"She's refused to aid me. And my next closest female relative would appear to be either your mother—"
"Oh," Simon grimaced.
"Or your betrothed. Besides, Lady Angelique rather volun—"
"The engagement is a secret, remember?" Simon glanced at the crowd around them, but no one appeared to be paying attention to their conversation. "It's just that I'm not convinced Angel's choices would be suitable for what you want in a wife."
James raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "And why do you say that?"
His cousin shrugged. "Well, she can be rather... whimsical, sometimes."
"Really? I hadn't noticed."
"Yes, really. And do keep in mind that your search for love is to wait until after you've finished helping us."
"For a wife," James corrected sharply. "Not love."
The look Simon gave him wasn't at all the expression one should be wearing when discussing matrimony, and James suspected he was about to be lectured. "It's been almost five years," Simon muttered predictably. "Stop torturing yourself. You're allowed to fall—"
"In love again?" James finished for him. "How do you know that, Simon? How long is one expected to do penance for a murder?"
"It wasn't a murder. It was a fair fight, James."
"Tell that to Luey."
For a moment Simon looked at him, then shook his head and stepped back from the railing. "I know you'd take it back if you could. Perhaps Luester realizes that as well." He sighed when James declined to respond. "You said you'd go to tea at Grandmama Elizabeth's at three. Don't be late." His cousin turned and walked away.
"Tea," James grumbled. "How very conventional of me."
He glanced up to see Angelique looking at him, a smile on her face. With her parasol blocking her from her father's view, she motioned him over. After a moment James took a breath and nodded back, tilting his beaver hat at her. Belatedly he wondered if he shouldn't have informed Simon that his betrothed was in attendance. He shrugged. His cousin should have noticed her, himself.
He pushed away from the fence to make his way through the crowd to the Grahams. "Good day, Niston," he smiled. "Lady Angelique, little Grahams."
Helen giggled, but Henry leaned down from his perch on the railing and tapped James on the shoulder. "My lord marquis?"
James reluctantly looked away from Angelique and over at her brother. "Yes?"
"Have you bid on anything yet?"
He shook his head. "No, but I'm about to."
"On what?"
"That one." He pointed at the magnificent bay being led out and held his information sheet so Henry could see it.
"Pharaoh," the boy read, and looked over at the stallion again. "He's a goer, ain't he?" he said admiringly.
"Oh, my," Angel murmured, resting her chin on her arms and sighing as she leaned up against the railing. "He's splendid."
James found that he was somewhat distracted. "Perhaps you can ride him some day."
She turned her head to look up at him. "You don't own him yet," she pointed out.
"I will."
"That is the greatest piece of nonsense I have yet heard this Season," she said with a grin.
James chuckled. "And what might the second greatest piece of nonsense be, my future cousin?" he murmured, raising an eyebrow.
"Anything Percival Alcott says," she returned promptly.
James put a hand to his heart. "I don't know whether to be flattered or offended by my place in the ranking."
"My lord?" Henry queried from his other side.
Angelique wrinkled her nose. "You're correct. Percival Alcott is a much greater piece of nonsense. I apologize."
"My lord," Henry protested, pulling on his sleeve, "they're bidding!"
James shook himself and turned around. With a grin he handed the rolled information sheet over to Henry. "Wave this in the air when I tell you," he instructed.
"Yes, sir!"
The auctioneer called out a hundred pounds, already a steep price, and he nodded. Henry obediently waved the paper in the air, and James raised a hand.
"One hundred to the Marquis of Abbonley," the auctioneer droned. "Do I hear one twenty-five?"
"One twenty-five," came from across the paddock.
"Uh-oh," Angel muttered. "The fifth Earl of Branford wants your hunter."
"Well, he can't have him," James returned, and nodded at Henry.
“One hundred fifty to the Marquis of Abbonley. Do I hear one hundred seventy-five?"
"Two hundred," Branford bellowed.
"Three," James murmured before the auctioneer could repeat the amount.
Henry craned himself up to his full height. "Three hundred!" he shouted.
