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

by Dorothy Mack

  It was not, properly speaking, the place of a governess to criticize a parent’s attitude with his child, but where Jenny’s welfare was concerned, Angelica was prepared to attempt the impossible. There must be some way to discover if her theory was correct. It would require tact, of course, but she had been pleasantly surprised, in view of the viscount’s forbidding exterior, by his patience and attention to herself. Of a certainty he had been kindness personified after Jenny’s recent adventure. She had been too upset to question at the time, but now recalling everything that had occurred in the library in the past hour, she realized with a sense of excitement that for the first time there had been no barrier of mockery between them.

  She rose swiftly from the settee and gave way to her invariable habit of pacing in time to her thoughts. Why, they had talked together as naturally as old friends! She closed her eyes and visualized his features as he had teased her about her childhood. Why hadn’t she realized at the time that he had looked and acted like her erstwhile rescuer? Her heart was beating rather rapidly and her steps were also quick. It had taken a crisis to breach the wall of reserve he had erected around his former self. Could she dare hope that the breach might widen or, with the crisis safely passed, would he revert to his habitual slightly mocking civility? She found that she was extremely eager for their next meeting.

  In any event, the next meeting with Jenny at lunch was not difficult. Whatever her father had said to her had swept away the unhappiness Angelica had witnessed. She was slightly subdued but had begged her teacher’s pardon for frightening her with such a sweetly anxious air that Angelica had laughed and hugged her lightly. An expression of great relief passed over the little girl’s face. Impulsively, she wound her arms around Angelica’s neck and shyly kissed her cheek.

  “You understand I did not mean to frighten you, Angel, don’t you?” she asked once again. “I thought it would be the most exciting thing to do. Papa said he was frightened, too. I never thought Papa was frightened of anything. He takes Rufus over the highest hedges when we are in the country.” Her voice was filled with awe at having been responsible for striking fear into the heart of the lion.

  Angelica hugged her again. What an essentially sweet child she was. Couldn’t her father see there was no danger that a little overt paternal affection would spoil her? Hers was not a selfish nature. She said gravely, “Jenny, even the bravest of people like your papa can be afraid when the ones they love are in danger. You might have been badly hurt, and that would have hurt your father because he loves you very much. It was a great deal too bad of me ever to mention that I did that foolish stunt. I wasn’t really thinking about what I was saying, you see, because otherwise I would have remembered how upset my mama and my aunt were when I slid down the rail at the Court.”

  “Angel?” said Jenny hesitantly. “Did you think it was fun?”

  Angelica grinned. “Oh, yes, it was great fun. How about you?”

  Jenny’s little face glowed. “I felt like I was flying! Is it naughty of me to be glad I did it, even though I am sorry I frightened you and Papa?”

  “No, of course not, darling. But now that you know how dangerous it is, you will not try it again, will you?”

  “Oh, no, I’ve already promised Papa I would never do it again.”

  “Well, then, let us go and join Nurse for lunch. Aunt Lydia is lunching with the Misses Caterham today. They came to call for her half an hour ago.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When Jenny had retired for her rest, Angelica found herself with the time necessary to cut out the gown she had designed for Lydia’s ball. The viscount had been right, she thought, with a wry twist to her pretty lips — she would never have sufficient free time to fashion a wardrobe equal to the life she was now leading, but at least she would complete this gown. In any event, once Lady Barbara became Lady Desmond, her own social life would cease as abruptly as it had begun. She acknowledged this with a slight pang of regret. Although she had not expected to go out socially at all when she accepted the post as Jenny’s governess, quite a deal of social activity had been included in her duties. She had been very happy in Lydia’s company, and it would have been out of character to deny the truth that she was going to find life rather dull when the house had a new mistress. Naturally, she would see much less of Lydia because that young lady would be completely swept up in a round of activity after her presentation.

  She enjoyed visiting with Lady Orbridge when the old woman was feeling well enough and she was a reader, too, but life would definitely not be as exciting when the viscount married. No doubt she would see very little of him in the future. There would no longer be a reason to dine with the family. This was the most unwelcome thought of all, and suddenly she could no longer bear the solitude of her sitting room. Rising swiftly from her knees where she had been cutting the cloth, she gathered the fabric together and decided to go down to the library for a book. Lydia was not returning till after tea. Perhaps she would see if Lady Orbridge was alone.

  Suiting the action to the thought, Angelica ran swiftly down the stairs and was just about to cross the hall when a commotion sounded at the front door. Chilham made his stately way to the entrance. Angelica was about to enter the library when Chilham’s voice, for once losing its imperturbable quality, arrested her motion.

  “Why, what has happened, my lord? Here, let me assist you.”

  Angelica spun around and stared.

  The viscount stood on one foot in the hall, looking pale and furious. He was leaning on the arm of a portly gentleman unknown to Angelica and waving Chilham away impatiently with one hand.

  “No, I don’t need you, Chilham. I can hop all right with an assist from Colonel Revesby.”

  “Very good, my lord. Shall I have your room prepared?”

