“Relax, Angelica,” he laughed. “Enjoy the ride.”
She couldn’t. Soon, she would meet his family. She would blindly wander the halls of the place he grew up, perpetually lost amongst strangers. He would have to take her arm, and guide her every step. She’d be as helpless as a baby. His family would surely find their relationship odd and unbalanced.
What on earth was a man like him doing with a girl like her? His family could not know the real reason. That he had once loved her, but now only kept her to ease his basest needs. That she had agreed to this because she was pathetic, and desperate, and lonely. She’d do anything he asked to keep him from leaving again.
Captain Neill reached over and took her hand. “They’ll adore you, you know. You’re well-mannered, clever, and beautiful. What more could they ask for?”
“In who,” she balked, “your whore?”
“Oh, Angelica, please. They’ll think you’re my sweetheart. My latest fling.” They won’t know the truth.
He hadn’t said it, but his meaning was implied—or, at least, Angelica thought so. “How will they think we met? We must have a story.”
“We will tell them the truth, except that bit about the morphine withdrawal, and me being sick all over your drawing room carpet. I’d rather leave that out, if you don’t mind.”
She did not care what he told them, so long as she made it through the week with her sanity and dignity in tact.
The motorcar rounded a tight corner. Its tires bumped as they left the paved road for a private gravel drive. No turning back now. Angelica steeled her spine for what would surely be the most difficult week of her life.
The Bentley pulled to a stop.
Captain Neill shut off the engine. “Ready, my girl?”
No, she was definitely not ready for this, yet Angelica let him come around the car and help her out of the seat. Her shoes met gravel. It felt soft and pebbly, not sharp beneath her soles. Raked and even. He took her elbow and guided her in the direction of the front steps.
“Seven steps up,” he said, quietly. Together, they counted them. If there were servants or anybody else nearby, she couldn’t tell. Captain Neill did not verbally acknowledge anyone, but he also wouldn’t want her to feel embarrassed in front of observers. Even he had to know how awkward it was to be led around like an invalid.
At the top of the steps, he helped her through an open door. Once inside, her heels clicked on polished marble tiles. The entire foyer echoed with every footfall. His house must be very large.
He pulled her around an entryway table in the center of the space, careful not to let her crash into what she imagined to be a very costly piece of furniture. The room was cool, and smelled of lemon wax. When his hand left her elbow, she stilled.
“Your coat, Angelica.” He slipped it from her shoulders. The thick wool and high, furred collar had been almost like a layer of armor. Without it, she felt exposed and vulnerable.
She hoped she looked all right. Captain Neill had assured her she was beautiful, but he’d said that even when she wore threadbare, out-of-fashion frocks and long, ragged hair hanging halfway down her back.
Today, her dress hung in a straight, narrow silhouette—the style of the moment—in a color Magda had called ‘dusty blue’. Angelica did not want to look like she needed a good polishing, but everyone in the dress shop had said it was very becoming.
Captain Neill took her hat and gloves, but what he did with them, she did not know. Likely, he handed them over to a footman, who silently gawked at her. She was a fool to think there wouldn’t be servants stationed at every corner. A large house would need dozens of them.
He was at her side again, touching her elbow, and directing her through the entrance hall. Back home, Angelica could count footsteps or paces, and gauge by sound where things were. Everything echoed here, bouncing off the cold, hard, tidy furnishings. She was going to be perpetually lost, tripping on stairs and walking into walls. Ending up in rooms she had no idea how to get out of.
They left the foyer and made their way to a drawing room. It smelled like potpourri and maybe just a hint of dog urine. Her first footsteps met hardwood, creaking out their arrival. A dog barked and a chair shifted. Captain Neill dropped her arm.
A young woman’s voice exclaimed, “Brody!” The girl moved toward him, but abruptly stopped. “Oh…”
“M.R., this is Angelica Grey. Miss Grey is a very dear friend,” he said, carefully. “Angelica, this is my sister, Mary Rose.”
Angelica smiled. “How do you do?”
Mary Rose Neill said nothing. She might have put her hand out, or she might have pulled a face. Angelica had no idea, so she merely stood there stupidly.