When they arrived, the viscountess and Lord Abbonley were already there. Angelique gave a smile as the marquis rose to take her hand. He was dressed in black and gray, and looked magnificent. "Lady Angelique," he said softly, and brought her fingers up to his lips. "I'm pleased you could attend tonight."
She curtsied, then after a moment remembered to retrieve her hand. "Good evening," she returned, taking a breath.
They had barely seated themselves when she noticed that the patrons in the audience below had begun murmuring, and dozens of pairs of opera glasses turned in their direction. She leaned toward Abbonley. "Where is Simon?" she whispered.
"I don't know," he returned, glancing down at his libretto. "Didn't you tell him about tonight?"
"Me?" she retorted quietly. "You're his cousin. Why didn't you—"
"This was your idea, my lady." The marquis raised his head and looked over at her speculatively. "You and Simon don't seem to communicate very well."
"We communicate splendidly," she shot back, angry that he appeared to be correct.
"What, dear?" her mother queried, turning to look at the two of them and stifling an obvious frown.
"Lady Angelique and I were discussing whether the number of waltzes at Almack's should be limited or not," James stepped in smoothly.
"You were?" Lady Elizabeth queried, raising an eyebrow.
"Just curious," the marquis affirmed. "Trying to catch up on London trends, you know."
"We were both in agreement that the patronesses are at least twenty years behind the times," Angelique, grateful for the assistance, added with a smile.
James grinned back. "The dance scarcely causes a raised eyebrow anymore in Paris."
"Exactly," Angel agreed, "and I don't see why—"
"We are not in Paris," Angel's mother put in shortly.
The marquis looked at her. "No, Lady Niston, we are not." He smiled again, looking over at Angelique. "And it is a resounding shame. Your daughter would be the belle of the city."
His emerald eyes danced as he spoke, and Angel was glad to know this was only a charade. It was difficult to accept that someone who didn't believe in love could be so proficient at utilizing its trappings.
"My daughter is engaged," Angel's mother said succinctly.
The marquis sat back. "An almost-married woman is not supposed to be thought of as attractive?'' he queried, his eyes still on Angelique.
The curtain rose before her mother could muster a response to that, and Angel rather thought that she might have liked the opera if she hadn't been so distracted with looking over at the marquis, to see whether he was enjoying himself.
At intermission Lady Elizabeth ordered Abbonley to go fetch her a glass of claret, and he reluctantly rose to comply. The viscountess looked over at Angelique, the light green eyes holding hers for a long moment. The old woman gave a slight nod, as if to herself. "You know," she said, shifting her gaze to Angel's parents, "Simon and I've been discussing having a house party at Abbonley to welcome James home. I'd like you to join us. We are to be family next year, after all."
Niston cleared his throat. "I don't—"
"Thomas," Lady Elizabeth interrupted, "James mentioned that your son is interested in horses. You know Abbonley has one of the finest stables in England." Her expression softened a little. "And whether the engagement is public knowledge or not, it is a fact, and I think our young couple deserves a celebration." She glanced at Angel's mother. "Don't you?"
Her parents looked at one another, plainly displeased. "We would be honored, Elizabeth," Camellia said, giving a stiff smile.
The marquis returned a moment later and handed over his grandmother's wine. "This is why some people have servants, you know," he muttered, taking his seat again.
"Jamie, I've asked the Grahams to come visit us at Abbonley after the Season," Elizabeth informed him. "I thought we might have a party for Angelique and Simon."
James looked at her for a moment, something unreadable crossing his features. "Well, I'm pleased to hear it," he said, turning to Niston with a smile.
"Hm. Very good," the earl muttered as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose again.
***
"James, come with me to White's," Simon cajoled, stepping into the library.
James looked up from the book he was reading, where it seemed he'd been on the same page for a rather lengthy period of time. "I told you," he said, "I'm occupied." He stretched his bad leg, making a show of wincing even though it didn't bother him all that much anymore.