  “No, no, I have no intention of being rendered bedfast. Call Murdock. If you’ll just help me into the library, Revesby. There is a sofa there.”

  Finally Angelica came to life. She opened the library door, and going in first, snatched the pillows from the green plush sofa.

  By the time the viscount had carefully lowered himself to the sofa, sweat was standing out on his forehead and his pallor was even more pronounced.

  “What is it, my lord, your foot or your leg?” Angelica asked quietly.

  “Ankle,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  “Has the doctor been sent for?”

  “No, I don’t need a doctor; I’ll be all right once I get this curst boot off. Where is Murdock? He’ll have to cut it off, though it will go sorely against the grain with him to ruin these Hessians.”

  Angelica had a fair idea of the amount of pain the viscount was suffering but forbore to argue with him in his present state. She held firmly to the belief that the doctor should be summoned, but contented herself for the moment with seeing Colonel Revesby out as her employer requested. Staying just long enough to settle the leg on some pillows, she left the room with the colonel, noting as she did so that the viscount’s eyes were closed and he seemed a trifle easier in a horizontal position.

  “Are you the new governess?” the colonel asked when they had re-entered the hall.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t mind telling you it is my opinion Desmond needs a doctor, no matter how lightly he treats the injury. Might be broken, after all. Better send to Harley Street.”

  Angelica murmured polite thanks for the colonel’s aid and reassured him everything necessary would be done, but when the outer door had closed, she hesitated for a moment. After all, she had no authority here and the viscount had said he wanted no doctor. On the other hand, she was in complete agreement with the colonel’s opinion. Seeing the footman returning, she squared her shoulders and ordered him to take a message to the viscount’s doctor.

  On returning to the library to inform him of the action, she found him angrily awaiting his valet’s arrival. Angelica hastened out again without telling him of the doctor’s impending visit and ran up the stair
s in search of Murdock. She met Chilham on the nursery floor, but an almost unrecognizable Chilham. Gone was his air of haughty dignity, and his sonorous voice shook slightly as he explained that, unable to find Murdock, he had checked with Nurse, who had told him that since the viscount had not been expected home for dinner the valet had gone to Soho to visit his ailing mother.

  “Well, that is unfortunate indeed, but that boot must come off you know, Chilham. You will have to cut it.”

  At this Chilham turned ashen, and he held out his hands to demonstrate their shakiness. It seemed he had a morbid aversion to illness and tended to faintness at the sight of blood. He was deeply regretful but could not possibly wield a knife under the circumstances.

  Angelica, staring at his blanched countenance, experienced an almost hysterical desire to laugh. How the mighty have fallen! Chilham, the intimidating force in the household, reduced to shaking uselessness by the sight of physical injury. Her promise that there was no question of blood failed to stiffen the butler’s spine. He suggested that the footman perform the operation, and Angelica had to explain that she had dispatched Matthew with a message for the doctor.

  They were descending the last few stairs when the viscount’s angry voice was clearly heard through the closed library door.

  “Well,” said Angelica, shrugging her shoulders fatalistically, “it must be done immediately, so I shall have to do it. Fetch cold cloths, please, Chilham.”

  Entering the library, she calmly informed the scowling viscount of the situation and asked where she might find a knife.

  “You will not do it; you haven’t the strength. Get Chilham.”

  “His hands are shaking too much, my lord. He’d cut your leg and faint away at the sight of the blood. Then there would be two patients.” She had been pouring a long drink of brandy while uttering this matter-of-fact statement and now pressed the glass into his hand. “I sent Matthew for the doctor,” she explained as he opened his mouth to protest. “This should be done immediately, my lord; it must be dreadfully uncomfortable for you.”

  At these prosaic words the viscount actually smiled, and uttering a weary sigh, indicated a knife on the long table.

  “Very well, my competent Miss Wayne, cut away.” He drank the brandy down quickly.

  She knelt down beside the sofa, knife in hand. It was a hazardous task and required all her resolution. The knowledge that she was hurting him increased the difficulty tenfold. Sensing that a glimpse of his face while she was cutting would be her undoing, she kept her eyes steadily on her fingers and her lower lip gripped tightly in her teeth. Perspiration beaded her upper lip by the time she had succeeded in easing the heavy boot off, and she was battling tears of emotional weakness. He had not uttered a sound, but the changing rhythms of his breathing and the tensing muscles under her hand were clear indications of the amount of pain she was causing. She sank down abruptly, clutching the boot to her chest, and drew a long ragged breath before she was able to raise her eyes to his.

  His pale face was drawn with pain, but the dark eyes glowed with a strange light as he stared intently at the equally pale girl. She could not have broken away from that hypnotic gaze had not Chilham entered the room an instant later with cold cloths. While she laid the cloths on the already swelling ankle, the viscount directed the butler to pour some brandy for her. She protested but was peremptorily overruled. Obediently she sat in the green plush chair (for the second time in one day, her surprised brain reminded her) and slowly sipped the strong liquid. After a moment, it did seem to chase away the weak feeling in her bones and she was more composed.

