The Substitute Bride: A historical romance with a spirited Regency heroine

by Dorothy Mack

  “Oh, I don’t doubt I’ll soon adjust to the bustle of town,” Angelica said soothingly. “It never bothered me when I had my come-out, and it is really rather exciting. I would not want to live in town all the year round and miss the changes in flowers and fields in the country, but I am looking forward to seeing all the sights of London. I’ll have some free time I suppose,” she continued thoughtfully, “and perhaps the viscount will allow me to take the child around a bit.”

  “Sit down and let me fix your hair,” urged Annie, taking the brush from Angelica’s unresisting hand. “You never pin it securely enough. And why are you wearing that old rag,” she snorted scornfully, “when you have the green morning dress that matches your eyes, or the blue and cream walking dress that is much more stylish. Your hair too is not in the current mode, but there — it does become you better than curls,” she amended, cleverly twining the long, honey-coloured mass into a soft, low knot at the back of the head.

  Angelica giggled at the affectionate censure in her tirewoman’s voice and said primly but with mischief sparkling in the green eyes: “Governesses are not supposed to be stylish, you know. It would call attention to them and remove them from the category of comfortable but unnoticed furniture. As if is, I fear some of my gowns will be thought too — too coming, but,” sighing slightly, “I do so enjoy fashioning pretty clothes. Oh, well, my unfashionable hair will dilute any impression that I aspire to unseemly elegance.” She folded her hands and walked with eyes modestly downcast to the wardrobe for her bonnet, only to dissolve into mirth again as Annie commented dryly:

  “That is coming it much too strong, miss. No one is going to believe you a meek nonentity with those witch’s eyes. Oh, I wish I were coming with you to keep you in line. It won’t be easy for you to be in a subservient position. Won’t you change your mind and come back to the Court?”

  Angelica’s mood sobered abruptly. “No, Annie. Oh, I could manage to rub along well enough with my cousin’s wife if I minded my tongue constantly, but besides the strain of two women in one house, it is really a rather useless existence. After Billy’s marriage, I had no real position or responsibility in the running of the house, you know. The small tasks I could do didn’t ease the feeling that I was simply a poor relation — a perpetual guest. At least in Lord Desmond’s household I will hold a definite position, and I shall feel useful. This will compensate for being in an inferior position.”

  Annie opened her mouth, then closed it firmly against whatever she had felt tempted to utter.

  “Cheer up, Annie. I shall be very sorry to leave you behind, but governesses do not have their own dressers, you know. In any event, it is time I learned to do up my own hair. I fear I have led a very sheltered existence, and believe me, I am looking forward to the experience of being on my own.”

  “And that’s a tarradiddle if I ever heard one,” muttered Annie under her breath, but she abandoned the subject in favour of supervising her mistress’s breakfast and getting her settled in a hackney cab, after persuading Angelica to leave her baggage at the hotel for the viscount’s footman to fetch.

  Their parting was slightly tearful on both sides, for Annie had been devoted to Angelica since she had arrived at the Court, a timid nine-year-old, grieving for her father.

  Angelica spent the brief time before the cab pulled up to the brick mansion in Grosvenor Square removing all traces of tears and composing herself to greet the viscount in a calm and, hopefully, competent-appearing manner. She could not deny a small tingle of — what? — expectation, perhaps, at meeting him again after ten years. Of course he would not remember her; she had been a mere child when he pulled her out of the lake, but she could still summon up his features in a mental portrait. Very dark hair and eyes, a dark complexion, too, and a sensitive, smiling mouth. He had radiated energy and friendliness, completely charming a young girl. She had begun to wonder if he had changed much over the years when the motion of the cab ceased, and she found herself in front of a massive oak door.

  After paying the driver, she summoned up the fleeting remnants of her poise and rapped smartly on the brass knocker. Her earlier mood of excitement had curiously evaporated, leaving only trepidation. This was somewhat dispelled by the friendly, smiling countenance of the porter who opened the door to her, but a glimpse of the stately individual waiting in the hall was less reassuring. Chilham, the viscount’s butler, was straighter and more impressive than most generals, and his glance could have quelled a mutiny. It swept impersonally over the face and figure of the unescorted young woman.