Simon was apparently unmoved. "So now you're a hermit, are you?"
"I believe I shall become one, yes," he returned with a slight grin.
"Except for the opera the other night."
"That was your darling betrothed's idea. Don't blame me."
"It still would have been nice if one of you had thought to inform me."
"Well, then, did someone inform you that the Grahams will be holidaying with us at Abbonley?" James commented, wishing to forestall any further miscommunications.
Simon raised an eyebrow. "What? How in the world did you arrange that?"
"It was Grandmama's idea," James explained, deciding it better if he didn't mention that he'd made the same offer, himself.
His cousin dropped into the other chair before the fire. "But that's splendid. I can continue to see Angel, and we can continue pressing her parents."
"It all does fall into place rather well," James commented, wondering for an odd, elated moment if Angelique would look upon Abbonley with the same delight as he.
Simon grinned. "Absolutely."
The affair at the Tremaines was to be the last grand ball of the Season. Upon her arrival Angel was cornered by Louisa and Mary, who proceeded to question her about her invitation to Abbonley. "Lady Elizabeth thought it would be pleasant to have some of the marquis's friends welcome him home," she replied.
"But no one goes to Abbonley," Mary protested.
Louisa nodded agreement and glanced dramatically about the room. "They say the marquis even ordered Simon not to go inside while he was overseeing it," she muttered.
"Well, that's rather silly, don't you think?" Angel pointed out.
Louisa opened her mouth to respond, then abruptly snapped it shut again.
A hand slid around Angel's elbow. "Lady Angelique," Abbonley greeted her with a sly smile, "my grandmother's been looking for you."
Abruptly realizing what had curbed Louisa's tongue, Angel nodded up at him. "Excuse me," she said to the two girls, relieved at the interruption. "Afraid I'll begin more rumors?" she muttered out of one side of her mouth as she stepped away with him.
He grinned. "One can never be too careful. Actually, though, I had a question for you."
This should be interesting. "Yes?" she returned, smiling up at him.
He cleared his throat. "It's been over a week since you last introduced me to a potential spouse. I was wondering if you'd given up."
"But Hester Peachley fulfilled all of the requirements you gave me. Apparently she is perfect for you." Abbonley tilted his head at her, looking devilishly handsome, and Angelique wondered who in the world might be the perfect woman for such a rogue and why she hadn't for a moment wanted him to find one.
"You mean I need to add another specification to my list," he murmured.
Angel shrugged and pursed her lips. "It's your list."
The marquis chuckled. "I think a sense of humor would be agreeable," he admitted.
"Hm," Angel replied, glancing about the room. "Let me review this. You want someone demure," and she ticked the points off on her fingers, "from a good family, intelligent and with a sense of humor." She looked up at him. "Have I left anything out?"
"No, I believe that will do it."
The room was quite crowded, and Angel spent a long moment searching while the marquis waited patiently beside her. She could feel his interest and curiosity in the way he was studying her features, and she was determined to find the exact w
oman who would be both perfect and absolutely wrong for him. Finally Angel spied her, seated with her mother halfway across the room. "I've got one," she said triumphantly, and started over.
Unexpectedly Abbonley took her arm. "just a moment."
"What is it?" she queried, surprised.
"You're not heading for Flora Dalmia, are you?"
Angel wrinkled her nose at him, disappointed that he'd guessed. "How did you know?"
He looked at her for a moment, a hint of humorous exasperation touching his lean features. "Just a hunch."
"Well, let go, and I'll introduce you," she urged.
He freed her elbow, but made no move to continue. "Absolutely not," he stated, shaking his head.
"But why not?"
"Miss Graham, I don't mean to be cruel, but Miss Dalmia is shaped rather like a teapot."
Despite her determination to remain solemn a laugh burst through Angel's lips, and she raised her fan to her face. "So a good figure is yet another requirement? You're becoming rather particular, my lord."
Abbonley looked down at her. "And I begin to think that you have been dishonest with me."
