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

by Dorothy Mack

  “Hullo, Angel.” His voice was a husky, throbbing whisper.

  As her wondering eyes flew to his, he bent his head and his lips descended on hers. It was a deliberate kiss, gentle but searching, and after the initial shock Angelica’s lips warmed and came alive under his. Careful chaperonage had effectively curtailed any inclinations she might have had toward flirtation back in her salad days. This first instance of a man’s lips on her own was therefore an unnerving experience. If his brief kiss on her wrist had once caused a burning sensation along her arm, this one sent flames shooting through her whole body, and she was trembling slightly when at last he drew back and tucked her shaking hand firmly under his arm. The sound of his soft, triumphant laugh roused her from absorption in her physical sensations. She raised dazed eyes then swiftly dropped them from his smiling gaze. No one could have called her a pale girl at that moment, for her face was suffused with colour. Forced to wait while her train was arranged, she struggled for composure, and it was a moment before she could overcome her confusion and smile up at him shyly.

  “If you smile at me like that, I shall have to kiss you again,” he murmured in her ear, but this time in the teasing tone she knew well. His return to normalcy helped her rally her forces, and she tossed him a rather impudent smile as they started down the long aisle.

  “What, and shock Polite Society yet again?”

  He grinned boyishly. “Don’t tempt me, madam wife.”

  She gave a little gasp at that and decided to behave more circumspectly.

  They passed along the pews filled with well-dressed, smiling people, but the only face to impress itself upon Angelica’s senses was Annie’s, wet with tears of joy for her nursling.

  The hours of the reception passed slowly, leaving little impression on her consciousness… She smiled and received congratulations from a seemingly endless line of guests, many of them unknown to her. It was possible she ate something, and she vaguely remembered Lord Robert as groomsman proposing a toast. She remembered Jenny flitting like a pink and silver butterfly among her many distant relatives, and days later she recalled that she must speak to Lydia about allowing herself to be drawn apart for the purpose of flirtation. All the while the top of her mind and her tongue were dealing with the passing scene, the rest of her brain was re-examining the magic moment in the cathedral when Giles had kissed her. For a certainty it had been no token kiss to seal the contract publicly, but just what had it meant to him? For herself, she was honest enough to admit it had been a shattering experience and one she greatly wished repeated. But for Giles? She was not such an innocent as to be unaware that gentlemen were capable of making love to women for whom they felt no real affection, and after that kiss she had no doubts that Giles would be a charming lover. Did it mean he intended to make love to her in spite of declaring he would make no demands on her? And if it did indeed mean that, could she bear to share his favours with the woman known to be his mistress, the dashing Mrs. Marberry whom she had met briefly at an assembly?

  The answer to this was a resounding “No!” Her whole being rebelled at the idea. At this stage in her unpleasant musings, it was forcibly borne in on her that the kiss may well have been merely the impulse of the moment. Somehow, she failed to derive any degree of comfort from this possibility either. What she desperately wished to believe was that he might be coming to care for her, but she was not given to self-delusion, and Giles had flatly declared he could never fall in love again.

  The effort of smiling and being polite to a horde of people while her brain reeled with self-torturing conjectures was having the effect of bringing on a pounding headache. She grew more silent; the rosy glow that had lingered briefly after the ceremony had faded, leaving her paler than normal.

  A group changed positions, revealing a glimpse of Lydia animatedly chattering away, looking cool and vibrant. Angelica closed her own eyes, wearily wondering from what source Lydia derived her boundless energy. Unobtrusively, she lifted a cold glass to her throbbing temple for the momentary soothing of its cool, smooth touch. Giles spotted the action and excused himself from a conversation. She did not notice his approach and jumped nervously when he spoke.

  “My dear, you look utterly fatigued. I am going to insist that you rest for a couple of hours.”

  “Oh, but I cannot leave our guests, Giles. Don’t worry about me. Surely they will not be staying much longer. I shall manage.”

