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

by Dorothy Mack

  “I see young Jenny is aux anges to be in company,” he commented to her after noticing the rapt expression on the little girl’s face as she listened to the conversation between her aunt and Lady Caroline.

  Angelica looked fondly at her charge. “Yes, she is rather lonely in London, poor child. She is rarely invited anywhere. If her mother were alive, no doubt she would have friends who would call with their children, but alas, Lady Orbridge’s callers are mostly elderly; consequently, Jenny sees very few people beyond her immediate family.”

  “Well,” he said, eyeing the engaged couple, “Giles’s marriage should improve that situation anyway.”

  Following his glance to where Lady Barbara was still exercising her charm for the viscount’s sole benefit, she had the impression that Lord Robert’s expression was one of relief. Recollecting that this was Barbara’s first visit to her betrothed since his accident, she could not help wondering if perhaps the girl had been encouraging Sir Anthony’s attentions in the absence of her fiancé. She longed to ask Lord Robert, but of course that was impossible. She could not gossip about her employer’s fiancée to his friend.

  She murmured a conventional response to Lord Robert’s remark and changed the subject. It was with a sense of relief that she saw the countess gather her daughters and take her leave, accompanied by Sir Anthony. She wondered if the viscount had noticed the latter’s lovelorn expression earlier, but dismissed the thought since his attitude was quite noticeably cordial to the younger man while farewells were said. Somehow, she could not picture the viscount as complacent in the face of a threat to what was his. Her instinct told her he would be a possessive husband.

  As Angelica left the room to shepherd Jenny back upstairs, she heard her employer ask Lord Robert to stay for an informal dinner. The door closed behind Lydia, who went off to tell Aunt Minerva about the tea party.

  There was a companionable silence in the drawing room as Giles refilled Robert’s and his own glass. He eyed his friend thoughtfully for a moment, then said abruptly, “Am I correct in assuming that young Haring has been very attentive to Barbara of late?”

  Lord Robert stirred uncomfortably in his chair. “He’s a friend of the family,” he replied evasively. “Can’t refuse him the door, you know.”

  “Ah, quite. And from something the countess said, I gather that you have given them the pleasure of your company frequently, my dear Robert.” The straight black brows rose inquiringly.

  Robert looked even more uncomfortable. “Thought you would be glad to have me act as escort for you whenever possible. Very happy to oblige.” His eyes fell before the viscount’s speculative gaze, and he stared down at the amber liquid he was absentmindedly swirling sluggishly in his glass.

  “I am indeed grateful to you for your good intentions, but, Robert…” There was a pause, and Lord Robert looked up and met his friend’s eyes inquiringly. The viscount continued in very gentle tones, “If you wish to aid me, Robert, then please cease your present efforts on my behalf.”

  This time, the quality of the silence in the room was tense with portent. Expressions of blank surprise, doubt and sudden comprehension chased themselves across Lord Robert’s pleasant countenance. In contrast, the viscount’s face was devoid of expression.

  At last Robert spoke. “So that’s it, is it?”

  “As you say,” said the viscount dryly. “Now, shall we have a hand or two of piquet before dinner?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The next few days passed without leaving any impression on Angelica, who went through the motions of daily living like a sleepwalker. If challenged, she could not have described what she was wearing without looking down, nor recalled the last mouthful of food she had swallowed. In her state of numbed misery, everything was grey and all food tasted of sawdust. Only in the classroom with Jenny did she come to life, for Jenny’s affection soothed away pain like a warm bath. In Jenny’s company, her tired brain ceased pondering ways to escape from her present situation. The child’s attitude toward her studies had improved somewhat, and this was indeed a source of satisfaction to Angelica because arousing Jenny’s interest demanded all her ingenuity and patience. The deepening warmth and intimacy between the viscount and his little daughter since his accident was another cause for gratification. She knew she should remain for Jenny’s sake, and during the peaceful hours in the schoolroom, her troubled heart would agree that this was the best course to pursue. Certainly in time she would be able to subdue the wild longing for the warmth of his rare smile directed solely toward herself. Everyone knew that time healed all hurts, and there must come a day when she could face him with a true serenity, not the stiff mask of indifference she had donned desperately to hide her inner turbulence.