"Dishonest?" she returned, raising an eyebrow. "Are you calling me a liar?"
"I'm saying you never had any intention of helping me
find a wife."
"Perhaps that is because I doubt your sincerity in looking for one."
He folded his arms. "How could you know that, when you've done nothing but point me at a flock of farmyard hens?"
Angel raised her chin. "Generally, sir, when one is looking for a wife, one does not make a list first. One meets a woman, becomes acquainted with her, and then decides whether he thinks they might be compatible."
The marquis didn't look impressed with her argument. "This, I take it, is a description of your and Simon's courtship?"
"Perhaps."
"It sounds dull."
Now she was offended. Their courtship might not have been extraordinary, and perhaps Simon hadn't swept her off her feet, but they suited quite well. "Why, because Simon didn't have a string of available females brought around so he could examine their teeth?" she snapped.
James laughed at her, and Angel lost her temper. "What I think, my lord, is that you're afraid."
His emerald eyes narrowed. "Afraid?" he murmured. "Of what, pray tell, my lady?"
"I think you loved Desiree Kensington, and she didn't love you, and you're afraid to make another mistake."
Slowly Abbonley dropped his arms, and his face turned quite pale. "Just to show you how much I care for your opinion," he returned in a very quiet, controlled voice, "I will marry the first single woman who comes through that door." He pointed at the side entrance to the ballroom.
Angelique was shocked. "What if she doesn't wish to marry you?"
"Oh, she will." He looked toward the doorway. "I can be quite charming. You said so, yourself."
"I won't have anything to do with this," she returned, finally realizing that quite a few guests were looking their way, and that even if they had been pretending a seduction, she'd spent far too long speaking to him. She started to walk away, but he reached out to take her hand.
He brought her fingers to his lips in what looked like a polite gesture, but in truth he was holding her so tightly she would have had to wrestle him to break free. "Just a moment, my lady. We're not through with this game, yet."
Reluctantly Angel looked away from his grim expression toward the doorway. Mrs. Beadle entered on her husband's arm, and then the Countess of Devenbroke. "This is absurd," she whispered, trying to tug free. "Let me go and forget this. I apologize if I've made you angry."
The marquis kept his eyes on the entrance. A moment later he nodded and gave a slow, humorless smile. "There you are, Lady Angelique. It's done."
Angelique looked. "No!" she gasped as Lily Stanfred spied them from the doorway and came forward with a smile. "You can't be serious, my lord. She's not at all what you wanted."
"She is perfect, my lady. Demure, polite, intelligent, from a good family, and with a sense of humor or you'd never have her as a friend." Finally he looked down at her, his eyes cold. "Why didn't you send her my way before?"
"Because she... you..." Because Lily was exactly what the marquis had been looking for, she realized. "You are the Devil himself, sir," she said instead, fighting tears, "and I hate you."
She pulled away and intercepted her friend. "What's wrong, Angel?" Lily asked, putting a hand on her arm. "You're white as a sheet. Whatever were you and the marquis talking about?"
"Nothing," she returned, forcing a smile that felt ghastly. "I was just a little warm, and he was concerned."
Her friend eyed her closely. "You both looked rather angry to me," she offered, then smiled. "But that's none of my affair. Is your Simon in attendance tonight? He said there was a new country dance he wanted to teach me."
"Yes, he's here." Angel turned to look for him. Unfortunately the first sight that caught her eye was Abbonley in discussion with Lily's father, Lord Stanfred. The baron said something and nodded. The marquis glanced in her direction, then turned back with a smile and offered his hand to Lord Stanfred, who hurriedly took it.
"Oh, no," she whispered, wondering what in the world he was up to. He couldn't have meant his words seriously. It was completely absurd, even for someone who claimed not to believe in love.
"Angel."
At Simon's urgent tone, Angel jumped. "What is it?" she snapped.
For a moment Simon looked taken aback. "Have you seen James?" he muttered, glancing about.