  She smiled, though rather shakily at the viscount who was holding a glass refilled by Chilham. “It seems, my lord, that every time I enter this room I end by drinking brandy. Rather demoralizing.”

  “Miss Wayne, you are a remarkable woman. I salute you,” he said seriously, but his eyes were alight with laughter as he ceremoniously raised his glass to her.

  Angelica eyed him calmly. “The combination of pain and brandy is making you utterly nonsensical, my lord.”

  “What, no blush? My dear Miss Wayne, I thought you always blushed delightfully when a gentleman paid you a compliment.” His voice was smooth and he quirked one eyebrow.

  Angelica glanced involuntarily at the door where Chilham’s tall form seemed to pause momentarily before going out. She could almost fancy that his ears stood out at attention, and now she did colour up in confusion. She bit her lip to keep back a retort. After all, he probably was feeling light-headed. It crossed her mind that this was rather a strange moment to be feeling light-hearted as well.

  “Ah, that’s better. I would not like to think my compliments are less worthy of blushes than Robert’s.” As her eyes flashed and her lips parted, he went on smoothly, “Speaking of Robert, I was supposed to dine with him before coming back here to change. I had promised to escort Lady Barbara and her sister to Almack’s. When Matthew comes back, would you send him to me?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Angelica rose from the green chair. “I believe I hear someone now. I hope it is Matthew with the doctor.” She crossed the room toward the door, but as she passed the sofa the viscount’s hand shot out and seized her right wrist with strong fingers. She managed to stand quietly, looking serenely down at him.

  “Thank you, Miss Wayne.” He turned her hand over, and to her astonishment, bent his head and pressed his lips to her blue-veined wrist.

  The touch was feather light, but its effect on her was as if a red-hot coal had struck her arm, sending painful prickling sensations radiating from the point of contact. This time, she couldn’t meet his eyes but was saved by the sound of the door opening. She snatched her hand away and went quickly toward the door as Chilham entered, followed by a stranger whom Angelica correctly identified as the doctor. With a murmured excuse, she left the room and spoke to Matthew. After the footman had entered the library, she stood there in the hall gazing unseeingly at the closed door for several minutes, absently rubbing the spot on her wrist with the fingers of her left hand. She was still standing thusly when the knocker sounded. Recalled to the present, she started to ascend the stairs but paused when she heard Lydia’s voice at the door. Running back down, she dismissed Chilham and drew Lydia’s arm through hers while she told her the news.

  “Oh, poor Giles!” Lydia cried warmly. “Where is he? In the library? I must go to him.” She turned toward the library but Angelica held her back, explaining that the doctor was with him still. Instead, she led the younger girl into the small room where Mrs. Haskins interviewed the servants and paid the tradespeople.

  “We’ll leave the door open so we’ll hear the doctor when he leaves the library. He may wish to leave some instructions with you.”

  “With me?” Lydia’s expression of surprise was almost ludicrous. “As if Giles would ever listen to me! When did this happen and how?”

  Angelica, looking at the tiny watch pinned to her dress, was surprised to see it was close on six o’clock. “I imagine about an hour ago, if his lordship came home directly. I don’t know how it happened or if the ankle is actually broken. It swelled up immediately as I cut the boot off, but I could not tell.”

  “You cut off his boot? Good gracious, however did you manage? Where was Murdock?”

  “Visiting his mother I believe, and Chilham…” Angelica giggled. “You should have seen our stately Chilham with shaking hands, threatening to faint. I shall never be afraid of him again.”

  Lydia said flatly that she felt she had been denied a high treat if it were indeed true, but she strongly suspected her friend of bamming.

  Angelica solemnly held up her right hand. “On my honour.”

  Just then, hasty footsteps sounded on the stairway, and they went to the door to confront an agitated Jenny and a slightly flustered Nurse.

  “Oh, Angel,” cried Jenny, flinging her arms around her governess’s waist. “What has happened to Papa? I was having my supper when Nurse had to go talk to Chilham. I could
hear something about an accident, but Nurse won’t tell me what’s wrong. Is Papa hurt?” Jenny’s beseeching eyes were filled with tears which threatened to spill over.

  Nurse said apologetically, “She would not eat, miss, until she knew how her father was.”

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Priddy. Jenny dear,” said Angelica, gently disentangling the little girl’s arms and retaining a grip on her hands, “your father is not badly injured, but there has been some sort of accident and his ankle is hurt. The doctor is here now. As soon as he leaves, you may go in and see Papa and kiss him goodnight if you will go with Nurse now and finish your supper.”

  Jenny went reluctantly with Nurse. “You won’t forget?” she implored, glancing back over her shoulder as Nurse bustled her up the stairs.

  “Of course not.” Angelica turned from Jenny to confront Mrs. Haskins, who had puffed her way up from the kitchens where she had been conferring with the chef and had missed all the excitement. So more explanations were made, but Angelica, catching sight of Matthew leaving the library, abandoned Mrs. Haskins to Lydia and walked swiftly toward the footman.

  Matthew explained that he had been ordered to deliver a message to Lord Robert Hoxley. He assured her that the doctor had said there were no bones broken, only a bad sprain.