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

by Dorothy Mack

“Well, that is a great relief, although a sprain can mean quite as much discomfort as a break in the beginning.” Angelica smiled dismissal at the footman, and Matthew left in his errand.

  The door opened again, admitting the doctor and Chilham, whose impassive mask was completely restored.

  Angelica liked the doctor’s kind face with its network of fine lines surrounding his mouth and raying out from pale blue eyes under shaggy grey brows. The lines sharpened as he smiled at her. “You are Miss Wayne, I believe?”

  Angelica confirmed this and returned his smile with interest.

  “Lord Desmond told me you very competently cut the boot from his foot. My congratulations; I’m glad there was someone with a cool head in the house.”

  Angelica avoided Chilham’s eye as she hastily asked the doctor about the damage to the viscount’s ankle and brought him to Lydia. His manner to the anxious young girl was most reassuring as he explained that, although there was no break, the viscount must keep completely off his feet for at least a sennight.

  “There is no problem now, of course, because he is bone weary, but in two or three days when most of the pain is gone, it will be difficult to hold him down. He’s always been a bad patient.” He gave the housekeeper instructions to have a very light meal prepared for the viscount, and she bustled off toward the kitchens.

  “May I see my brother now, Dr. Finlay?” asked Lydia.

  “Of course, my dear, but don’t stay too long. He is very tired.” Lydia departed and the doctor turned to Angelica. “Miss Wayne, I have given Lord Desmond some powders which should ease the pain and help him sleep. He really should not be moved, but he insists on sleeping in his own bed. Certainly he’ll be more comfortable there. When the valet returns, he and the footman can carry him upstairs, I should think. That Matthew is a husky lad. Will you see to it that he takes those powders? I will be back tomorrow to check on him.”

  Angelica assented and saw the doctor to the door. Returning, she saw Jenny, wide-eyed and anxious on the stairs, and tucking the little girl’s hand in hers, led her to the library door and knocked. The viscount’s voice bade them enter, and Jenny perked up immediately on hearing it.

  She ran across the room and flung her arms around her father’s neck. He winced perceptibly as she rocked his leg but smiled at her and held her close in one arm, listening gravely to her outpouring of mingled anxiety and relief.

  Angelica, who had never seen them in such a natural loving attitude, felt her own eyes mist over. Glancing at Lydia, she saw a happy smile on the young girl’s lips. How they both adored him! A feeling of yearning for the parents she had lost swept over her.

  The viscount looked up at that moment and smiled at her. She was surprised at how suddenly warm and alive she felt, where only a moment ago she had been experiencing a bitter sense of loneliness and loss.

  Jenny kissed her father goodnight and headed upstairs. Lydia departed to inform Aunt Minerva of the viscount’s accident. Pausing on her way out, Angelica asked her employer if there was anything he wished.

  “Yes,” he said with a touch of his former bitterness, “but that does not mean I will be granted it.”

  This enigmatic reply halted Angelica in her tracks and she raised questioning brows, but a knock on the door prevented a reply, if indeed there were any replies possible.

  Lord Robert entered unannounced. He greeted Angelica with a smiling, “Your servant, ma’am,” and turned to his friend. “Giles, I know how much you dislike an evening at Almack’s, but is not this going a bit far to avoid it?” He indicated the bandaged ankle with a grin. “Tell me, was it all very heroic? Did you rescue a child from under the wheels of a speeding carriage?”

  “Damn your eyes, Robert,” said the viscount bluntly, but with a reluctant smile. “I stepped on something, wrenching the curst ankle, then fell down the stairs and gave it the coup de grace.”

  “Cawker!” Lord Robert subsided, laughing, onto the green chair, while Angelica hastily made her exit from the room.

  The viscount’s eyes followed her flight and lingered on the closed door for a moment. The rueful smile reappeared.

  “Damn you, Robert. Now I shall have to apologize for using language unfit for a lady’s ears.”

  “Oh, no, I shouldn’t think so. She seems a good sort of girl — not one to take a pet over trifles.”

  His friend eyed him thoughtfully for a moment then changed the subject. “Robert, will you escort Barbara and Caroline to Almack’s tonight?”

