"Miss Peachley," Abbonley said pleasantly, reaching for her fingers in his usual bold manner.
Miss Peachley turned her wrist to shake his hand instead. "Abbonley," she returned. "I didn't know you attended recitals."
"Oh, I always enjoy something new," he offered, giving Angelique a suspicious glance. "Your name sounds somewhat familiar to me."
"Yes? Perhaps you've read one of my articles. I am a supporter of women's liberation."
"Ah," he murmured. "Liberation from what, if I may ask?"
"Men."
"From the subjugation of men, or from the presence of the male of the species?" James queried pleasantly. His lips twitched, and Angelique thought he must be amused. She stifled a smile.
"Men have used women as nothing more than procreative slaves for far too long. It is my belief that this must—"
"Angel, we're going in," her mother hissed, pulling at her arm.
"Excuse me," Angelique muttered, reluctantly turning away.
They found themselves in the back row. Simon had seated himself next to Lily's mother, and the three of them were discussing the Stanfred estate, only a mile or so from Niston. In a moment they had pulled her mother into the discussion as well. Finally, Miss Charlotte Hartford took a seat at the pianoforte and began to play, and the room quieted down.
Several minutes into the piece someone took a seat beside Angelique, but she was trying to remember which of Mozart's pieces was being suffocated, and didn't pay any attention until she felt her fingers gripped. Startled, she glanced over to see the marquis looking sideways at her. Quickly she faced front again.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
After a hesitation his fingers released hers. "Hester Peachley is a damned blue-stocking," he murmured back, "you little hoyden."
"What's wrong with being well-read?" she protested, surprised he had lasted for as long as he had. Generally, Miss Peachley wiped out her male companions in less than a minute.
He gave a slight shake of his head. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with either a well-read woman or the ability to converse in an intelligent and insightful manner."
"So what is the difficulty?" she returned, hiding a grin and not at all surprised to hear that he was so enlightened.
"The difficulty is that a blue-stocking wields her knowledge like a damned battle axe, cutting down every male opponent within earshot."
"You were wounded then?"
"Nearly mortally."
Laughter burst from Angelique's lips, and she quickly raised her hand to smother it. Her mother and the ladies directly in front of her turned to glare. Those two women began whispering to their companions, and only a moment later it seemed everyone in the room had turned to see that the Marquis of Abbonley was seated beside her. "Go away," she murmured at him through clenched teeth.
"But we are nearly cousins," he protested.
"I thought this is what you were complaining about before. And no one knows Simon and I are engaged. You'll ruin everything." Finally everyone's attention returned to the front of the room as Miss Hartford's playing became more enthusiastic. "Go away," she repeated. "I introduced you to Miss Peachley because she's respectable and from a good family and intelligent, just as you wanted. Go converse with her."
"Not for a hundred pounds," he returned indignantly, and she had to stifle another laugh.
"You'll make Simon angry," she warned.
Abbonley leaned forward to look across her. His skin smelled faintly of shaving soap. Angel licked abruptly dry lips and reluctantly turned to follow his gaze. "Simon appears to be quite content," he commented. It did look that way, but then Simon loved classical music. "Besides, I'd rather converse with you."
With a blush she determinedly faced front again. "I'm not speaking to you," she whispered, though his comment quite pleased her. "I'm listening to Mozart."
He leaned closer. "It's Haydn," he murmured, his breath soft in her ear, and she shivered.
"Shh," she muttered, swallowing. "I hate these stuffy things anyway."
"Then why are you here?" He paused for a moment, then out of the corner of her eye she saw him grin. "To introduce me to Miss Peachley, of course. I appreciate the sacrifice."
"Quiet," she admonished when her mother glanced hostilely at the two of them.
"And speaking of classic creations," he went on, undaunted, "how is your Brutus?"
Actually she was worried about the mastiff, but extending this conversation further would be perilous to her reputation, and her equilibrium. James Faring, she was finding, could be quite unsettling. "He's tolerable," she returned.
