Chapter Two
The next morning
Colin had just sat down with a plate of baked eggs, bacon, and a roll when he heard his father shout outside the dining room. “I’d better investigate,” he said.
Naturally, everyone at the table followed him into the great hall, where the marquess stood holding the funniest-looking puppy Colin had ever clapped eyes on. It was a wrinkly pug with a black snout.
“Bianca, Bernadette!” the marquess roared.
The twins padded into the great hall with widened eyes. Colin suspected his sisters had perfected their innocent expressions.
The pug wriggled in the marquess’s hands. “Be still, animal.”
“Oh, Papa,” Bianca cried. “You found Hercules.”
“In the water closet,” the marquess shouted.
Angeline walked up beside Colin. “Oh, dear, your father is overset,” she said under her breath.
Hercules licked the marquess’s hand.
Colin covered his grin at the affronted expression on his father’s face.
“This animal is an abomination,” the marquess said.
Colin approached his father and tried to ignore the distinctive odor of urine. “Father, are you all right?”
“Do I look all right? This sorry excuse for a dog ruined my boots.” He looked over his shoulder. “Ames!”
The butler strode into the hall.
“Throw this disgusting canine into the dustbin,” the marquess demanded.
“Nooooooo,” the twins cried out simultaneously.
Margaret gathered the girls in her arms. “Hush, Papa will not throw Hercules in the dustbin.”
“Oh, yes, I will!”
Fat tears welled in Bianca’s and Bernadette’s eyes.
Colin folded his arms over his chest, knowing his gruff father wouldn’t be able to withstand their tears. Doubtless the twins knew precisely how to manipulate him.
Ames held out his hands for the dog.
The marquess narrowed his eyes at his daughters. “He stays in the kitchen. I do not want to see him above stairs ever again or he goes. Do I make myself understood?”
Bianca and Bernadette ran to the marquess and hugged him. “Oh, Papa, thank you,” Bianca said, sniffing.
Bernadette brushed her finger under her eye. Colin was fairly certain it wasn’t a tear, but he must credit his sisters for their theatrical performance.
The marquess patted his daughters awkwardly and addressed Ames. “The water closet floor needs to be cleaned.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The marquess sat on a chair, removed his boots, and signaled a footman. “The smell will never come out. Burn them.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The twins volunteered to take Hercules to the kitchen. Colin suspected they would sneak the pug to their room at the first opportunity.
“Colin, we will meet in my study in thirty minutes,” the marquess said.
He inclined his head and thought his father looked rather undignified as he walked up the steps in his stockings.
Precisely thirty minutes later, Colin rapped on his father’s study door.
“Come in,” the marquess said.
When he entered, his father continued writing. “Be seated,” he said.
Colin jiggled his leg, an old habit. Be calm; be confident.
The marquess sanded the paper, folded it, and applied a seal. When his father opened a new letter, Colin forced himself to relax his jaw. He understood his father’s silent message: patience.
He did not expect this interview to be easy. His father would likely interrogate him, but he was prepared.
The marquess set the letter aside. “You requested this meeting. I will hear you out, but I am disinclined to make a gift of the property simply because you are my son.”
Colin lifted his chin. “I understand. However, I am willing to take responsibility for all needed repairs.”
The marquess folded his hands on the polished desktop and regarded him with a patronizing expression. “I received an excellent offer. The prospective buyer is willing to make the purchase and see to any needed repairs. It will cost me nothing, but I will certainly gain from the sale. You probably do not have sufficient funds for renovations.”
Colin had expected this argument. “I understand that I would have to make a considerable investment.”
The marquess huffed. “You mean I would have to make the investment.”
“Only if you wished to contribute,” Colin said.
“Well, how else would you finance this venture? Beyond your quarterly funds, you have no other source of income.”
Colin knew that he would shock his father. “I’ve made investments in shipping.”
The marquess snorted. “So you’re literally waiting for your ship to come in.”
This is business. Keep your emotions out of it. “I’ve been investing a considerable portion of my quarterly funds since I was twenty-one.”
The marquess stared at him in a stupefied fashion. “You jest.”
“No. I figured money was the key to my independence.”
“You did it in the event I cut off your funds.”
Colin smiled a little. “You did threaten once or twice.”
“With good reason,” the marquess said. “That affair de coeur with Lord Ogden’s wife could have ended with you planted six feet under.”