  There was an exaggerated sigh from the depths of the green chair. “This is what comes of saying I’d do a lot for you, old chap. Right away you set out to test me. What can I say but that I am entirely at your service — or rather at Lady Barbara’s.” He rose and executed a most elegant bow which deserved a more appreciative audience as the viscount told him dryly:

  “Stay and dine if you like. They are sending some pap in to me, but I’m sure Aunt Minerva and the girls would be glad of your company.”

  “Thank you, but Mrs. Morris has been baking all day in anticipation of your visit, and I’d best provide her with at least one diner if I’m not to be punished with burnt meat for a week. Besides, it will take time to make myself elegant enough to be a fit escort for the beauteous Barbara.” He smiled innocently into the viscount’s suddenly narrowed gaze and took his leave after warning his friend to obey the doctor.

  The occupants of the dining room were rather subdued that evening. Lydia was quieter than usual, and Lady Orbridge was rather concerned for her nephew. By the time she had dressed for dinner and gone to satisfy herself that Giles was being adequately looked after, he had drunk some broth and eaten some ham but appeared drawn and exhausted. On being asked whether the doctor had left anything for the pain, her nephew had replied curtly that he didn’t need anything and refused to quack himself. The ensuing argument had done nothing to improve her temper, and she confided to Angelica that men were all totally stupid when it came to their health. She then went on to enumerate at some length the various occasions on which the late Lord Orbridge had failed to follow his doctor’s advice. Angelica, who was feeling quite enervated by the onslaught to her emotions of two frightening events in one day, talked to her soothingly and promised to see that the viscount swallowed the powders left by the doctor. After dinner, she took her courage in hand and rapped on the library door.

  The viscount had a book in his hands, but one look at his tired, set face told her he was too uncomfortable to concentrate. His “Well, Miss Wayne?” in forbidding accents would have been completely daunting in other circumstances, but she raised her chin just that trifle and looked steadily at her employer while inquiring politely if he had taken the medication.

  He replied shortly that he had not, and again took up the book he had lowered at her approach as if that closed the conversation.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord, but the doctor specifically delegated to me the responsibility of fixing your medication, so if you will show me the powders, I will prepare them for you now.”

  “You may prepare anything you choose, Miss Wayne, but I refuse to take drugs I do not need.”

  “Please, my lord, I don’t wish to tease you, but how shall I face the doctor tomorrow and tell him I failed to carry out his orders?”

  His lips thinned still further. “You may tell him you take orders from me, and I ordered you to throw the powders out.”

  From her downcast eyes to the lovely hands clasped together in front of her, she was the picture of meek submission. Her voice was faintly mournful. “Of course, my lord, I realize as your ser— as a member of your household staff it is not my place to make suggestions. I am very sorry.”

  At his indrawn breath Angelica knew she had gone too far, and she had to fight an almost uncontrollable urge to dash out of the room so she would not have to face the contempt in his eyes. Her heart was thumping madly and the clasped hands were no longer a pose; her knuckles were white.

  After an interval that seemed an
eternity, the viscount said coldly, “And well you should look terrified. How dare you accuse me of treating you like a servant!” Each word was enunciated clearly and fell like a distinct chip of ice.

  Now she did look at him. “I am truly sorry, my lord. I did not mean that.” The words tumbled out in her haste to blot out what she had said. “It is just that I would have tried anything to get you to take the medicine. Please, my lord.” The strain of the long, emotionally charged day was beginning to tell on Angelica. She kept her head up but her eyelids half closed to conceal the tears that threatened to fall. She could not know the devastating effect of her slim figure taut with fatigue and her proudly carried head on her employer, but he capitulated abruptly.

  “Oh, get the curst draught ready if you must. Then get yourself to bed before you collapse.”

  She could not trust her voice but silently prepared the doctor’s prescription and handed it to him with a hand that she willed to steadiness. He drank it in equal silence. The only sounds in the room were the crackling hiss from the fireplace and the suddenly loud ticking of the silver mantel clock.

  The viscount handed her the empty glass. “Will you please send Murdock to me?” There was no emotion in the quiet voice, but Angelica longed to smooth the furrowed brow with her hand. She clenched the hand into a fist and replied softly, “Of course, my lord. Goodnight, sleep well.”

