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

by Dorothy Mack

  During Giles’s absence, Angelica had gradually regained her customary serenity. She had even managed to persuade herself that she could be reasonably content with her marriage of convenience. After he returned, she avoided his company for a time, her wounded pride prompting a show of indifference. But pride is a very cold comfort, and after a while she could no longer hide from herself the bitter knowledge that she could not stop loving him simply because unrequited love was painful. Gradually her protective ice armour melted away, leaving her heart beating painfully whenever she encountered his cold look. Now she had to exercise rigid discipline to prevent her eyes from following him whenever they were in the same room. A faint wistfulness crept into her manner, adding immeasurably to her attraction, but of this she was totally unaware.

  She was also unaware of her husband’s eyes upon her as she made her way toward an alcove off the large ballroom in the Earl of Sussington’s beautiful town house. It was the first moment she had had to herself since their arrival, and she was feeling desperately tired.

  How graceful she is! the viscount was thinking as he stood within the alcove, out of range of her vision. All her movements had that grace; it was one of the first things he had noticed about her in their initial meeting…

  He frowned slightly as her progress was halted by an encounter with Sir Jermyn Holloway, a noted Corinthian, whose marked attentions to his wife had not escaped the viscount’s notice. He observed a mischievous smile light up her rather sober countenance, and the frown deepened.

  From somewhere very close but concealed from the viscount came the murmur of feminine voices. He had not absorbed any of their conversation until his wife’s name penetrated his reverie.

  “Doesn’t Lady Desmond look lovely this evening? Those emeralds of hers are truly magnificent, and she wears that deep green gown with such style.”

  “Ah, yes, the substitute bride. She is well enough I suppose, but nothing out of the ordinary after all. Not to be compared with Barbara Darlington.”

  “For my part,” rejoined the first speaker, “I find her rather more appealing. For all Barbara’s flashing beauty, she is a shallow creature. Lady Desmond has intelligence and a great deal of countenance.”

  “But does her husband agree with you?” This time there was no mistaking the cool malice in the other’s voice. “It seems to me they are rarely seen together these days, and it is rumoured he has been rather attentive to Selina Bettincourt, not to mention that odious Marberry woman.”

  Giles did not linger to hear more. Angelica had apparently sent her escort for a drink and was once more approaching the alcove. He advanced to meet her, saying in an ardent — and carrying — voice, “What kept you, sweetheart? I’ve been waiting impatiently.”

  He had deliberately placed himself between his wife and the women he had overheard, or her astonished expression would have acquitted her of the social error of making an assignation with her own husband. However, she quickly realized the mocking gleam in his eyes was at variance with his voice and, moving her head slightly, she caught sight of their interested audience. Tucking her hand into the crook of his proffered arm, she gracefully leaned against him very briefly and smiled up at him intimately.

  “I am so sorry, darling, but I was detained.”

  He grinned at the cloying sweetness in her voice and, turning, proceeded to escort her past their now enraptured audience, never once taking his eyes from her face.

  “I’m afraid you will have to disappoint whomever you are promised to for this waltz that is just starting up, my love, because I am not going to relinquish possession.”

  By now they were safely past the two women, but true to his word, Giles swept her onto the floor and whirled her into a waltz turn. Despite the realization that he was only pretending interest, Angelica enjoyed that dance more than anything that had happened since their estrangement. Giles did not speak at all, but he held her a fraction closer than was fashionable, and she was utterly content just to move in perfect rhythm with him. They were beautifully matched in height and received more than one appreciative glance.

  Angelica, floating on a cloud of rapturous physical well-being, was oblivious of anything but Giles’s arms guiding her around the floor. Giles, too, was aware only of the reality of the soft, fragrant armful of femininity compliant to his touch. Neither, therefore, was in a position to appreciate the fact that their dance together was producing exactly the results they had aimed for in their earlier bit of playacting.