The crowd quieted to an expectant murmur. "Three hundred fifty," the earl called out, eyeing James with some hostility.
"Four," James returned, and Henry seconded it at greater volume.
"That's quite high, don't you think?" Angel murmured, her sleeve brushing against his.
"I want him," James responded softly.
"You want him, or you don't want Branford to have him?" she returned.
He glanced over at her. "It's the same thing."
"My lord marquis, the bidding stands at four hundred fifty pounds," the auctioneer informed him. "Do you have another bid?"
He nodded. "Let's get this over with. Henry? One thousand pounds."
Henry grinned. "One thousand pounds!" he yelled into the silence.
The auctioneer was stunned enough that he delayed a moment before responding. "One thousand pounds from the Marquis of Abbonley. Are there any other bids?"
Branford glared at James for a moment, then shook his head. "You can have the nag," he called, and turned away.
"Thank you," James returned, and as the auctioneer slammed his mallet onto the crate in front of him the crowd exploded into cheers and applause.
“Sold, Pharaoh, to the Marquis of Abbonley, for one thousand pounds." The auctioneer sketched a deep bow. "Thank you, my lord."
James grinned and raised his hat. "I'd best go pay for my nag."
"Can we go?" Henry asked, jumping down from the fence.
"All right," Niston sighed, and lifted Helen to the ground.
"One thousand pounds?" Angel repeated, falling into step beside James.
He smiled and leaned closer. Other members of the ton had noted his companion and were muttering among themselves. The engagement might be a secret, but everyone knew Simon Talbott was courting Angel Graham. It was an annoyance, but his name could take the additional scuffing Simon had envisioned. He did wonder, though, if his cousin had realized that Lady Angelique's reputation might be at risk. "Haven't I told you I'm fabulously wealthy?"
She grinned at him. "Not for long, if you keep this up."
"Would you rather I spent it on you?"
Angelique glanced over at her father and the twins. "I haven't asked you for anything, my lord," she replied, lifting her chin.
"Why don't you?" he challenged. "Ask me for anything." He was abruptly surprised to realize he would happily grant any request she might have. "A wedding present, perhaps? Might I recommend real jewels to match the faux ones I purchased for Brutus?"
She looked over at him. "Five pennies," she said after a moment.
"Beg pardon?" he queried, not expecting her to answer at all. A lady wasn't supposed to acknowledge even the offer of a gift from a rake such as himself, yet she'd already accepted the mastiff's collar. Perhaps she wasn't aware of the convention.
Angelique held out her hand. "Five pennies, if you please."
Grinning and again baffled by what she might do next, James reached into his pocket and handed her the coins.
"Thank you," she smiled, hazel eyes twinkling, and with a flick of her skirts took Helen's hand to lead her sister over to a confectioner selling strawberry ices.
James looked after her, chuckling, until Niston stepped up and blocked his view. "That's a fine animal," he said stiffly. "Will you keep him
in Town?"
James shook his head. "No. I'll take him with me to Abbonley when I return."
"So you will be leaving London soon?"
That was hardly subtle, but not unexpected. Annoying the parents with his attentions to the daughter was the plan, after all. "I should be getting back," he agreed, then deliberately glanced over at Angelique. "But I've decided to stay in Town through the end of the Season."
He left his note with the auctioneer's assistant and received the tether of the hunter. "Do you approve my purchase?" he asked Henry.
"Oh, yes," the boy gushed. Abruptly he sobered. "And I still have old Ajax," he said dejectedly, and kicked at a clod of dirt.
James smiled, unexpectedly remembering a stodgy old pony he'd had in his youth. "You know, Master Henry, I may have a steed that would suit your needs in my stables at Abbonley."
"You do?" Henry whispered, brown eyes going round.
James nodded. "I believe so." He glanced again at Angel and took a breath. "And I would be pleased to invite your family to come holiday with me after the Season. Perhaps a belated engagement party for Lady Angelique and my cousin?"
"Oh, Papa, could we? Please, could we? Oh, to ride a horse from the Marquis of Abbonley's stables. Please?"