"Perhaps I shall come visit him," the marquis commented. Before she could reply the piece ended, and he joined in the applause.”
Chapter Five
“I did try to warn you that Miss Peachley can be rather… biting," Simon said as he and James sat at the breakfast table the next morning.
"You told me that already. Yes, I know. I should pay attention to you. Pass the marmalade."
Simon passed the bowl. "Then why did you go back to talk to her at intermission?"
"Because she irritated me excessively."
"You gave her a set down, didn't you?"
James grinned and motioned for the plate of bacon. "Me? What gave you such an outlandish idea as that?"
Simon laughed, then leaned back and eyed his cousin. "You are in a good mood today," he commented.
James grunted noncommittally. In truth he was in a good mood. He had concocted a plan last night before retiring, and the smile it brought to his lips had developed a tendency to return when he didn't expect it.
"Hm. Do you go to Gentleman Jackson's with me today, then?" Simon asked, apparently realizing he wasn't going to get a further explanation.
James grimaced and flexed his shoulder. "Don't believe I'm up to boxing yet," he said ruefully, wondering if he would ever be able to do so much as dress again without flinching. "You are eventually going to let Lady Angelique in on your plan, aren't you?" he queried offhandedly, rising.
Simon gave a short smile. "I told her last night, after the recital."
"And?"
"She—how did she put it—thought it was delightfully silly of me, I believe."
"It is rather out of character, cousin," James noted, disappointed. He had actually been hoping to hear what Angelique's reaction to his flirting had been.
His cousin grimaced. "I know. I hope her parents never find out the truth."
"Do you wish to give up your scheme, then?" James queried. Abruptly, he hoped his rather stiff cousin wouldn't back down. Teasing with Angelique, a farce or not, was the most amusement he'd had since before he'd gone off to France with Wellington.
Simon shrugged. "No. Angel would be heartbroken. She already complains that I'm too conventional."
"Good for her," the marquis applauded. "You never listened to me when I complained about your propensity for propriety."
"Very amusing, Jamie."
James grinned and headed for the door. "I'll see you at lunch."
He had already arranged to have Demon saddled and waiting for him, and in a short time found himself in a section of London he rarely frequented. His task accomplished and the well-wrapped parcel in hand, he headed back to Mayfair, a grin once more on his face as he reached the Grahams' house. Belatedly he realized he should have informed Simon of his intentions, but this was all his cousin's idea, anyway. Besides, he wanted to hear from Angelique what she thought of this absurd little scheme.
At his knock the door was opened by a white-haired butler, who almost managed to mask his surprise at the unexpected visitor. "If you will wait here a moment, my lord," the butler said, ushering him into the hall and walking through a door, James's calling card in his hand.
"Give Millicent back!"
A small form hurtled down the stairs and slammed into James before he could dodge out of the way. He took the impact with a grunt and reflexively put out a hand to steady the small pe
rson stepping back away from him. It was a boy of perhaps nine years, the red-brown hair and brown eyes immediately identifying him as a Graham.
"Apologies, sir," the boy said. A look of wonderment came over his face. "You're the Marquis of Abbonley, ain't you?"
"Give me Millicent, you beast!"
A second form came down the stairs, showing little more decorum than the first. This time James was ready, and he sidestepped to avoid a collision. The slim, bright-eyed girl gave him an insight as to what Angelique must have looked like as a child.
"Hullo," she said, then lunged for the boy. "Give her back, Henry!"
The boy had a doll in one hand, his fist wound through the poor thing's hair, though it looked as if such rough treatment could do little more damage than had already been inflicted. "Not until you give me Hero back!" he returned at equal volume, dodging behind James.
"I don't have your stupid horse. You lost it!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
The marquis was beginning to feel like a maypole. "Where was Hero last seen?" he queried.
Henry stopped, and the girl wrenched the doll out of his hand. "That's not fair, Helen," he snapped.
"You stopped," she retorted.