  “Yes, miss?”

  The voice was no warmer than the arctic eye, but by this time Angelica’s pride had risen to the rescue. After all, she was expected and perhaps even needed in this household. There was certainly no reason to cower like a beggar at the palace door.

  “I am Miss Wayne,” she managed, with a fairly creditable assumption of a serenity she was far from feeling. “I believe Lord Desmond is expecting me.”

  “Oh, yes, the new governess. If you will let Matthew take your wrap,” indicating the hovering footman, “I will see if his lordship is free to receive you now.”

  Angelica barely had time to note with admiration a beautifully curved stairway with a shining mahogany rail surmounting a handsome wrought-iron balustrade, and take an anxious peek in a huge pier glass before the stately Chilham returned.

  “If you will follow me, ma’am, his lordship will see you in his study.”

  Angelica followed him silently, surreptitiously smoothing her clammy palms down the skirt of her gown and running her tongue nervously over her dry lips.

  Chilham opened a panelled door, announced, “Miss Wayne, my lord,” and withdrew, closing the door silently.

  She had a confused impression of hundreds of books and warm dark colours, before her attention was drawn to the man who had risen from behind a handsome desk and come forward to greet her. He was certainly as dark as she remembered, but there all resemblance to her erstwhile saviour ended. He had been gay and laughing, giving an impression of great warmth and friendliness which belied the natural severity of a rather hawkish nose and rocky jaw. This man had the coldest set of features she had ever seen assembled on one visage. As she came rather hesitantly into the area illuminated by pale sunlight venturing in from the window behind the desk, straight black brows snapped together in a fierce scowl which caused her to pause uncertainly, while her heart plummeted uncomfortably to the region of her stomach.

  The owner of the black-browed scowl was thinking with extreme annoyance that he could name two lovely women who would not be pleased at the addition to his household of such a young and personable-looking female. He could dismiss the prejudice of his mistress, Mrs. Marberry, but his fiancée, Lady Barbara Darlington, would have to share a roof with this Miss Wayne in the near future, and he would not wager a groat against her making the poor girl’s life miserable. As the poor girl in question came forward again, with her chin resolutely raised and the look of alarm which had widened her eyes momentarily at his frown dying out, he decided with a measure of relief that they might console themselves with the knowledge that she possessed no extraordinary degree of beauty, anyway. Not that there was anything specifically wrong with her features, he mused critically, but she was too colourless — insipid was the word — for his taste. Although rather tall for a woman, she was so delicately built as to give the impression of fragility. He wondered uneasily whether she would be able to cope with his high-spirited Jenny. Damn Billy Wroxham, anyway, for presuming on old friendship! The girl was obviously too young and inexperienced for the position.

  He was jolted from his unsatisfactory musings by a pleasant, rather husky voice saying politely, “How do you do, my lord?”

  One hand held her reticule in a knuckle-whitening grip, but the eyes which met his levelly showed no trace of her earlier trepidation. She was determined not to allow this arrogant-looking man to discover how greatly he had disconcerted her.

  The
viscount bowed formally and indicated a chair beside the desk, into which she settled herself gracefully. With her head slightly inclined to one side, she questioned him silently with large grave eyes as he returned to his chair.

  His first words were abrupt. “You seem very young, Miss Wayne, to have the charge of an eight-year-old child.”

  Was she to be ignominiously dismissed before even being given a chance? Angelica thought wildly and answered impetuously:

  “Too young, sir? Why I am old enough to be the mother of an eight-year-old child.”

  For the first time since she had entered the room, his expression lightened. Something flickered in his eyes and a muscle quivered in his cheek, but he replied gravely, “Indeed, and how old are you, Miss Wayne?”

  “I am three and twenty, sir.”

