she would do so because she wanted to, not because of his threats.

Then she froze with her hand grasping the handle, remembering the ferocity of her grandfather’s tirade. Not only would the earl be reluctant to put aside the quarrel, but he also would still blame her father for her rebellion. And worse, Angelica and her mother would likely tear each other apart on the carriage ride home far worse than they had after their previous visits to Pendlebur Park.

She would have to find an explanation that would soften the earl as well as vindicate her father. Angelica was tempted to blister her mother’s ears for encouraging the earl to threaten her family, but what was the use? Margaret would never understand. Besides, after the wedding, she would be free of her mother. But now, she would have to soften the earl for her father’s sake.

Angelica sat back down on the bed and thought. Her excuse would have to be believable but something silly… something the usual featherheaded debutante would think. Oh, this would be difficult! After discarding multiple explanations, she settled on a plan of action. She wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face easily while spewing such drivel, but she would have to do her best. Ian wouldn’t be the only one with a smooth tongue, she vowed. A vivid memory of his smooth tongue momentarily weakened her knees, but Angelica thrust the hypnotic image away to focus on the matter at hand.

With renewed determination, she made her way down the stairs and softly knocked on the library door. “Grandfather?” she said in her most imploring voice.

“What is it now?” the earl demanded in his usual churlish tone.

She took that for permission and opened the door, composing her features in the most submissive demeanor possible. “I came to apologize.”

Her grandfather gave her a brief glance and made a gruff noise of assent. “Very well.”

Angelica approached him with careful, delicate steps, as if she was reenacting her presentation to the Sovereign. Noticing the stiff set of his shoulders, she avoided meeting his eyes. Forcing her voice to the most dulcet of tones, she began. “I am terribly sorry for my awful behavior and that I said I did not wish to wed the duke. My only explanation for such foolishness is that I am so afraid that I will not be worthy of him.”

She chanced a glance then and noticed his gaze softening. Her opening appeared to be working.

“What do you, mean, child?” he asked in a tone he hadn’t used since her childhood, when he’d comforted her after her nightmares.

Angelica fought back her indignation at being called a child but maintained her composure. “Since the dukes of Burnrath only married foreign nobles, the idea of being the first English Duchess of Burnrath frightens me terribly. I do not believe I am worthy of such a high honor, given my half common blood. Please forgive me?” she whispered, hoping he’d believe the explanation.

“Oh, dearest granddaughter.” He enfolded her in his arms. “You do not need to be afraid. Your mother is an expert on how to act the proper lady in society. Just follow her guidance and you shall be a fine duchess. Now you must forget all that nonsense about writing novels. Leave that for the spinsters and commoners.”

Angelica stepped out of her grandfather’s embrace, biting her tongue. She would see what Ian had to say about that. A twinge of doubt curled in her belly. What if the duke would indeed forbid her to write? She closed her eyes, refusing to ponder such a horrifying thought.

“Grandfather?” She returned to the mission at hand. “Could I beg you to not tell Mother about the foolish things I said? She would be dreadfully upset, but worse, she will tell Papa, and he would bring the roof down on my head! After all, he helped to encourage the match between the duke and me. He was always wrangling invitations to parties His Grace would attend, and such.”

“He did, did he?” The earl’s eyes lit with reluctant admiration. “Very well, I suppose I will hold my tongue then.”

Angelica allowed herself to feel a measure of hope. Perhaps someday the earl would reconcile with her father. That thought, as well as anticipation of seeing her husband-to-be, nurtured her for the remainder of the visit.