He’d been only twenty when Lady Ogden had seduced him, but he didn’t want the conversation to veer off into a blind alley. “First things first. I will take care of estimates for the repairs. If I find that it is currently beyond my means, we could draw up an agreement in which I repay you for the cost of any required loan.” Surely his father would not object.
The marquess tapped his fingers on the polished surface of his desk. “It may well require the services of an architect and all manner of workers. Why should I contribute funds when I have a perfectly good offer?”
“I understand, but I’m more than willing to make a partial payment now,” he said.
The marquess narrowed his eyes. “You failed to answer my question.”
“The primary advantage is that it keeps the property in our family.” Surely he would not sell when his mother was buried there.
The marquess steepled his fingers. “You intend to occupy the house soon?”
“First I intend to inquire about the best men to provide estimates for the work.”
The marquess stood and looked out the window. He was silent for a long moment.
Colin restrained the urge to speak. His father would reveal his concern in his own good time. Interjecting at this point would be foolhardy.
The marquess turned around. “Suppose I approve this plan. Will you personally supervise the renovations?”
Colin frowned. “I certainly intend to make inquiries on the progress.”
“I see.”
“Whatever it is that concerns you, I’m sure I can provide a solution.”
“What happens if there is a problem while you’re in London? Do you expect me to take the reins while you’re carousing?”
“Of course not. I plan to journey to Sommerall once a quarter.”
“And the remainder of the time? Are you willing to give up chasing lightskirts, gaming, and swigging spirits to oversee renovations that might take years to accomplish?”
He doubted it would take years, but he recognized that his father was testing him. “If a problem arises while I’m in London, I will make the journey home.”
The marquess shook his head. “The answer is no.”
Colin was taken aback. “I’m willing to make concessions.”
“I, however, am not. Your responses to my questions were unsatisfactory. You have no real interest in Sommerall.”
“Of course I have an interest in Sommerall or I wouldn’t be here,” he said.
“Precisely,” the marquess said.
Colin winced. “I realize that I’ve been distant of late, but I will remedy the situation.”
“Forgive me, but I have doubts. As I recall, the last time you came home was Easter, and you departed before a sennight. If it were only the one time, I would make an exception, but you’ve kept your distance from all of us for years. Now you expect me to award Sommerall to you when you haven’t earned it. Based upon your notorious behavior, I think it would be foolhardy for me to trust you. You are unwilling to supervise the work, and that tells me you have no intention of leaving behind your wild exploits in London.”
“I will make the journey—”
“My answer stands. If you were truly interested in Sommerall, you would personally see to the work, but you’ve no intention of mending your rakehell ways. I know you’ve become a two-bottle man, and before you accuse me of spying, I assure you I’d rather not know. Unfortunately, gentlemen are competitive and like to rub it in a man’s nose when his heir spends much of his time engaged in disreputable pursuits.”
For pity’s sake he was thirty-one years old and getting a lecture, but he decided to pacify the marquess. “Father, I know I can—”
“Enough. You’re unwilling to commit to this venture. Under the circumstances, you give me no choice but to sell Sommerall.”
Colin clenched his teeth, imagining spending months alone in the countryside. But if he didn’t agree, he’d lose Sommerall forever.
He walked over to the hearth in an effort to calm himself. The worst possible thing would be to let his frustration show, and he couldn’t let Sommerall pass out of his hands.
“Is there anything else?” the marquess said.
Colin took a deep breath and faced his father. “How much is the pending offer?”
“Even if you have sufficient funds to make the purchase, I won’t sell it to you. Obviously, the property doesn’t mean enough to you to make the necessary sacrifices.”
“My mother is buried there,” he said, struggling to keep the tone of his voice even. “How can you sell Sommerall?”
“I’ve already stated my reasons for selling it and won’t repeat them. The meeting is adjourned. Close the door on your way out.”
Colin was breathing like a racehorse. “You cannot sell it.”
“You’ve no say in the matter,” the marquess said. “You’ve shown insufficient interest in Sommerall and your family. I regret having to say no, but based on your actions, I find it difficult to believe you care about anything except gambling, drinking, and wenching.”
He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do whatever you require.”
“Very well. You need to prove to me that you have matured and are ready to settle down.”
“That’s the point of allowing me to—”
The marquess cleared his throat. “You will give up your dissolute pursuits and choose a wife.”
A strange sensation gripped him as if the floor had shifted beneath his feet. “A wife?”