Angelique was watching him, her green parasol dragging in the dirt and her eyes sparkling in the sunlight. "It would be my pleasure," he cajoled.
"Please, Papa?" both twins pleaded in unison.
The earl glanced for a moment at his daughter as well, then frowned. "There is officially no engagement," he returned shortly, "so there is no need for a party. And I have business at Niston. Thank you for your invitation, my lord, but I must refuse."
James inclined his head, hiding his anger at the insult in a smile. "Of course. I understand," he returned. When he glanced at Angel she appeared disappointed, but then they'd just missed out on a fine opportunity to raise Simon in her parents' eyes by showing the Devil off in his own scandalous element at Abbonley. He was disappointed as well, but for a different set of reasons entirely.
Chapter Six
Angelique rose late, having spent a restless night with horses, splendidly garish dog collars, and emerald eyes haunting her sleep. That last bit was odd, for Simon's eyes were blue.
She and some friends were to go picnicking at midmorning, and Tess helped her into her peach-colored sprigged muslin before she and Brutus hurried downstairs. "Good morning, Angel," her mother smiled, motioning her to take a seat at the breakfast table.
"I can't," she replied, kissing each of her parents on the cheek. "Simon will be here at any moment." She dipped her forefinger into a bowl of strawberry jam and lifted it to her lips.
"You certain you don't want a piece of toast to go with that?" her father asked, pausing with his teacup halfway to his mouth.
She licked the sweet, sticky jam off her finger, then accepted the napkin he held out. "If I can't have bad manners here, where can I have them?"
"Nowhere," her mother answered.
"Oh, that reminds me," Angel said, seeing a chance to aid their cause. "The Marquis of Abbonley has invited us to share his box at the opera Thursday night. Don Giovanni. He said he wanted to become better acquainted with us, since we're to be part of the family. It will be splendid, don't you think?"
"Angel," her father began, frowning, as Pimroy pulled open the front door.
"I mustn't be late," she said with a smile.
"That dog is not going with you," her mother stated.
"Oh, Mama," Angel grumbled. "All right. Brutus, stay."
The dog sighed and padded upstairs to find the twins, as Simon entered the hall and took her hand. She hoped there was no jam left on her finger.
"Good morning," she smiled, grateful that she and Lily had overheard what was being performed at the opera. All that remained was to get word to the marquis that they were to go.
It was an easier task than she expected. Shortly after they arrived at St. James Park they were joined by Lily, Louisa and Mary, the Alcotts, and Richard Forbes and his cousin, Sophia. As they all sat on the spread of blankets they were approached by a rider on a magnificent black stallion.
"Good day," the marquis said, leaning down to shake Simon's hand as his cousin rose to greet him. "I didn't expect to find all of you here."
His glance at Simon was less than pleased, and as he dismounted Angel wondered if his cousin hadn't tricked Abbonley into joining them. He glanced about the group, inclining his head at Lily and giving a slight nod to the Alcotts. As his gaze found Angel, he gave a smile and stepped forward to bend over her raised hand. "Lady Angelique," he greeted her.
"James, do you stay?" Simon asked, apparently sensing his cousin's misgivings at the rather dull composition of the gathering. If not for Simon and Lily, Angel would have been looking for a way out, herself.
The marquis shook his head. "I have an appoint—"
Fearing he would leave before she had a chance to speak to him, Angelique hammered her fist against the ankle of his boot.
"—ment with my secretary, but I believe I have a few moments," Abbonley finished smoothly. His limp more pronounced than it had been a moment earlier, he seated himself beside her. "Why do you insist on bashing me, my lady?" he murmured, accepting a glass of Madeira from Mr. Forbes.
"We need to talk," she returned, noting that he set the glass aside without drinking. That surprised her, for with his reputation she had expected him to down it at one go and ask for another.
"I'm listening."
"I told my parents you'd invited us to share your box at the opera on Thursday,” she continued, ignoring the others as Louisa Delon began one of her tiresome on dits about someone or other's scandalous behavior.
He squinted one eye. "That was bold of me," he commented, "considering I don't have a box at the opera."