  “You must have been very precocious,” he commented dryly, and enjoyed the furious blush which sprang to her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled dangerously, but she refused to rise to the bait, saying reasonably:

  “I believe I am qualified to instruct a young child, my lord. I have had a rather better education than most young women because I shared lessons with my cousin, Billy, for some years. He was unable to go up to Eton, you know, after suffering a bad attack of rheumatic fever, so was tutored at home while he regained his strength. I have had much Latin and some Greek, as well as mathematics and history.” As if to balance this masculine chronicle, she added hastily, “And of course I speak French and Italian, and am considered fairly adept at watercolour painting.”

  She had been watching him with earnest eyes while she spoke, but now the faintly sardonic gleam in his disconcerted her, and her own gaze dropped to her hands in her lap. She kept them relaxed with concentrated effort.

  “And are you equally talented musically?” he asked maliciously.

  Unaware of how expressive her countenance was, Angelica failed to realize that her dismay at this question was perfectly apparent to her inquisitor.

  “Well no, sir,” she confessed apologetically. “I’m afraid I am rather an indifferent performer on the pianoforte, and,” deciding to conceal nothing, “much as I love music, I cannot carry a tune at all. In fact, Billy says he’d rather hear the hens cackling.”

  “How unkind of Billy,” he declared solemnly.

  “No, he is absolutely right.” She was determined not to try to appear under false pretences.

  He found such naivete entertaining. “And how are you with your needle?” he questioned, using his own smoothly.

  There was relief in the charming voice as she accepted his question at face value. “Oh, I am very skilful at sewing and embroidery, sir, although I have no wish to brag.”

  For the first time in the interview she smiled, displaying even white teeth and the rather roguish dimple in her left cheek. There was a sudden alert look in the previously lazy gaze which had been quizzing her.

  “You see,” she continued merrily, unaware of his quickened interest, “whenever Billy and I got into scrapes, which was pretty often, I was sent to the schoolroom to embroider samplers or pillow covers or hem shirts. Sometimes my punishment was for a specific length of time, in which case I dawdled, but Mother discovered, if given a certain number of tasks, I could whip through them very quickly in order to be allowed out-of-doors again. So you see I became very adept at all needlework.”

  “Then your skill at stitchery is an indication of your naughtiness as a child,” he interpreted blandly.

  She gave a startled gasp and then a tiny chuckle. “Very true, sir, although it isn’t chivalrous of you to phrase it in just that manner.”

  “I am not noted for my chivalry,” he said wryly, and for a moment his brooding gaze dwelt on the flames leaping in the fireplace.

  She had the distinct feeling he had forgotten her presence and was in a bleak world of his own. Some instinct of sympathy made her reach out to him.

  “I, at least, had cause to be grateful to you for your chivalry on one occasion,” she said gently.

  His attention was caught. “Have we met before, then? For an instant when you smiled I felt a tug of memory, but ungallant though I may be, I feel certain I could not have forgotten such a charming young woman.”

  The sardonic look was very much in evidence, and the irony in his tone wasn’t lost on Angelica. She was annoyed to think she had given him cause to think she was trying to scrape up an acquaintance, but she kept her voice gaily impersonal.

  “I fear I was a very uncharming young hoyden when you pulled me out of the lake, after Billy and I had disobeyed orders and taken the boat out and capsized it, but you were certainly chivalry incarnate to a grateful thirteen-year-old.”

  “Good Lord, I had completely forgotten that incident! So you were the little green-eyed waif who clung to me so trustingly?” He smiled briefly, but whether at the memory or at Angelica’s sudden flush she wasn’t to know. For an instant, the smile warmed his countenance so that she almost recognized the man she remembered, but before she could be certain he had sobered again. “Such a long time ago. What a great summer that was, before Gervaise died — before —” He stopped abruptly and, forcing his tone to pleasantness, inquired, “So you, in your innocence, fancied I was a Sir Galahad, did you?”

  She was vaguely disquieted by his manner, but strove to remain cool. “Oh, yes, I thought you were wonderful. I remember I wept buckets of tears later that year when I learned you had married. You see, I had expected you would wait for me to grow up.”