"He's over there, with Lily's father," she returned. "I'm sorry if I snapped..." Angel trailed off, for it was obvious that Simon's attention was not on her. She turned to follow his gaze, then drew in a sharp breath.
Raven-haired Desiree Kensington stood just inside the curtained entryway. Her low-cut russet gown was by far the most daring ensemble in the room, and was being much admired both by her husband, the much older Lord Kensington, and by several other gentlemen of somewhat dubious reputation.
Abruptly Lady Kensington straightened, and at almost the same moment Abbonley turned and saw her. His complexion went white. The rising murmur of the other guests sounded like the hum of a beehive as they noticed the drama.
"Damnation," Simon breathed.
"James," Desiree exclaimed with a smile, attracting the attention of whoever had remained oblivious to the growing tension.
After a moment the marquis nodded, excused himself from Lord Stanfred, and strolled over to Desiree. Simon tensed, but James leaned down to take Lady Kensington's hand and raise it to his lips. She smiled and said something, but at his return smile and murmured response she paled and took a step away. He released her hand and, seeing Simon, walked over as the crowd parted to let him through.
"James," Simon whispered, "are you all right?"
"Fine," the marquis replied in a calm, unconcerned voice. A waltz began in the background, and as the marquis glanced about, Angelique saw loneliness and hurt in his eyes. She had been furious at him, but seeing his pain distressed her a great deal more than she had expected.
Lord Kensington appeared behind them, approaching at a gouty limp, face red and expression angry. If Angel had any say, there was not going to be a second duel over Desiree Kensington.
"James, this is our dance," she improvised quickly. Her promised dance partner would simply have to do without her.
James looked down at her, his expression blank. "Oh— of course," he replied, and led her onto the floor.
"I'm going to change your mind, you know," she ventured.
He started a little. "Beg pardon?"
"I said I'm going to change your mind. About Lily."
"Lady Angelique, I really don't wish to continue that argument at the moment," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes.
"All right," she acquiesced. "But you must realize that while she might fit your silly list, she's not at all what you need."
His
expression darkened. "I doubt you have any idea what it is I need."
Angel thought the set-down completely uncalled for, especially after she had just rescued him from a scene. "I apologize, my lord, if I was wrong in thinking that you and I might possibly have become friends in the past few weeks. If my ideas and advice are not welcome to you, I shall not offer them again."
His gaze snapped down at her. After the briefest of moments he looked away again at Simon, watching them from the side of the ballroom, Lily beside him. "Friends," he repeated at a murmur. "Very well, my future cousin. I shall not be the first to back out of this arrangement. I don't have much honor left, but enough remains for me to be able to keep my word."
The waltz ended and he returned her to her parents. Angel watched as he made his excuses to the Tremaines and then left the ball. Lady Kensington watched his departure as well, with cool, dark eyes. It might not be any of her concern, but Angel found that Desiree's interest in the Devil didn't please her at all.
***
James opted to ride Demon to Abbonley. Simon was mounted on Admiral, and the two of them set off ahead of a caravan of five coaches, one of which held Grandmama Elizabeth and a battery of smelling salts, and the others containing a great deal of her luggage.
Simon had kept nearly silent all morning, and James couldn't blame him. At least the evening had been a complete disaster, for he hated wasting his energy on partial ones. To say that he had been shocked at the sight of Desiree Langley—no, her name was Kensington, now—was an understatement. He hadn't realized she was in London, though in retrospect it had been foolish to assume her elsewhere. She was still a beauty, perhaps even more so than she had been. Five years ago when he had been in love with her, when he had killed a man over the issue of her heart, she had been a vision.
Whatever she had been to him, she was certainly not the reason he had hesitated to choose a wife, for he had decided to marry, after all. He was rather relieved, in fact, that the choice had been made. Despite Angelique's vehement protests, Miss Lily Stanfred did meet all of his requirements, and he was rather surprised that he hadn't noticed her earlier.
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