“You heard me. A female, preferably a respectable one.”
What the devil? Colin frowned. Had he heard correctly? “I think I should focus on renovating Sommerall first. Marriage can come later.”
The marquess took a pinch of snuff and sneezed into a handkerchief. “You’ll continue along the same rakehell path. One day you will thank me.”
Not bloody likely. “Do you mean to drive me away?”
“Do not be tiresome, Colin. It is past time you give up your wild ways.”
He took two steps toward the door with every intention of leaving Deerfield, but his father’s voice stayed him.
“I know you don’t like me ordering you about, but my own father curbed my wild ways. You may not believe me now, but I’m doing you a favor. When a man has a wife and children, he leaves behind his selfishness because his family means more to him than dissipation. In your case, enough is enough.”
“I intend to wed in the future,” he said.
“You’re thirty-one years old, the perfect age for marriage. You will adjust your mind to your new responsibilities.”
He turned around. “We’re out in the middle of the country, for God’s sake. Do you wish me to wed a maid?”
The marquess picked up another letter and broke the seal. “If you require assistance, I imagine your stepmother or the duchess would be happy to help you.”
He’d walked right into a trap.
Colin clenched his jaw as he strode out of the house. He was shaking with hot anger and left the house without a hat or greatcoat. He barely felt the cold. When the sun speared through the birch trees, he squinted. Ahead, there were mounds of fallen brown and orange leaves, but he took no pleasure in the autumn scenery.
He strode faster and faster along the leaf-strewn path. His blood must be boiling a thousand degrees or more. How dare his father demand he marry? For God’s sake, it was the nineteenth century, not the f*cking Middle Ages.
He felt as if he would explode at any moment. In the distance, he saw two laborers hacking at a huge tree limb on the ground. All he knew was that he needed to smash something to control the rage racing through his veins. His breath frosted in the air as he strode faster and faster, his fists locked tight. When Colin reached the laborers, they pulled on their forelocks and looked at the ground.
“Stand back,” he said in a growl.
He jerked off his coat, threw it on a lower limb, and untied his cravat. The two laborers’ eyes widened as he rolled his sleeves up to his forearms. Colin’s nostrils flared as he hefted the ax and brought it down in a giant arc. Splinters flew. He pressed his boot on the limb for leverage, gritted his teeth, and pulled the ax out with a groan. Then he stepped back and swung the ax over his head again. He grimaced as he pulled it out and swung it again…and again…and again with a guttural roar each time. Chunks of bark flew everywhere. One more swing cracked the limb in two.
“Colin!”
The feminine cry startled him. Salty drops of sweat stung his eyes as he spied Angeline running toward him. “Hell,” he muttered.
He let the ax drop and wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve. He glanced over his shoulder at the two laborers. “Go on,” he said gruffly. They pulled on their forelocks again and retreated as if they’d just witnessed a madman. He certainly felt like one.
The cold wind picked up, blowing through the damp linen of his shirt. He gritted his teeth.
Angeline reached him. “You’ll make yourself ill in nothing but that thin shirt,” she said breathlessly.
“Angeline, leave. I’m not fit for company.” He picked up the ax again. “Go,” he said.
“No, I will not leave you in this condition. Obviously you are in a state.”
“For the last time, please leave,” he gritted out.
Her eyes widened. “You’re furious.”
“If you have any sense, you will leave. Now go.” God, why did she of all people have to witness his ire?
“You cannot stay out in the cold in that thin, damp shirt. You will make yourself very ill and worry your family.”
His nostrils flared. “Please go before I say something I regret.”
“Go ahead, but you’ll not stop me.” She unrolled his left sleeve and then his right. He looked at her from beneath his damp lashes. Her plump breasts rose and fell with each visible breath. He made himself look away. She might be comely and curvaceous, but she was trouble.
When she lifted her lashes, her eyes grew huge as she looked at the dark hair showing through the V in his shirt.
“What is it?” he asked. He rather hoped the husky sound of his voice would scare her off.
She cleared her throat and appeared to be looking over his shoulder. “You cannot go about with your cravat undone.”
He huffed. “That’s rich.” He’d gone about with far fewer clothes on many occasions, but he thought better of mentioning that in her presence.
She lifted her chin, stepped closer, and closed the three buttons of his shirt. Her scent was familiar—something flowery. That thought reminded him. “Don’t. I stink of sweat.”