She hadn't thought of that. "But—"
"My grandmother does, however," he interrupted with a short grin. "I believe I can persuade her to have us all there on Thursday." He handed her half of his peach.
"I hope so," Angel muttered. "If we can't accomplish something before the Season ends and we go our separate ways, my parents will have no reason to change any plans at all." She grinned. "That was a grand idea you had, to invite us to Abbonley. I suppose Simon's plan is working a bit too well, and Papa didn't want me around you." She glanced over at Simon, who was laughing as he refilled Lily's glass.
The marquis smiled, lifting his glass of Madeira and eyeing the liquid before he set it down again. "And the Season's not over yet, Lady Angelique."
***
"All right, Jamie, what's on your mind?"
James selected another card from the pile, grimaced, and discarded it. "Beg pardon?" he queried, glancing across the table at his grandmother.
"You heard me. Why have you been sitting here for the past..." she glanced up at the clock on her mantel, "hour, purposely losing at piquet?"
Her grandson raised an eyebrow. "I admit that my play has been deplorable, but I assure you that I'm not—"
"Point. I win. Out with it, boy."
The problem with Grandmama Elizabeth, James reflected as he sighed and dropped his cards on the table, was that she always knew when something was going on. "I need a small favor."
"It being?"
"I'd like you to ask the Grahams to your box at the opera on Thursday night."
His grandmother narrowed her light green eyes. "And what will you be doing on Thursday flight? A little larceny?''
"Please. I'm respectable now, remember? I'll be at the opera with you and the Grahams, of course."
She looked at him for a moment. "Why?"
James shrugged and gathered the cards together to shuffle them. "Does there have to be a reason? They're practically part of the family, after all." He glanced up to find she was frowning at him. "Won't do, hm?"
Grandmama Elizabeth shook her head. "For Simon, perhaps. Not you."
"All right, but don't bite my head
off. It wasn't my idea."
"I'm listening."
"Simon asked if I'd pretend to fall in love with Angelique so that her parents would become nervous and agree to move up the wedding date." James sat back and crossed his arms.
The dowager viscountess blinked. "He what?" The marquis started to answer, but she waved a hand at him, apparently not expecting a response. "Simon asked you, and you agreed to this?"
"Well, against my better judgment. He rather convinced me that I owed him a favor."
"But Angelique?"
James gave a short grin, enjoying seeing Elizabeth Talbott nonplussed for a change. "Oh, she knows all about it."
"She does," his grandmother repeated faintly.
"Yes. But the Season's nearly over, and they haven't much time left. So An—Lady Angelique—informed her parents that I'd invited them to the opera on Thursday. So will you second the invitation for me?"
"And what of Simon?"
"I'm certain Lady Angelique has informed him all about it. But the Grahams will have to accept the invitation only if it comes from you."
"And then what?"
James shrugged. "They are the schemers. I exist only to do their bidding." He grimaced. "The one independent thing I attempted was to invite Niston to have his family holiday with us at Abbonley, and he turned me down flat."
Grandmama Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "You invited guests to Abbonley?" She looked truly surprised, and considering that since parting from Desiree he had never once even invited his nearest neighbors for tea, he could understand her amazement.
"The boy, Henry, wanted to see the stables," he offered, though it seemed a poor reason. "And I thought Simon and Lady Angelique would appreciate my efforts." He couldn't admit that for a fleeting moment he'd simply wanted the company. Her company. James shrugged. "Not that it amounted to much."
"Thursday night, eh?" Grandmama Elizabeth queried after a moment. "Don Giovanni.'' She sighed. "At least I'll have your nonsense to keep me entertained."
James grinned. "Thank you, Grandmama."
She picked up the cards and began dealing. "Oh, I wouldn't miss this."
***
On Thursday evening Abbonley even thought to send his own coach to pick them up. It had been ages since Angel had attended the opera, and she changed her gown four times before she found one that pleased her. Belatedly she remembered that she hadn't actually said anything about the evening to Simon, and she hoped Abbonley would make certain he appeared. This was for the two of them, after all, for their wedding.
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