  “Some of them will remain as long as the champagne holds out,” he answered dryly. “But you will not be among them. Come.” He held out an imperative hand, and after a brief hesitation she took it and allowed herself to be led upstairs to the beautiful suite which was now hers. He left her at the door to the sitting room.

  “I’ll leave you in Annie’s capable hands. You must rest until dinner, which will be served here à deux.” A tiny quirk of his lips held her fascinated gaze, and she was barely aware that he had raised her hand to his mouth briefly. “Until then, ciao, cara.”

  Her eyes flashed to his, then an answering gleam of mischief glinted in them, echoed by the elusive dimple as she grinned delightedly. “You are full of surprises, Giles,” she murmured demurely.

  His grin out-devilled hers, and she entered her apartment smiling to herself. Annie came bustling out of the bedroom and assisted in removing the lovely wedding dress. In very few minutes she was tucked into bed and fell asleep instantly.

  She had to be roused by Annie in time to dress for dinner with Giles. She had slept deeply and awoke refreshed and incredibly cheerful. It must have been fatigue and nerves that had brought on that fit of depression during the reception. Giles might not love her in the romantic sense, but she was quite sure he liked her and enjoyed her company. Surely that was an adequate beginning to their marriage. If his kiss had upset her and caused her to wonder about his further intentions, she must blame her inexperience. After all, he had said he would make no demands on her, and Giles was a man of his word. Much as she loved him, she would resist any attempt to turn this marriage in name only into a real one until she could be sure he loved her also. And if he never did grow to love her? That nagging worry was pushed firmly out of her mind. This was her wedding day, and she intended to enjoy her wedding supper with her bridegroom.

  She more than enjoyed it. Giles was charming company, and the chef had outdone himself in producing delectable dishes to tempt a lady’s appetite. In any event, Angelica’s did not need tempting — she was ravenous and made an excellent meal. Giles eyed the depredations she was making on a dish of comfits and remarked that she had certainly made a complete recovery from her indisposition of a few hours ago.

  She grinned at him cheekily. “Getting married must be hungry work. I cannot recall what I ate today, but I was famished tonight.”

  “You ate practically nothing at the reception. It was perhaps fortunate that you drank next to nothing as well, or I fear you would have been ill.”

  “Well, thank heavens it is over. Now we can turn our attention to Lydia’s ball. I have been meaning to ask you if you would object to it if I tried to turn the ballroom into a garden. It would be rather costly I’m afraid, but think how lovely would be the effect of flowers and small trees everywhere. It would certainly…” She broke off as she noticed his darkened expression. “If it would be too extravagant coming so soon after the wedding, you must say so, of course.” She eyed him uncertainly.

  He made an impatient gesture with his hand. “You may buy every flower in London if you choose. I had thought every woman looked forward to her wedding day. You sound relieved that it is over.” There was a curious stillness in his regard, although face and voice were expressionless as he waited for a reply.

  Angelica blinked in surprise. “Oh, but in the circumstances of course it was an ordeal for both of us surely? You must be equally relieved to have it behind you.” Her eyes, more grey than green tonight, were faintly puzzled as she noted the taut line of his mouth.

  “May I inquire what circumstances c
ontributed to making your wedding an ordeal to be endured?”

  And now Angelica was experiencing anger at his careful civility and embarrassment that he should pretend obtuseness.

  “Well, it is no great thing to be a last-minute substitute bride in the eyes of one’s acquaintances,” she retorted and was instantly contrite. Once before, she had seen a flame of anger leap into his eyes and, as then, she felt utterly incapable of dealing with it.

  Now he rose impetuously from the chair, but his voice was quiet, dangerously so. “Never let me hear you say that again. You are not a substitute — you are the wife I have chosen. I regret exceedingly that your wedding should have proved such an ordeal. I will do my best possible to shorten the length of the ordeal by bidding you goodnight, ma’am.” He bowed stiffly and walked rapidly to the door.

  Angelica recovered enough from the lash of his words to cry out penitently, “Giles, don’t go. Please, my dear, do not let us have harsh words on the first day of our marriage.”