She flipped his shirt points up. “My nose will survive.”
He watched as she pulled the two long tails of linen to an even length. Then she hesitated.
He winked and deftly wrapped the cloth round his throat. “Perhaps you could tie a knot?”
She managed on the third try. “It looks awful. I would make a terrible valet.”
“A lady valet?” He envisioned a naked woman undressing him. “Brings to mind a number of possibilities.”
She drew her large paisley shawl closed. “Mind your tongue.”
Naturally he thought of several wicked uses for his tongue, but he pushed that out of his thoughts.
She looked up at him, her green eyes full of questions. “What possessed you to wield that ax?”
“Never mind.”
“You looked enraged.”
He retrieved his coat from the limb but said nothing.
“What were you angry about?”
“An unpleasant conversation.”
“So you walked out without hat, gloves, or greatcoat?”
He had no intention of explaining anything to her. “I’m made of sturdy stuff.”
Her gaze slid over him. “Yes, I noticed.”
“Like what you see?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I should have known you would say something indelicate.”
“I warned you I’m not fit for company.” If she had any sense, she would have fled after seeing him hacking that tree limb.
“Really, you must change into dry clothes as soon as possible.”
“I’ll do.” He started to slide his arm through the sleeve of his coat when she stepped forward to help him.
“I can manage.” He didn’t want her help. He wanted her to leave him in peace.
“I insist. Now lift your arm.”
He knew she would persist, so he allowed her to help.
“Your shirt is damp with perspiration, and the coat only traps it.”
“Angeline—”
“No, I refuse to listen to your arguments. You’ll catch your death out here. You must return to the house immediately.”
“It would be ungentlemanly of me to make you stand in the cold,” he said. Truthfully, the brisk wind was more than a little uncomfortable, but he’d be damned before he admitted it.
“Your nose is red,” she said.
A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “So is yours.”
When she took his arm, he matched his pace to her slower one. They strode past the folly, and a gust of wind blasted them. He couldn’t completely hide his shiver and regretted leaving behind his outerwear now. Next time he would just throw something into the fire. Of course, he hoped there wouldn’t be a next time, but he was rather pessimistic about those chances.
She pushed her bonnet ribbons out of her face. “Something is clearly wrong. What happened?”
“I do not wish to discuss it.” Especially with you.
“It might help to talk,” she said. “Sometimes just airing your grievances helps you see matters more clearly.”
Oh, good Lord. The one thing that drove him to drink was a woman who wanted to talk about feelings. But he knew enough about women to realize she wouldn’t leave it alone. “My father and I had a difference of opinion.” That is all you need to know.
“You quarreled,” she said.
Her persistence irritated him. “You need not concern yourself.”
“Is this about Sommerall?” she asked.
He halted. “How did you know?” he demanded.
She lifted her chin. “If you wish me to answer, you will avoid using a harsh tone.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said. Damnation. He did not want her poking into his affairs.
“It is quite obvious that you’ve had a nasty shock.”
This was an unfamiliar side of her, but to be fair, she was no stranger to difficulty. “I’ll sort it out.” But he was far from confident.
“I overheard my father mention that someone was interested in purchasing Sommerall,” Angeline said. “It has been unoccupied for many years.”
“I beg your pardon, but this is not a matter I wish to discuss.” Leave me alone.
“Oh, my stars. You do not want the marquess to sell.”
“Angeline—”
“That is why you’re so angry,” she said.
He halted. “Of course I’m furious. My mother is laid to rest there.”
“Surely you can persuade your father not to sell. I would think he would cede the property to you.”
He shook his head and started walking again. “He will—if I do his bidding.” They skirted around the thick, gnarled roots of an old oak. “I want the property, but that is insufficient for my father.”
“What did you propose?” she asked.
“To take care of all needed renovations, but we could not agree on the terms.”
“I don’t understand. What is it that your father wants?”
“Proof that I’ll honor my commitment.” His father’s lack of trust burned deep.
“The only way to prove you will abide by your obligation is to allow you to begin,” she said. “I fail to understand why this is a problem.”
He glanced at her. “My father proposed a different way for me to demonstrate responsibility.”
“What is it? Clearly you find it abhorrent.”
He laughed without mirth. “Marriage.” He should have kept that between his teeth, but his head ached with the anger still infusing his blood.
She stopped him. “That is ludicrous,” she said in an outraged tone. “Forgive me, but your father goes too far.”