"But he's the Marquis of Abbonley," Henry protested, gesturing at James. "He was wounded in the war, and he's a member of the Four-Horse Club." He bounced on his toes. "Drives to an inch, they say."
"And you must be Henry," James commented, amused.
The boy drew himself up straighten "Yes, sir. Henry Graham, my lord." He eyed the girl. "And this is my sister, Helen."
"How come you to know so much about me, Henry?"
"Henry knows everything about members of the Four-Horse Club," Helen supplied, holding the doll in the same manner that her brother had.
"I'm flattered," he said, holding out his hand. Henry shook it vigorously.
"Henry, Helen, don't harass our guest."
Lady Niston stepped into the hallway to herd her young ones away. Angelique stood behind her in the doorway, chuckling. Henry dodged around his mother and headed back for James.
"Did you drive here in a rig?" he asked.
James returned his attention from Angel. "Rode my horse."
"What's his name?" Helen asked from under her mother's arm.
"Demon."
"I say," Henry exclaimed. "He's the black Arabian you rode from London to Bath in thirty-eight hours, ain't he?"
James nodded, surprised the boy knew of that, though it was one of his few repeatable exploits. "He is."
"Oh, may I see him? Please? Please, Mama? They set a record!"
"My lord?" she queried, grabbing Helen by her skirt and apparently accustomed to the pair's high spirits. She would have to be, if her older daughter was any indication.
He smiled. "Just don't touch him," he warned, and the two headed for the door. "He bites."
"Yes, my lord. We'll be careful," Henry called over his shoulder.
"I'd best go see to that." Lady Niston sighed, then hesitated. "Pimroy," she said, turning to the butler and gesturing at the wall, "please straighten those paintings again." With another displeased glance at James she excused herself to follow the children.
"Lady Angelique," James said, taking Angelique's hand, "we seem to be nearly alone."
"Which is to say we are not, my lord," she responded with a grin, pulling her fingers free. "And Simon told me all about his plan, you know." She gave him a scowl. "You might have let me in on it sooner."
James raised his hands in surrender. "I am only the loyal vassal. Blame your betrothed for keeping you in the blind about this."
She grimaced. "All right." With a glance at the butler she sighed. "I have to admit, hearing the truth from him did leave me somewhat relieved. Last night you were very..." she flushed, "charming."
"You mean to say you thought my attentions sincere?" he queried softly, enchanted. She looked up at him, and after a long moment he dropped his eyes from hers. This wasn't a seduction, for Lucifer's sake. There were no witnesses but the butler for him to impress with his interest in the chit. "You were flattered, I hope."
She grinned ruefully. "A bit flustered, actually."
Trying to ignore the fact that her admission had pleased him greatly, James retrieved the package he had procured earlier and held it out to her. "I wanted to thank you," he said, "for assisting me in my search."
Angelique's eyes snapped to his face. "You mean you've found someone?"
"Not yet," he smiled, not surprised at her displeasure. No doubt she had several other eccentric females yet to foist on him. He looked forward to meeting them. "I remain hopeful, however."
With a grin, she opened the box. Angelique gave him a delighted look as she uncovered the contents, then broke into a gale of laughter that he found quite engaging and returned with a chuckle of his own. She lifted her prize for closer examination.
"Oh, it's perfect," she managed, holding it up to the light.
"I did try," he answered. It was quite possibly the most splendid dog collar he had ever set eyes on, with a dozen multi-hued stones set into a thick leather collar. The shopkeeper had looked stunned when the Devil had entered her curio shop, and even more so when he had gone directly to the thing and asked the woman to wrap it up, because he would be taking it with him. "I thought it might perk him up," he commented, reaching out to polish one of the faux gems with his cuff.
"I don't know about Brutus," she exclaimed, laughing harder, "but I adore it."
James smiled. "Then I am content," he said softly.
"Are you?" She blushed prettily, then raised her long-lashed gaze to his. He was seized by a desire to kiss her so compelling that he took a step forward before he could stop himself.