  She went swiftly from the room, grateful that the day would soon be ending, but her steps slowed on the stairs and it was a physical effort to maintain a steady pace. Within five minutes of sending the valet to his master, she was climbing into her bed without even unpinning her hair.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The household settled into a new rhythm with the viscount’s injury. Even the day after the accident, when he was still experiencing considerable pain, he insisted on being downstairs, choosing to spend the day in the library. Angelica was relieved that she had not had to witness his descent, leaning heavily on Matthew’s strong arm because she had a fair idea of what his stubbornness had cost him. Fortunately for his recovery, there had been no callers that first day and the doctor saw to it that his patient spent most of the day sleeping.

  The news of the accident spread among his cronies soon enough, and on the following day his enforced solitude was relieved by visits from several of his friends.

  Each day after her rest Jenny would race to visit her father, and Angelica was happy to observe that these visits pleased him immensely. He enjoyed hearing about her lessons, though his black brows escalated on hearing her recapitulation of the Battle of Waterloo. He politely requested to see some evidence of her needlework and sketching, to Angelica’s amusement. Jenny, blossoming like a flower in the warmth of his interest, began to apply herself to her lessons with an earnestness that was touching. If her father were working or reading, she would bring some sewing or drawing materials to the library and work contentedly alongside him. His pleasure in her company was genuine, and as father and daughter drew closer together, Angelica became convinced that there was no longer any necessity for her to speak to the viscount about his fear of spoiling the child. It must be apparent to the meanest intelligence that Jenny yearned to please him and eagerly sought his approval. He could not fail to see that she possessed consideration for others also. Jenny was indeed full of energy and high spirits, but any danger of her growing up narcissistic or wilful was remote.

  The viscount insisted on dining en famille and enjoyed hearing Lydia’s accounts of the mild social activities and shopping excursions of her day. To Angelica he was unfailingly courteous, but there was again a slight shade of reserve in his manner. She told herself that this was precisely the tone she wanted in their relationship. She had been acutely uncomfortable on the two or three occasions when he had seemed to forget for the moment that he was her employer. After all, they could never be friends because of the difference in their stations, and since he was soon to be married, it was imperative that they continue on a formal basis. Angelica had no illusions as to her own position when Lady Barbara became the mistress of the viscount’s establishment. She would be permanently relegated to the schoolroom. She told herself reasonably that that was exactly the situation she had expected when she had accepted employment in a nobleman’s household. It was nonsensical to be sunk in some ridiculous melancholy simply because her horizons had expanded for a brief time. Since she was a reasonable girl, she preserved her air of calm serenity, but it cost her something to do so.

  Lord Robert managed to spare his friend some time almost every day. When the viscount had ventured to thank him for acting as escort to Lady Barbara at Almack’s, Robert had cheerfully brushed aside his thanks.

  “But I am grateful, Robert.”

  “No need to be, old chap, because I did not really act as deputy. That fellow Haring was there already for dinner. I gather he’s some sort of connection to the earl — seemed as thick as thieves anyway. Well the long and short of it is, when I explained about your ankle and offered my services, damned if the fellow didn’t jump in and insist that he couldn’t let me sacrifice my plans for the evening when he was already in knee breeches. Well, he had a point of course. I had stopped off before going home to change.”

  Giles expressed mild interest in the outcome.

  “Well, naturally I was not going to retreat and leave the field to that man-milliner. Told Barbara I’d be back in an hour. And I was,” he finished triumphantly. “Never dressed so fast in my life.”

  Giles sighed and, eyeing his friend’s brightly patterned waistcoat, asked what offended Robert about Sir Anthony’s style.

  “You must know Weston never made his coats, nor Stultz either. All that shoulder padding, waist so tight he could barely breathe, and lord, Giles, the buttons were as big as saucers. Fellow’s a curst dandy. Good seat though. Saw him on a nice bit of horseflesh in the park yesterday.”

  “Alone?”

  “No, Barbara and Caroline were with him. Well, stands to reason — family connection and all.”

