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

by Dorothy Mack

  Lady Barbara was engrossed in conversation with Sir Anthony. The viscount watched them pensively through slightly narrowed eyes for a moment, then turned to Angelica and said with a smile:

  “Should you object if I asked Robert Hoxley to go with us to round out the numbers?”

  She smiled gratefully at him and agreed at once to the inclusion of Lord Robert. Truth to tell, she had not looked forward to being the extra female in the party. It was one thing to chaperon Lydia to small private parties as part of her job and quite another to find herself the odd female in a gay outing such as the one proposed by Lady Barbara.

  The rest of the visit passed smoothly, with the viscount exchanging desultory remarks with Angelica while Lady Barbara continued to engage Sir Anthony’s attention and Lydia entertained the countess with her enthusiasm.

  Suddenly Sir Anthony, recollecting the time, apologized for overextending his visit and began to make his adieux to the countess. This served as a signal to the others to rise and follow suit. As Angelica rose gracefully from her chair, Lady Barbara said, smiling:

  “Heavens! I had not realized before how very tall you are. How I envy you! I have always considered myself lamentably lacking in inches from a fashionable point of view, and have had to console myself with the realization that at least I do not have to rule out a great number of gentlemen as dancing partners. Did you find this a problem when you made your debut?”

  The effect of this artless speech upon her audience was varied to put it mildly. The countess frowned reprovingly at her daughter. Sir Anthony was heard to protest warmly that Lady Barbara was exactly the perfect height for a woman. Lydia’s bosom swelled with indignation at the implied slight to her friend, and she replied rather heatedly that Miss Wayne was so slender and graceful as to lend distinction to everything she wore and pointed out that standing beside the viscount, they made a perfectly matched pair.

  Angelica herself seemed not in the least perturbed. Giving her hostess back smile for honeyed smile, she agreed that she had considered her height to be a problem when she was a green girl, but that it no longer bothered her in the least. An appreciative smile twitched at the corners of the viscount’s mouth and the usually cold eyes had a distinct gleam of amusement, but Angelica avoided looking at him.

  Lady Barbara laughed gaily and apologized prettily for her awkwardness. “Of course Miss Wayne is not too tall. She is in the fortunate position of being able to wear anything and look well in it.”

  The leave-taking was accomplished in perfect civility on all sides, and the viscount led his fair charges back to Grosvenor Square. It was a rather silent walk this time. Angelica, noting the storm signals on Lydia’s face, did, it is true, attempt some conversational sorties, but beyond agreeing with her that tomorrow’s expedition should indeed prove enjoyable, the viscount initiated no conversation, seeming lost in thought. Lacking his cooperation, Angelica contented herself with murmuring a few commonplace observations on the passing scene to cover Lydia’s silence. The viscount left them at the door, telling them curtly that he would be dining out.

  As they went slowly upstairs, a side glance at Lydia revealed that she was barely containing herself until they were out of earshot of the servants. Angelica would have liked some privacy to sort out her impressions of the afternoon, but saw that this solace was not to be granted her. Lydia followed her up to the sitting room, her diminutive person fairly radiating fury.

  Angelica sighed. “Come in and unburden yourself before you burst,” she advised the younger girl.

  “Well,” snapped Lydia, stripping off her gloves and flinging them onto a chair, to be followed almost immediately by the charming confection that had adorned her head. “Now do you see why I say this isn’t a love match? That wretched girl is incapable of the more tender emotions. Do not try to tell me she loves anyone but herself — certainly not Giles. Did you notice the way she manoeuvred herself and Sir Anthony into our party?”

  Here Angelica interrupted mildly. “Perhaps she felt a bit left out, my dear. After all, she is engaged to the viscount; she has every right to expect his attentions, and since Sir Anthony was aware of the expedition also, it was only gracious to include him.”