  Unfortunately, victories achieved in the calm of the schoolroom faltered in the arena that was the dinner table. In the presence of the cool formality the viscount had assumed since their evening of piquet, her hard-won peace of mind disintegrated like a burned-out log at the blow of the poker. The viscount did not suggest another evening of card play. Within two days of his fiancée’s visit, he had begun to take up his normal routine, although he carried a walking stick when he left the house.

  In her unhappiness, Angelica could not have honestly said whether his frequent absence from the house helped or hindered her own search for tranquillity. She was miserable in his presence where his indifference acted like a whip on an open wound, and she had to exercise her own self-control to the limit to present a picture of like indifference. In his absence, she slipped into a numbed state which demanded almost as great an effort to disguise from the keen eyes of his sister and his aunt. The singular result of either situation was an emotional fatigue which welcomed bedtime while not succumbing to rest.

  Lydia, totally immersed in plans for her ball, made no comments on her companion’s unusual quietness, but Lady Orbridge had no all-entrancing project to blind her. She told Angelica frankly that she looked like death and asked the reason for the shadows under her eyes. Angelica’s stumbling explanation involving headaches from sewing and restless nights resulting from the headaches left her sceptical and watchful.

  On Angelica herself, the watchfulness had a salutary effect. She was filled with self-loathing at her own weakness and made a more determined effort to find enjoyment and satisfaction in the ordinary daily contacts. She had reached the nadir, and helped by Lydia’s bubbling happiness, she began to take a greater interest in present affairs. Heading for Lydia’s room to look through some recent fashion journals, she became aware of the sounds of hammering behind closed doors. She frowned suddenly in concentration. This was not the first time she had been dimly aware of unusual activity going on in the house during the past week, but her self-absorbed state had precluded curiosity. Now she was intrigued, and after being bidden to enter by Lydia, asked frankly, ‘“What are all these strange sounds on this floor?”

  Lydia, curled up on a blue settee in an attitude that would have brought instant wrath upon her head if seen by Lady Orbridge, looked startled. “You cannot mean that you are unaware of the alterations in progress, Angel. Why, the house has been a veritable beehive of activity for a sennight or more.” Her eyes widened in frank incredulity as Angelica stood there silently, too embarrassed for the moment to speak.

  “I… I must have been too involved with Jenny’s lessons of late to have taken much notice,” she stammered, rather inadequately to judge by the sudden gleam of speculation in the younger girl’s eyes.

  “Well, it is simple enough, really,” said Lydia carelessly, though her slightly narrowed gaze did not waver from Angelica’s face. “Her ladyship’s rooms are being prepared.”

  At first, Angelica missed the implication in the dry tone. “Lady Orbridge?” she questioned with a faint crease between her brows. “But … but I thought … oh!” The realization rippled along her nerves in a shock wave. Lydia sat very still watching her, and Angelica forced a smile, saying with brittle gaiety, “How very stupid of
me, to be sure. Lady Barbara’s rooms, of course. The wedding must be quite soon now.”

  Lydia released a little breath and uncoiled gracefully from the settee. “Yes, it’s only ten days or so now. Come, I will show you her rooms. Giles said they are practically finished.” She stepped toward the door, but Angelica felt almost a physical repugnance at the thought of examining the rooms being readied for another woman. “No,” she said sharply, and then regulating her voice with difficulty, continued, “Please, Lydia, it is not my place to be shown Lady Barbara’s rooms, especially if she has not seen them herself.”

  “Nonsense,” was the brisk reply. “Why should not you and I look in to see how the alterations are coming along? We have had to put up with the noise and inconvenience, and the rooms are not out of bounds like a seraglio.”

  “Lydia,” breathed Angelica, slightly shocked as she often was by this knowledgeable girl, but she followed her obediently, her initial reluctance overcome by a masochistic need to prove to herself again that she did not belong here.