“I share the sentiment, but it matters not.” His breath misted in the cold wind. “My father owns the property and can do what he wants.” His father intended to manipulate him like a marionette.
“Marriage does not assure responsibility. We both could name dozens of irresponsible people who are married,” she said. “The king, for example.”
“My father’s demands are unreasonable. Where am I to find a bride in the middle of the countryside?” he said. “It’s not as if I can pluck her like an apple off a tree.” He didn’t want to marry now, and by God, he certainly didn’t want to wed under duress, but he didn’t want to lose Sommerall.
They walked in silence for a while, and then she said, “There is the little season in London.”
“It will look as if I’m desperate.” He huffed. “Considering the circumstances, I suppose I am.”
“You are hardly desperate,” she said. “Dozens of ladies in London would leap at the opportunity to marry an earl.”
“I’d no idea you were so romantic.”
“Oh, yes, I’m waiting for my shining knight in rusty armor.” She regarded him with raised brows. “And you?”
“A local milkmaid.”
“I’m tempted to say you’ll find a way, but that will not help,” she said.
He hesitated, but plunged in anyway. “Why did you break your engagement with Brentmoor?”
She didn’t respond immediately.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Obviously, it is a painful topic, and I intruded.”
“It could have been far worse,” she said.
He frowned. “How so?”
She met his gaze. “I might have married him.”
I might have married him.
Angeline marched into her room, yanked the ribbon loose beneath her chin, and slapped her burgundy velvet bonnet on the bed. She’d owed him no answer at all, but the words had spilled off her tongue. Had she learned nothing?
Upon seeing the maid’s wide eyes, Angeline took a deep breath and slowly released it. “Marie, will you help me with the spencer?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Angeline lifted her chin while the maid helped her out of the tight sleeves. “Thank you, Marie. That will be all.”
After the maid left, Angeline sat on the edge of the bed. Why had she responded to Colin’s question earlier? She ought to have upbraided him for his impertinence. Unfortunately, his question had caught her off guard, and she’d blurted out the words. She’d likely piqued his curiosity, but she’d no intention of satisfying it.
Angeline realized she was overreacting, because she was sensitive about the subject. While his question had been impertinent, she had commiserated with him. She understood all too well how it felt to have a parent dictating one’s decisions, but she swore that when this house party ended, she would move into the dower house where her grandmother once lived. There would be a dustup, but she could not continue to live like a child in her parents’ home. She was thirty-one years old and determined to live independently for the rest of her life. It would not be easy, but she would live comfortably on the trust her grandmother had left for her.
After all that had happened to her, she’d known that marriage was out of the question. She knew how others would view her, but that was nothing new. Angeline intended to make what she could of her life.
A tap sounded, and her mother opened the door. “Angeline, why are you sitting here? I expected you in the drawing room over an hour ago.”
“I just returned from a walk.”
Her mother’s lips thinned. “Gather your sewing basket and join us in the green drawing room.”
Like all ladies, she’d learned the art of needlework at a young age. She was in no mood to sit for hours with her embroidery, but she knew it would be rude if she did not put in an appearance. There was no need to rush, however. “I will join you after I finish this Chapter in my novel.”
The duchess arched her slim brows. “Directly, Angeline.”
When the door shut, Angeline inhaled sharply at her mother’s command. To be ordered as if she were a young girl set her teeth on edge. It was one more reason to seek her independence. No matter how much she loved her mother, Angeline could not spend a lifetime beneath her thumb.
Perhaps she would have been better off if she had married Brentmoor, even despite his betrayal. She certainly wouldn’t have wanted for independence. Doubtless Brentmoor would have ignored her in favor of his married mistress. She pressed her fingers to her temples as if she could push the awful memory out of her brain. Of course, she could not have married him after what had transpired. Truth be told, it would have been horrible. Ironically, they had both left England after the scandal erupted. He’d fled his creditors, and she’d fled the gossips.
There was no point in antagonizing her mother by procrastinating any longer. She retrieved her sewing basket and walked to the landing. When she saw her father, she hurried her step. “Papa, wait.”
He frowned. “Is something awry?”
“Oh, no.” She smiled despite his harsh expression. “I was hoping we might—”
“Your mother is expecting you in the drawing room,” he said, and turned away.