  “Fustian!” declared Lydia roundly. “You may try to wrap it up in clean linen, Angel, but it is perfectly clear to me that she had every intention of spoiling our outing while providing herself with a golden opportunity to further her flirtation with Sir Anthony. Certainly you could not have failed to notice how he looked at her like a mooncalf. And she gave him plenty of encouragement right in front of Giles. I am sorry I ever mentioned the wretched exhibition.”

  “That is obvious,” replied Angelica dryly. “You are well served for letting your tongue run away with you.”

  A rueful smile quirked Lydia’s lips briefly. “If you are hinting that I am not yet up to snuff, Angel, your point is well taken. I’ll know better another time. But all my pleasure in the trip is quite at an end thanks to my sweet sister-in-law-to-be. How shall I endure having her around all the time?” she moaned.

  Angelica’s thoughts had been running along similar lines, but she stifled them and tried to comfort Lydia.

  “Surely you will manage to get along tolerably well when you know each other better. She will be chaperoning you during your season, and you will be grateful for that.”

  “Shall I?” asked Lydia quietly. “I cannot see her ceasing her efforts to captivate every man in the room simply because Giles has put another ring on her finger. She certainly does not regard the one she is now wearing as a curb to her flirting.”

  Angelica had not failed to remark the beautiful ruby and diamond ring which adorned Lady Barbara’s left hand, but Lydia was going on, “She will continue to try to make me seem no more than a child while she annexes any potential suitors.”

  “Well,” said Angelica reasonably, “you are too young to be thinking of marriage in any case, and nothing Lady Barbara can do will prevent you from being besieged with partners at every ball. You are much too pretty to be a wallflower, my dear.”

  “She will try,” Lydia persisted stubbornly. “And of all the ill-bred remarks to make, that one about your height takes the prize. And Giles told me to conduct myself with propriety. He might better instruct his betrothed in the art of polite conversation.”

  “You must not mention it to him. Believe me, Lydia, it will not do for you to criticize your brother’s fiancée. You must accept the fact that he wishes her to be his wife and try to get along with her. Once her position as Lord Desmond’s wife is established, it is my belief she will be glad to have your company and will treat you kindly.”

  Lydia was patently unconvinced, but shrugged in resignation.

  “There is nothing I can do in any event. If Giles is blinded by her beauty, he would certainly pay no heed to a sister fifteen years his junior. Oh, well, if life becomes too difficult here, I can always marry the first man who offers for me. I am not exactly a pauper. I will see you at dinner, Angel.”

  Turning, she gathered her belongings together and walked swiftly from the room, leaving Angelica deeply troubled by this cynical little speech. Her own impressions of the viscount’s fiancée had not been favourable. She tried to tell herself she was being too critical, that the vanity and flirtatiousness she had glimpsed would fade when Barbara knew the security of marriage, but she felt this to be a forlorn hope. No more than Lydia did Angelica believe the girl was in love with Lord Desmond, but she wondered why she had accepted him. An earl’s daughter would be unlikely to marry for the sake of a lesser title, and Lydia had said she had refused several other offers. The unkind thought flicked across her mind that Lady Barbara might have been intrigued by the viscount’s reputation for immunity to feminine lures. Lydia had said women had been on the catch for him ever since his wife died. Was she the type who would consider this a challenge? Angelica rather thought Barbara would enjoy flaunting her conquest in the eyes of Society. But even if her motive had been less ca
lculating, after watching them together, Angelica felt it was inconceivable that love had entered into her decision. Lady Barbara’s attitude toward her betrothed was not only cool but rather callous in exposing him to the sight of her responding to the attentions of another man.

  She was less sure of the viscount’s feelings. This afternoon he had behaved no differently toward his fiancée than toward his sister or his employee — indifferently polite to all. Certainly there was no special observation, no distinguishing attention to Lady Barbara. Perhaps that was the crux of the matter, Angelica thought suddenly. Maybe Barbara was resentful of his lack of ardour and was punishing him in this way. Perhaps she did love him and was hurt by his coolness.

  This thought, which if true might be a better omen for the couple’s future happiness, somehow failed to lighten Angelica’s sense of depression.