  She, too, rose and went toward the silent figure standing with his back to her at the door. She placed an imploring hand on his arm and continued softly, “I’m sorry, Giles. Please try to understand how I felt about the public part of our wedding, and believe I don’t find it an ordeal to be married to you. We have been good friends. Don’t let us start off on the wrong foot.”

  He turned at her touch. The anger had died out of his eyes and he regarded her sombrely. “Forgive me for losing my temper. Yes, we have been good friends and we shall continue.” He took both her hands in his and raised them in turn to his lips. With an effort he summoned up a smile. “Goodnight, my dear. You are going to have a very busy time for the next few days getting Lydia launched. Get as much rest as possible.”

  He opened the door and was gone on her whispered, “Goodnight,” leaving her relieved at the avoidance of what would have been their first quarrel, but strangely disappointed. She was totally unsuccessful in banishing speculation as to what might have happened if she had not hurt him by referring to their wedding as an ordeal.

  Thankfully, Annie was not expecting to get her ready for bed on her wedding night. Walking wearily into the beautiful green and silver room, she grimaced at the sight of the sea-green cloud of diaphanous material that Annie had considered appropriate for the bride to wear. Uncaringly she pulled the pins from her hair and tossed them on the dressing table. Methodically she removed the deep rose velvet gown Giles had admired at the start of their dinner and donned the revealing nightgown, climbing tiredly into the huge bed which she would share with no one on her wedding night.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The remaining days to Lydia’s ball passed swiftly. Angelica and Lydia were immersed in last-minute details. There were conferences with the florist, the caterer, the chef; final fittings for their gowns; a mad search for just the right shade of gloves for Lydia and innumerable lists to check kept the two girls constantly busy. Giles was not much in evidence except in the evenings, but he was friendly and cheerful. There were no more private dinners, but he seemed content in her company, and for her part her heart lurched uncomfortably each time he entered the room. True to her promise, Angelica welcomed Jenny each morning to share a cup of chocolate and all the latest happenings. Sometimes Jenny crawled into the big bed and snuggled down under the covers with her new mother, but if Angelica was dressed early, they shared their chocolate at a small table in the gold sitting room. Jenny adored this room and especially loved the beautiful collection of ivory and jade figurines. The child had a real appreciation for beauty, and Angelica delighted in the increasingly warm relationship with her. Jenny loved her; perhaps in time Jenny’s father would come to do likewise.

  Only in the lonely nights did she have a chance to dwell hopefully on her future as Giles’s wife. The days were crammed too full for wishful thinking.

  At Giles’s request, Angelica’s ball gown had been made up in emerald-green lace over white satin. He liked to see her in green, and Angelica was only too happy to oblige him. The admiration in his eyes when she had taken particular pains over her appearance was deeply gratifying.

  On the night of the ball, as Annie was finishing with her hair, there was a knock on the door connecting her room with Giles’s. It was the first time he had sought admittance to her boudoir, and it was with a voice suddenly gone shaky that she bade him enter.

  He paused briefly just inside the doorway and let his eyes roam over the beautifully appointed room. They stopped at a small frame standing on the table beside the silver bed. Angelica watched in some surprise as he strode over and picked up the miniature.

  “This is your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  He studied the likeness intently, noting the radiant green eyes and the single enticing dimple near the smiling lips.

  “You are very like her when you smile.”

  This comment brought a remarkably similar smile to the lips of the flesh and blood woman watching him in the mirror from the chair by the dressing table, but she remained silent.

  Annie gave a final pat to her creation and stepped back.

  “There we are. I hope the result is pleasing to your lordship,” she challenged in a voice that dared him to disagree.

  Angelica rose gracefully, her eyes twinkling in response to the amusement in her husband’s. She swept him a deep curtsy and demanded mischievously, “And is his lordship pleased?”

  “His lordship is extremely well pleased with the appearance of his lovely bride,” he answered gravely, enjoying the faint colour his compliments always brought to his wife’s cheeks. He brought a jeweller’s box from the inside pocket of his coat and presented it with a bow as formal as Angelica’s curtsy. “I had this made for you to wear tonight.”