  A little smile appeared on the viscount’s lips. “Barbara sent me a letter commiserating about the ankle. She was all apologies for not being able to come to see me immediately — the pressure of previous commitments.”

  Lord Robert eyed him speculatively. “You don’t seem particularly worried,” he suggested when his friend made no further comment.

  “Oh, but I am, Robert.” And now there was a rather bleak expression in the dark eyes, but he swiftly changed the subject to the upcoming races.

  If Lord Robert had no other plans for the evening, he would stay for dinner and repay his host by losing to him at piquet, but he was usually engaged with friends, and the time after dinner hung rather heavily on the viscount’s hands.

  One evening almost a sennight after the accident, he joined the ladies in the small drawing room after drinking his port in lonely splendour. Lydia was playing softly on the pianoforte while Angelica worked on a piece of needlepoint. Aunt Minerva had dined in her rooms that evening, not having felt up to the task of manoeuvring herself to and from the dining room and enduring the discomfort of a formal dinner.

  He hobbled in, leaning on a stick, and lowered his large frame into a cane-seated chair. When Angelica suggested he would be more comfortable in the deep wing chair by the fireplace, he shook his head, saying he preferred a chair easier to rise from. She looked faintly surprised but continued sewing. He made no attempts at conversation and she assumed he was enjoying the Mozart that Lydia was playing. Glancing up after a time, she was a bit embarrassed to find his eyes fixed on her hands, until she realized his thoughts were elsewhere. She returned her attention to her work, but he had caught her regard, and shaking off his mood of abstraction, asked her abruptly if she played piquet.

  “Yes, my lord. Billy taught me.”

  “Billy Wroxham is the world’s worst cardplayer.”

  “Too true, my lord,” she answered serenely. “He owes me in the neighbourhood of two million pounds.�
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  The viscount’s face lighted with pure mischief. He laughed and said gaily: “That sounds remarkably like a challenge to me, Miss Wayne. Surely you will not refuse to let me pit my skill against so successful a player?”

  “Of course I will play you if you would like it, my lord.”

  “Why are you studying me so intently? Trying to guess whether or not I shall fleece you? Naturally, we shall play for the same stakes you and Billy play for.”

  “I beg pardon for staring, my lord. It was just that I suddenly recognized you. Really for the first time.”

  He looked puzzled. When she realized what she had just blurted out impulsively, she was overcome with embarrassment, and rising quickly, went to get the cards.

  She was quite composed when she returned, but as they settled at a table to begin play, he returned to her unfortunate remark. “What did you mean a moment ago, when you said you recognized me for the first time?”

  “It was a foolish remark. Please forget it.”

  “No, I would like an answer and a truthful one, please.”

  He is quite relentless, she thought resentfully, but answered truthfully as always: “It was just a passing fancy, my lord. Something in your face momentarily — a carefree expression perhaps — put me forcibly in mind of the way you looked when I first met you ten years ago.”

  He smiled into her eyes. “Do you know, Miss Wayne, that is probably the nicest thing you have ever said to me. Especially since I have it on your own admission that you were madly in love with me ten years ago.”

  She stared at him in frozen horror. As her lips parted indignantly, he went on in the same teasing voice, “I think one compliment deserves another, so I shall tell you that you are not at all as I remember you ten years ago. Now shall we play cards?”

  She was more than willing to abandon any personal discussion, and since she had a fondness for card games, especially piquet, settled down for an enjoyable evening. And despite the fact that it was perfectly evident before the second rubber that the viscount was the superior player, she did enjoy the game. Once when the luck was strongly favouring her, she won a rubber, and on another occasion drew out a rubber to three games, but there was little doubt as to the eventual outcome. Like many women, she gambled on slim odds with the inevitable results. Nor did she possess the ability to read her opponent’s hand as the viscount clearly did. It was certainly frustrating to find herself more than once robbed of a pique. She had the true gamester’s faith in the swing of fortune moreover, and scarcely noticed when Lydia bade them a laughing goodnight, so intent was she on gaining her revenge. Shortly afterward, she glanced up to find the viscount’s eyes fixed on her with amusement and something else she could not define in their dark depths. It brought her out of her gamester’s reverie and she raised her brows questioningly.