  He drew in his breath sharply, then at her questioning look, said with formal courtesy, “Well, I am happy to renew our acquaintance after all these years, though you are scarcely the same person I rescued, being all grown up and competent to teach children. Only those green eyes and the dimple remain of the little girl.”

  The dimple was very much in evidence as she smiled confidingly up at him. “I will do my best to teach your daughter, sir. Pray, what is her name?”

  “Jennifer, but she is always called Jenny. She is a rare handful, I’m afraid, very spirited and not at all interested in lessons. Her previous governess was too lenient, I fear, and consequently Jenny is too used to getting her own way.” His face set in a rather grim expression. “I do not wish her to grow up spoiled, thinking her beauty entitles her to have her every whim gratified.” At her startled glance, he nodded. “Yes, already she bids fair to become a beauty like her mother.” Abruptly, he changed the subject. “My sister, Lydia, is seventeen and will make her debut this season. My great-aunt who lives with us suffers from an arthritic complaint and is unable to accompany Lydia to parties. After my marriage, of course, Lady Desmond will chaperon her, but I would appreciate it if you could accompany her to some few events before the official start of her season.” He grinned ruefully. “She is inclined to be something of a flirt, I fear, so you will undoubtedly have your hands full keeping her in line. Also, I wish her to learn Italian. That was what caused me to accept Billy’s recommendation sight unseen. By the way, how does it come about that you speak Italian? I understand you have spent the greater part of your life in the country, though Billy did say you had been presented, I believe.”

  She nodded rather absently. This increase in her duties to include social events surprised her. “My mother was Italian, but her family cut her off after she married Papa. When he died, she went to live with Billy’s mother, who was my father’s cousin. They got along famously, and since Aunt Anthea was always invalidish, Mother practically ran the household. She never saw any of her own family again, but she always spoke Italian to me, as it was also my heritage.”

  “You don’t look Italian.”

  Angelica smiled faintly. “Mother was much fairer than I; in fact, I’m told all the members of her family were blondes. Billy says I have a typical Italian temper, but that is nonsense because Mother had no temper at all. She was an angel.”

  “She is dead, then?”

  She nodded again. “She died the year after I came out. She had a small annuity whi
ch comes to me until I should marry, so I am not a pauper, but it is considered improper for a young female to live alone, so I stayed on with Aunt Anthea and Billy. Now my aunt is dead also, and Billy is married. It is time for me to be on my own.” She added cheerfully: “I shall be pleased to escort Lydia to her parties for a time, although I should warn you my own come-out was far from a success. I just didn’t take. Billy says my wretched habit of saying everything that comes into my head scared off any suitors that my financial ineligibility hadn’t. But I am older now and have learned to guard my tongue — most of the time anyway.”

  “You are very fond of Billy, are you not?” he inquired, watching her through narrowed eyes. “I am surprised you did not marry him.”

  She gave her throaty gurgle of laughter again. “That would be like marrying one’s brother. Billy is just like a brother to me, not a distant cousin. Besides, he says I am completely exasperating and too independent, and therefore destined to remain a spinster. I daresay he is right,” she added candidly. “But I do hope I can be of assistance to you, my lord, with Jenny and Lydia.”

  “I’m sure you will be a great help.” He was eyeing the grey dress dubiously; “Er — undoubtedly you will find greater demands will be made on your wardrobe, if you are to go into society with Lydia. Naturally, I will provide the additional clothes necessary in carrying out this unexpected extension of your duties.”

  Angelica’s expression was wry. “Annie was right after all.” At his raising an inquiring eyebrow, she explained that her maid hadn’t wanted her to wear so unstylish a garment, but that she had thought it better suited to the status of a governess. “I have more fashionable clothes, sir,” she concluded, “but I’m afraid the current hairstyles don’t become me at all.” She raised her firm young chin just a trifle and stared at him challengingly, but his lordship retreated strategically.

  “No, no, your hair is fine as it is,” he said hastily, a slight tinge of red creeping up over his collar. The new governess might be ingenuous and naive, but she was obviously not meek.