  Angelica gave a startled gasp at the sheer beauty of the necklace sparkling in the box but seemed unable to move. Only her eyes, bright with unshed tears, searched her husband’s face. He smiled warmly back at her, in no way displeased by her silence, and taking the necklace from her unresisting fingers, stepped behind her, turning her to face the mirror while he proceeded to fasten it about her throat.

  The emeralds and diamonds in their delicately wrought setting gleamed and sparkled back at the bemused girl staring into the mirror. As Annie exclaimed in admiration, Giles moved his hands to Angelica’s shoulders, bent his head and touched his lips to the nape of her neck beneath the coils of honey-coloured hair. Angelica touched the glittering stones with one hesitant finger while her other hand covered his on her shoulder. Her voice was a mere whisper:

  “I never thought I’d own anything so beautiful. Thank you, Giles.”

  For a moment, he pressed her back against the lean length of his body under the approving eyes of the maid, but as Angelica’s colour heightened even more, he laughed and released her.

  “If Madame the Viscountess permits,” he drawled, offering her his arm. Angelica laughed at his nonsense, and bidding the beaming Annie good night, they proceeded to the saloon where they would be greeting their guests.

  Those guests privileged to witness the formal presentation of the Honourable Lydia Weston to society that evening were agreed in the main that the new Viscountess Desmond had set a standard for other hostesses to aim for in providing a beautiful setting for a ball. From the moment one entered the hall, one had the impression of being in a garden. Huge pots of tulips and hyacinths were massed against the walls, providing a background for a lovely dogwood tree in full bloom. Upstairs, the garden spread into the ballroom and reception rooms. Small bowers were created by white trellises covered in greenery, with flowers cunningly displayed as if growing from the vines. Several small trees in tubs brought the ballroom alive with colour. Flowers everywhere, ranging from deep reds through the shades of pink to pure white, delighted the eye.

  It was a spectacular background for the sparkling daintiness that characterized Lydia Weston. Though not a beauty in the classic style, her vibrant prettiness attracted all eyes. Lydia had the gift
of enjoyment, and despite her duties managed to have nearly as delightful an evening as the most carefree of guests.

  Scorning the traditional white or pale blues of the debutante, she had chosen a deep rose coloured silk which enhanced her warm brunette colouring. Made in the simple style demanded by her tininess, it was ornamented only by diamond fastenings, and she wore a delicate diamond necklet that had been her mother’s and a bracelet of equally fine diamonds that was a gift from Giles and Angelica. On her shining curls was a wreath of roses in a slightly paler shade than the shimmering silk of her gown.

  Lydia was blessed with skin of rose-leaf perfection, sparkling dark eyes further enhanced by long, curling black lashes and a natural ease of manner stemming from her intense interest in all the people who entered her orbit. Perhaps this last characteristic was most responsible for her success. Not for her the agonies of shyness suffered by many young damsels who might be judged even prettier by an unbiased eye. She was too busy enjoying herself to spare a thought for the impression she might be making.

  Watching her sister-in-law surrounded by admiring gallants, Angelica, from her position by the door where she was still greeting late arrivals, acknowledged this characteristic with pleasure not untinged with wistfulness. Would that she could as easily forget her role and cease to care whether or not she was accepted as an asset to Giles. It could certainly be said with no fear of contradiction that the Viscount Desmond’s ball to introduce his sister to the ton would rank as one of the crushes of the season, but this achievement was not the source of satisfaction to Angelica that it would ordinarily be to a hostess hoping to cut a dash in society. She was nervously aware that a significant number among their guests had come primarily to assess the quality of the woman Desmond had married so quixotically. The strain of trying to concentrate on the welfare of their guests when she knew that she was being weighed, measured and judged by hundreds of eyes was draining her of energy, and it was still early. Her face felt stiff from smiling when her husband approached her suddenly and, cheerfully consigning all latecomers to the inferno, swept her, protesting feebly, into the ballroom and into a waltz.