Her hand trembled, and she dropped her basket. She knelt, and her eyes blurred as she retrieved the needles and embroidery thread. He’d taught her to play chess and vingt-et-un. They used to read together and discuss books. They had been close, until the awful day she’d broken her engagement. She’d disappointed him, and now he barely spoke to her. A familiar ache settled in her chest. Her father’s rejection hurt one hundred times more than Brentmoor’s betrayal.
Angeline dashed her hand beneath her eyes and rose. She took a deep breath, knowing it was critical that she appear unperturbed in the drawing room. The last thing she wanted was to alert her mother, and she most certainly did not want to worry Penny, who knew little about the awful events that had led the duchess to take Angeline to Paris.
She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. Out of necessity, Angeline had learned to keep her head high, even in the face of condemnation and worse.
When she walked into the drawing room, she greeted everyone and decided to sit with Penny and the twins. The duchess regarded her with lifted brows.
Angeline smiled. “Forgive me for being late. I accidentally dropped my basket.”
“You are here, and that is all that matters,” the marchioness said.
Angeline brought out her sampler and threaded a needle. Her mother insisted that keeping busy helped to lift one’s spirits, but for Angeline, needlework left her with too much time to dwell on the past. She preferred vigorous walks, because she felt free from all the constraints in her life.
“You are quiet, Angeline,” Margaret said.
“Forgive me. I was lost in thought.”
“What were you thinking about?” Bianca asked.
Angeline smiled a little. “That I have not spent time with a needle recently and need to practice my skills. What are you embroidering, Bianca?”
Bianca held up her sampler.
Angeline blinked. She couldn’t make out whether the embroidery represented a tree or an animal. So she settled for an innocuous reply. “Oh, how…unique.”
“It is Hercules,” Bianca said. “I thought I should immaritalize him.”
Bernadette elbowed her sister. “Immortalize, you silly goose.”
Penny clapped her hand over her mouth, but a giggle escaped her. “Sorry, Mama,” she said, lowering her chin.
The marchioness smiled. “Do not fret, Penny. Last week, Bianca embroidered a skull and crossbones.”
“It was only a jest, Mama,” Bianca said, her eyes twinkling.
“You would do better to embroider a proverb,” the marchioness said.
“I don’t know any,” Bianca said.
“Of course you do,” the marchioness said. “A stitch in time saves nine.”
“What does that mean?” Bernadette said.
“Do not put off something, for it will only be more difficult later,” the marchioness said.
Bianca shrugged. “You could wait and do it all very fast at the last minute.”
Angeline’s shoulders shook with laughter as she pulled the needle through her sampler. The twins never ceased to amuse her. She realized she felt better already. Matters with her father were difficult now, but she mustn’t give up. He only needed more time to forgive her. She had to believe that in time she would reconcile with him.
“Penny, what are you embroidering?” Bernadette said.
“A leaf pattern on a handkerchief.”
Angeline looked at her sister’s work. “The whitework embroidery is very pretty, but you have always had a gift with a needle.”
Penny blushed. “Thank you.”
“Everyone has a talent,” the marchioness said. “Angeline has an expertise in converting old-fashioned rooms to fashionable rooms.”
Angeline smiled. “I fear it is my only real talent. My needlework is only average at best, and I’m surprised Hercules did not howl when I played the pianoforte last night.”
“But Colin was much taken with your playing,” Margaret said with a sly smile.
Oh, no. Surely Margaret wasn’t bent on matchmaking. Angeline focused her attention on her needlework. “I’m fairly certain he felt obliged to turn the pages.”
“He rather looked as though he were enjoying it.”
“I must say you looked as if you were enjoying his conversation as well, Angeline,” the duchess said.
God help her. If Margaret and her mother kept this up, she would have to put a stop to it. Otherwise, she and Colin would find this house party even more of a trial. She wondered if she ought to warn him and decided to do so only if Margaret and her mother became even more obvious.
The marchioness looked at Penny’s needlework. “Your stitches are perfect.”
“A thing worth doing is worth doing well,” the duchess said.
“My girls would do well to remember that proverb,” the marchioness said.
“Yes, Mama,” the twins said in unison.
“Why do I suspect you will both forget the moment something else catches your fancy?” the marchioness said.
Angeline liked Margaret very much. She had a witty way of managing her high-spirited girls. Even her scolds were gentle but effective.
“Mama, may we take Hercules for his walk now?” Bianca asked.