James froze, horrified and dismayed at his reaction to her. If there was one woman on the face of the earth that he had no right to even think of kissing, it was Angelique Graham. She was Simon's, for God's sake.
The front door opened, and he jumped. Henry charged in, running circles around his father, while Helen and Lady Niston walked behind them. "Oh, Papa, I want a grand horse like that I shall name him Devil, or perhaps Lucifer. May I?"
"Certainly not," his mother countered sternly.
Lord Niston nodded as he saw them. "James," he said, shaking Abbonley's hand. "Splendid animal."
James took a breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "Thank you, Niston. You have a splendid family."
With a woof Brutus bounded through the doorway. "Brutus, no!" Angelique ordered. The dog skidded to a halt at James's feet and demanded to be petted. James complied, grateful that for once the mastiff hadn't chosen to sit on him.
"I say, my lord marquis, have you let Demon stand at stud yet? Could I have one of the foals?" Henry asked.
Beside him Angelique chuckled. "I have, and no, I don't believe any are available at the moment," James answered with a grin. "You ride then, Master Henry?"
"Oh, yes. Only my Ajax is slow, and he won't jump."
"And Papa won't get him another," Helen supplied, coming forward to look at what her sister held. "What's that? It's ugly."
Angel lifted the collar and grinned. "It's a gift from the marquis." She leaned over and showed it to Brutus, who apparently approved of it enough to give the collar and her hand a wet lick. That in itself would have been enough to cause some proper females to lose their composure, but Angelique only smiled and fastened the jeweled band around the mastiff's neck.
"If it's from the marquis, then it ain't ugly," Henry said firmly, though he eyed it dubiously.
"It is," Helen retorted defiantly.
"It ain't!”
"My lord, I must apologize for these hooligans," Niston grimaced.
James smiled. "No need. I've been told I'm quite the hooligan myself." He nodded, noting that Angel was smiling at him. The grandfather clock on the landing chimed twelve, and he shook himself. "Please excuse me. I promised Simon I'd go with him to one of his stuffy clubs for so
me luncheon."
"It was splendid to meet you, my lord," Henry enthused, offering his hand.
"And you, as well." James reached down and shook it solemnly, then winked at young Helen. "Good day, and thank you again, Lady Angelique," he intoned with a grin. "I am grateful to you."
He lasted only twenty minutes in Simon's club before the dull and pointless conversation the other members were earnestly engaged in drove him to leave and head for White's, where at least he could get a meal without being made to fall asleep. When he had decided to become respectable, he hadn't realized that being so frequently bored would accompany it.
His reputation did earn him a prime spot at the horse auctions the next morning, though Simon saw fit to point out that it was because of the size of his purse and not of his temper. "Forgive me if I'm not terribly flattered by that," James commented offhandedly, eyeing his information sheet and the matched pair of coach horses being paraded about the yard before him while the auctioneer sorted out the noisy bids of his fellows.
"You like them?" Simon queried, resting his arms along the corral railing.
"No," he answered, looking across the yard. The sight of a young boy and girl perched up on the railing there caught his attention, and he straightened, trying to see behind them. "Short-chested. No wind."
"You think so?"
"Mm-hm." The two youngsters had been joined by their father and their lovely older sister. Angelique was in a pretty green muslin that brought out her hair's copper highlights, and she seemed to be using her parasol to bat at her boisterous brother rather than to shade her face. The auction was an unusual place to find a young woman of quality, but then a great many things about this particular lady seemed to be out of the ordinary. Henry gestured excitedly at the next animal brought out, but after a moment Angelique shook her head and frowned, saying something to her father.
"This one?" Simon asked, looking over at him.
"Hm? Oh. Weak left foreleg," James murmured absently. "Probably been kicked."
His cousin pursed his lips. "Speaking of being kicked," he ventured, "why isn't Grandmama assisting you in your search for a wife? I would think that would be more fitting."
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