  Two things were abundantly clear — Angelica Wayne had no idea of the state of Lord Desmond’s affections, and also it was absolutely none of her affair. She turned resolutely to the task of changing for dinner, bemoaning as usual the loss of Annie whose skilful hands could tame the long fall of honey-coloured hair. If she did not become more adept at managing soon, she must seriously consider having it cropped in the prevailing mode, although the vision of curl papers and hot irons was not comforting. Perhaps if she were just to cut several inches from the waist-length fall, the shorter length would be easier to keep pinned securely. Certainly the tedious task of nightly brushing would be somewhat lightened. Proceeding on the theory that it was best to strike while the iron is hot, she moved into the sitting room for the scissors in her workbasket, when, glancing at the pewter clock, she realized there was not sufficient time and hastily re-pinned the shining mass into its customary style, again however without the lamented Annie’s neat result.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  If Angelica had found that the uncomfortable tea party provided insufficient evidence to come to a conclusion about the state of affairs existing between her employer and his beautiful fiancée, the same could not be said of the following day’s expedition to Somerset House.

  She could not look forward to any outing in the company of Lady Barbara and Lydia in her present mood of rebellion without inner qualms, but she intended to take full advantage of what might well be her last opportunity to study the viscount and his betrothed before the latter became her mistress. She resolutely refused to dwell on the faint chill the very thought of this state induced in her bones, and set about trying to cajole Lydia into a more receptive humour.

  To this end she consented to pass under review every item of that young lady’s extensive wardrobe which might be suitable both for viewing an exposition of artworks and proving to a certain haughty but nameless young woman that the wearer was no longer a child to be dismissed with a condescending pat on the head. It required all of Angelica’s considerable store of tact to dissuade Lydia from donning a far-too-dashing black fur hat purchased under the undiscriminating eye of the late, unlamented Miss Jenkins, but never, as yet, worn. This not inconsiderable feat was accomplished by laying stress on the unfortunate circumstance that the hat did not go with the charming, wine-coloured pelisse trimmed in sable that both damsels agreed not only best suited Lydia’s vibrant colouring, but also served to add several years to her age. Angelica, suppressing a shudder at thought of the viscount’s probable reaction to the huge black bonnet, thoughtfully inspected the other hats proposed for her consideration and opted for a matching wine-coloured one, demurely trimmed in fur. She overrode Lydia’s protest that it was childish by pointing out that the most fashionable ladies of her acquaintance favoured the ensemble look. To complete the costume, Lydia produced a sable muff and insisted that Angelica take the black fur one which matched the rejected hat.

  At last the ladies were ready. Angelica privately thought Lydia in her charming outfit looked exactly what she was — a very pretty bud just beginning to unfurl her petals, but she naturally refrained from expressing any opinion so exactly calculated to further exacerbate that young lady’s already outraged sensibilities. She did, in the interests of peace, drop a gentle hint that if Lady Barbara should chance to pass any remark which might be construed by persons of excessive sensibility as slighting to herself, she would appreciate it if Lydia would forbear to leap to her defence since Angelica herself, not being troubled by a sensitive nature, would be perfectly content to consider the source. Lydia giggled at this but refused to make any such rash promise, saying darkly:

  “I know her better than you do, Angel, and it does not do to let such patronizing persons think they can be rude in that odiously sweet way without suffering the consequences. I refuse to be bullied, and I won’t allow her to bully you either.” The vivacious little face took on a mulish look.

  Angelica sighed. Any expectation of pleasure from the forthcoming expedition had faded on hearing of the increased size of the party, but she could now see that to her would fall the unenviable task of keeping Lydia’s militant spirit under control in the face of what she strongly suspected were Lady Barbara’s habitual tactics toward females personable enough to be considered rivals.

  The viscount came to collect them with Lord Robert in his wake. He greeted both girls impartially with the rather lopsided and extremely rare smile that blurred the harsh lines of his jaw and erased the somewhat mocking expression Angelica had found to be natural in the short time she had dwelt under his roof. For another brief instant, she glimpsed the man he had been ten years before. As usual, she experienced a small pang as his smile faded and the harsh features re-emerged. Between smiles, one would judge it impossible that such sternness could ever take on warmth.