  After the briefest of knocks, Lydia opened the door to a beautifully proportioned apartment furnished as a sitting room. The early afternoon sunshine streaming through two large windows opposite the door dazzled their eyes momentarily, producing the illusion that they had stepped into a golden chamber. Both girls drew in their breath in involuntary admiration. The room they were in was not made of gold, but the pale yellow walls and ceiling, whose simple cornice and dado were painted white, took on golden life from the sun. The effect was heightened by a deep gold carpet patterned with a tracery of acanthus leaves in green. The white marble fireplace was exquisitely inlaid with green and rose marble representing flowers and ivy leaves. The only ornaments on the mantelpiece were two green and white Wedgwood vases, but the French-style mirror of carved gilt and pine-wood above the mantel supported candleholders in its elaborate frame.

  Angelica’s eyes were still upon the beautiful chimneypiece when Lydia tugged at her sleeve and said almost reverently, “Look, Angel, Giles has had that beautiful fabric which covers the sofas placed on the walls under the dado. Isn’t it rich-looking?”

  Indeed, Angelica felt no hesitation in agreeing that the cream-colored brocade printed with roses varying in tint from pale yellow to deepest amber gave a sumptuous appearance to the room. The green in the carpet and fireplace ornaments was repeated in the velvet fabric covering two comfortable-looking wing chairs by the fireplace. One was on a smaller scale than the other, and a lovely rosewood worktable nearby proclaimed it a woman’s chair. Other chairs of painted and gilt beechwood had cane seats. Filmy yellow curtains at the windows were drawn back with draperies of the same patterned brocade.

  Angelica could not suppress a gasp of delight as her eyes followed the sun’s rays to a handsome, glass-fronted rosewood cabinet whose shelves were displaying a collection of ivory and jade figures and boxes.

  “How exquisitely beautiful,” she whispered to Lydia. “They must be worth a fortune.”

  “They are,” said the young girl calmly. “My father and grandfather acquired most of them, but Giles has added several pieces. They will be wasted on Barbara, though. She prefers fans or jewels to ornament her beautiful person.”

  At the mention of the future mistress of the viscount’s establishment, Angelica’s delight in the beauty of the sitting room evaporated instantly. “Perhaps we had best leave now,” she suggested soberly.

  “Not until we have seen the bedroom,” said Lydia, scandalized. “Surely you are not so lacking in the feminine trait of curiosity as that, Angel?”

  Angelica smiled reluctantly and accompanied Lydia to a door on the fireplace wall from which issued an occasional burst of hammering. They opened it, expecting to see work in progress, and were simultaneously halted in their advance by the beauty of a completed room. Where the sitting room enveloped one in the warmth of its golden glow, the bedroom was all cool, shimmering green and silver. The ceiling and frieze here were slightly more elaborately decorated with lovely oval and circular designs in stucco painted white against a misty green background. This green was echoed in the silk wall covering of the wall behind the bed. The other walls were papered in green and silver stripes. The wainscot below the dado rail was painted white also. Not that the girls realized the details of the composition until later. Their eyes were irresistibly drawn to the large bed with its diaphanous hangings patterned with tiny, rose-coloured flowers.

  “Angel, is it actually silver?” Lydia almost gasped at the beautiful shell-shaped canopy from which the hangings draped gracefully, tied to the carved posts at the foot of the bed.

  “It can’t be,” said Angelica as the two girls approached for a closer look at the shining canopy.

  “Begging your ladyships’ pardon, but it certainly is silver.”

  The girls spun around at the hoarse voice and discovered its owner to be a burly workman. He had previously been hidden by the huge japanned wardrobe beside which he had just finished hanging a painting.

  “His lordship himself told me it’s silver, come from France, it has.” He smiled proudly at them, accepting their homage personally.