“I can see very well you are wild to be out of doors.” The marchioness turned to the duchess. “Do you mind if Penny joins them?”
“Not at all,” the duchess said. “The exercise is good for their health. Do remember your bonnets and wraps, girls.”
The twins and Penny retreated. High-pitched giggles echoed outside the drawing room and eventually dissipated.
“Angeline, do you wish to join them?” the marchioness asked.
“I think I shall take my sketchbook and walk,” she said. “The scenery is so spectacular this time of year.”
After she quit the room, the marchioness sighed. “She is better now, but we shall endeavor to enliven her spirits with walks, drawing, and conversation.”
“She is restless,” the duchess said. “When she begged me to allow her to make over the principle drawing room at Worthington Abbey, I could not deny her. She was excited, and we all saw her talent, but when it ended, she looked lost. Now she spends much of her time walking the grounds and drawing. I confess I worry.”
“She will recover her high spirits,” the marchioness said. “Angeline is strong, never forget that.”
The duchess set her dish of tea aside. “Hopefully we have weathered the worst.”
“I do believe the scandal has already faded,” the marchioness said.
The duchess sighed. “It has faded because my daughter has not made an appearance in London society since breaking her engagement.”
The marchioness set her own cup aside. “She is beautiful and the daughter of a duke. That and her marriage portion will pave the way.”
“I’d always hoped she would make a brilliant match.”
“I hope she finds love,” the marchioness said.
“In our day, parents arranged the marriages,” the duchess said.
“Yes, my father wanted to elevate our family,” the marchioness said. “I was frightened half to death.”
“You were educated as a lady,” the duchess said.
“I learned the nuances from you, my dearest friend.”
The duchess smiled. “More important, you found happiness with your husband.”
“I am blessed to have married a man I grew to love,” the marchioness said. “I wish it for Angeline. She deserves the ultimate happiness.”
“I agree, but I would fail my daughter if I did not council practicality,” the duchess said. “If she is fortunate, there will be affection, but you know my concerns.”
“All will work out. I am sure of it.”
“I received a letter from my son today,” the duchess said.
“I hope Lady Landale is well.”
“My son’s wife is nearing her confinement. I shall have a grandchild soon.”
The marchioness leaned forward. “Why are you not rejoicing?”
“I dread telling Angeline when the baby is born.”
“She will be happy for her brother and sister-in-law,” the marchioness said.
“Yes, she will express outward happiness for her brother and his wife, but it is only natural to wish for one’s own fulfillment. In her situation, she may find the news a reminder of her recent troubles and her lack of a husband.”
“I cannot credit it,” the marchioness said. “She is better off without that deceiver.”
“I agree, but we want our daughters to find happiness in marriage.”
“And our sons,” the marchioness said, “though Colin is not my natural son. I wish that our relationship was not so…guarded.”
“Nonsense, you did an admirable job, but he was eight years old when you married Chadwick. He spent much of his time at school, and you were ill for a long time after losing an infant. You had to regain your strength. Colin’s life was no different than that of any other boy at Eton.”
Margaret clasped her friend’s hand. “You came to nurse and comfort me.”
“You were rewarded with two lovely, spirited girls.”
“I am blessed,” the marchioness said. “I only wish those same blessings for all of our children.” She sighed. “I do wish Colin and Angeline would form an attachment.”
“It has been my dearest wish all these years,” the duchess said. “I suppose we were too obvious today.”
Margaret laughed. “I fear so.”
“It is so frustrating,” the duchess said. “It would be a brilliant match.”
“I would council leaving the matter to Providence,” the marchioness said, “but I suspect Chadwick has taken matters into his own hands.”
“What do you mean?” the duchess said.
“I saw Colin storm out of the house earlier, and when I confronted my husband, he said that he had everything under control. I’m sure he made a muddle of things. Chadwick is as stubborn as a mule, but I shall speak to him. If he presses too hard, I fear Colin will leave and never return.”
“Surely he would not do such a thing,” the duchess said.
“If Chadwick goes too far, I fear a permanent break. I know that Colin has sowed wild oats, but I will never forgive myself if I do not intervene. I feel a responsibility.”
“Be that as it may,” the duchess said, “there is only so much you can do.”
“I have more than a little influence on Chadwick,” she said. “He will listen to me.”
“You are so amiable, Margaret,” the duchess said, “but you do have a backbone.”
“No, I have an interest in seeing my family happy.”