  Lord Robert greeted them, smiling at each in turn. Angelica’s first impression of the viscount’s friend had been favourable, and further exposure to his friendliness and charm only served to reinforce her original assessment. He and Lydia seemed to be on the easiest of terms. Angelica relaxed and permitted herself a small hope that the afternoon might not, after all, prove the disaster Lydia’s earlier mood seemed to portend.

  The day was cold but clear, lending a sense of physical well-being as the party climbed into the barouche and set out for the Strand. It had been agreed that they would meet Sir Anthony and Lady Barbara at Somerset House at 2:30, and Angelica noted with satisfaction that they were precisely on time. She said as much to Lydia and was surprised by Lord Robert’s chuckle. Glancing at the viscount, she found an expression of cynical amusement on his face.

  “My dear girl, if you are expecting to see Lady Barbara and Sir Anthony around the next corner, you are in for a disappointment. Barbara is never on time.”

  “Lay you a pony, Giles, that they don’t turn up in under forty-five minutes,” offered Lord Robert.

  “I’m not such a gudgeon,” replied the viscount. “Let’s begin to look around; they’ll catch us up in time.”

  The next hour was spent in wandering around, viewing the various exhibits. Angelica, who had a fair talent at sketching and more than a little at watercolour painting, was extremely pleased at the opportunity to study the techniques of successful artists and found the viscount a knowledgeable guide. Lord Robert, whose interests lay more in the sporting field, finally claimed his eyes were smarting from looking and his ears were ringing from listening to his friend prose on about a lot of dull pictures. He detached Lydia from the absorbed art lovers and led her to a couch of red plush, where they were conversing amiably when Lady Barbara and Sir Anthony swept down on them with profuse apologies for being late.

  “Although,” Lady Barbara concluded archly, “you two must wish us at Jericho for arriving to disturb your little tête-à-tête.” She gave a trill of laughter. “This must be the first time I have ever played duenna. It will be good practice for us before your debut, Lydia dear.”

  Lord Robert, who had risen at the approach of the latecomers, looked startled and a tinge of red crept up over his cheeks, but before he could utter a remark, Lady Barbara was launched in
to an introduction making the two men known to each other. Bows were exchanged, and Sir Anthony turned to Lydia, who was still sitting on the couch wearing a glowering expression which she tried to soften as he smiled at her.

  “Your very obedient servant, Miss Weston. Remember you promised to tell me which pictures I must most admire.” He offered her his arm, and she bounced up laughing:

  “I’m afraid you will have to ask Miss Wayne for an expert opinion. She and Giles have been examining and criticizing the pictures for more than an hour now.” With a swift glance at Lady Barbara, “Robert and I were unable to stay the course and came to rest our feet.”

  “Where are Giles and Miss Wayne?” wondered Lady Barbara, and just at that instant the pair in question came slowly around the corner and then more swiftly as they noticed the recent additions to the party.

  Lady Barbara smiled at Angelica, and taking the viscount’s arm, scolded him playfully for failing in his duty as Lydia’s guardian.

  “I did not realize you were quite so gothic in your ideas, my dear,” he said smoothly, with his mocking smile. “Surely there can be no need for chaperonage in a public gallery with any number of people milling around.”

  Lady Barbara laughed, and linking her other arm in Sir Anthony’s, declared herself simply perishing for a glimpse of the masterpieces. She smiled kindly at Lydia and added:

  “Poor Lydia is tired, but now that Miss Wayne is here, there can be no reason to drag the poor child back over the ground she has already covered.”

  Lydia, however, declared herself sufficiently rested, and still with her hand on Sir Anthony’s arm, strolled off with Lady Barbara and the two gentlemen. Murmuring an apology, the viscount halted abruptly and, detaching his arm from his fiancée’s hold, walked back to inquire if Miss Wayne and Lord Robert cared to make another tour.