  The girls dutifully expressed their admiration as he pointed out the beautifully inlaid dressing table with its sparkling crystal and silver fittings and the silver-framed mirrors. In this room, all the candelabra were also of silver. They gleamed against mahogany tables and atop an elaborately carved rosewood candlestand. Small chairs with rose-coloured velvet seats and oval backs provided the only colour accent other than green. Angelica noticed that the handsome carpet, whose white designs echoed those in the ceiling, also had a rose-coloured background. She wondered idly if the ceiling had originally been painted rose and thought privately that this would surely be a more becoming background for Lady Barbara’s brunette beauty. For her own taste, however, she could not imagine a lovelier setting.

  Lydia glanced at her friend and said with some surprise, “Do you know, Angel, your eyes exactly match the misty green colour which Giles had used so extensively in this room?”

  Angelica’s eyes were fixed blindly on the door which she knew must lead to the viscount’s rooms. Bruised and tormented by the idea of Lady Barbara occupying this lovely suite, she made no answer, but Lydia had not seemed to expect one. After agreeing with the workman that the charming portrait of Lydia’s grandmother elaborately gowned in the style of sixty years past was just at the right height, the two girls took their leave.

  “Well,” said Lydia the moment the sitting room door had been carefully shut behind them, “I must say I am greatly impressed. Those rooms are sumptuous enough to please even Barbara. Though I am strongly of the opinion that she will immediately remove the long table and install another wardrobe.”

  “But there are two enormous wardrobes in the room already,” protested Angelica faintly.

  “I’ll wager you a pony on the outcome,” Lydia offered, grinning impishly up at her friend.

  At dinner that evening, Lydia bubbled over with enthusiasm in her description of the rooms to an interested Aunt Minerva. Angelica’s normally pale countenance was faintly tinged with pink as she felt the viscount’s penetrating gaze upon her, but she feigned absorption in Lydia’s remarks and kept her own eyes averted in the dim hope that he would allow the subject to drop. However, this hope, never very strong, died almost at birth as a quiet, deep voice said, “And you, Miss Wayne, do you feel the rooms will be suitable for the use of the future Lady Desmond?”

  The mockery in his tone burned her, but she raised her eyes and returned his stare unblinkingly. “I think they are the loveliest rooms I have ever seen, my lord,” she answered with quiet dignity, hoping desperately that he would not sense her deep unhappiness. For she had decided that not even for Jenny’s sake could she remain in this house bearing daily witness to the fact that her heart’s desire was forever unattainable.

  “I am happy they meet with your approval,” he said, and this time there were no undertones in the grav
e voice, but there was a questioning look in the almost black eyes that puzzled her. It was with relief that she turned to reply to a remark made by Lady Orbridge.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Angelica dressed with exceptional care the following morning in the green gown which she knew most flattered her colouring. She took extra time winding her hair and pinning it securely. Unaware that there was a faintly haunted look about her eyes, she merely noted with bleak satisfaction that a good night’s sleep had erased the shadows under them. For, surprisingly, once her decision was taken, she had been able to sleep deeply. Now she was preparing to act on this decision and gained confidence from the knowledge that she appeared serene and cool. It was imperative that she present her decision in a reasonable and matter-of-fact manner. Her pride revolted at the thought that the viscount might guess that she was not indifferent to him, and there had been occasions when his penetrating stare had almost put her out of countenance. Faint alarm had tingled through her body at these moments. She was conscious of struggling against an almost hypnotic magnetism. Alternating with periods of brutal indifference on his part, it was not surprising that she was no longer easy in his presence as she had been for a brief, pleasant interval during their acquaintance.

  Fortunately, she had had a letter from Billy that week stating that his wife was increasing and feeling most unwell. He had not suggested that Angelica come home, merely mentioning that Charlotte was finding it difficult to carry out her duties in managing the household. Angelica was aware that this was likely to be a temporary situation, but she seized upon it as her reason for leaving the viscount’s establishment and was fully prepared to embellish the truth to the degree necessary to convince him of the urgency of her immediate departure.

  Casting one last glance in the glass, she gathered her courage in hand and proceeded to breakfast. As she had hoped, the viscount was present and, after wishing him and Lydia good morning, she politely requested a few moments of his time at his convenience.