  Inevitably, the dance came to an end and with it Angelica’s glowing vitality. She felt drained of all strength as they came to a halt a few feet from Sir Jermyn Holloway, who came forward to expostulate:

  “I say, Lady Desmond, that was too cruel of you to desert one for a mere husband, and your own at that. Desmond, you dog, I may call you out for this.”

  “What, have you been practicing at Manton’s then, Jermyn?” inquired the viscount with a slight smile.

  “No, dash it all. That’s why I may choose to ignore the insult,” he replied, grinning, well aware of the viscount’s reputation with a pistol. “However, Lady Desmond must allow me to take her in to supper as a gesture of reparation.”

  Angelica mustered up her friendliest smile and walked away with Sir Jermyn, suppressing a wistful sigh at her husband’s laughing acquiescence to the arrangement. It was with a concerted effort that she applied enough of her brain to her escort’s conversation to make the required minimum of responses in the next half hour to avoid Sir Jermyn’s classifying her as a dead bore. Beneath the social smile, she was conscious of extreme fatigue and a strong longing for her bed.

  Her husband, glancing up from the gay party he had joined in the supper room, noticed her pallor. He also had the impression she was only pretending to eat. He looked again a few minutes later and verified this impression. Excusing himself to his friends when Angelica and her escort prepared to return to the ballroom, he managed to speak to her ear alone when he joined them in conversation with another couple.

  “You look pale, my dear. Are you ill?”

  “Of course not, Giles, but I am feeling wretchedly tired.”

  “Then let us call for the carriage and depart. What a fortunate thing Lydia went to Almack’s with Mrs. Henderson and her daughter tonight. She would not thank us for leaving a ball before midnight.”

  Angelica smiled her gratitude, and they said their goodbyes to their hostess.

  Although Giles confined his conversation to casual comments on the evening just passed and did not even mention the bit of playacting they had indulged in, Angelica felt the distance between them had narrowed somewhat for the first time since his return.

  However, he bade her a formal goodnight at the door to her sitting room and she entered it, chilled once more by his manner. She had told Annie not to wait up for her and was rather relieved not to have to face her old nurse’s shrewd eye. She was too tired to maintain a pretence of enjoyment for Annie’s benefit. Disrobing quickly, she crawled wearily into bed, still wearing emeralds in her hair.

  Despite a real effort to rest when possible and conserve her energy over the next few days, the overwhelming sense of fatigue persisted. She had little appetite and the odour of food, especially in the morning, brought on a wave of nausea. Angelica tried to conceal this from everyone; she refused to be sick when Lydia depended on her to accompany the parties of young people on various expeditions. It was now mid-June, and the hectic season was drawing to a close. Soon they would retire to Brighton for a time, and life would be somewhat easier. She was determined not to fall victim to some absurd complaint.

  One afternoon, however, after lunching with Lydia, uncomfortably aware of that young lady’s sharp eyes on her almost untouched plate, she was forced to cancel their plans.

  “I’m so sorry, love, but I’m afraid I simply couldn’t bear to stand through hours of fittings today. I have the headache a little and will be better for an hour’s rest. Do you mind very much postponing our sh
opping till tomorrow?”

  “Of course not, Angel, but are you sure it’s a headache that is troubling you?”

  “Why, what do you mean?”

  “Well, I am not exactly stupid, you know. I can see that you have no appetite lately. And you seem very tired. I know that we have kept up a mad pace but I am never tired. Angel, do you think that you might be increasing? It would be the greatest thing! Jenny would love to have a baby sister or brother, and I should adore it too.”

  Angelica stared at Lydia’s bright, eager face with blank astonishment written on her own. It had never once crossed her mind. Surely nothing could be more unlikely — barely possible of course, but no, it could not be!

  Her voice was shaken as she protested, “There is nothing wrong with me, Lydia. You are mistaken; you must be mistaken. It … it is just a headache.”

  She trailed off in the face of Lydia’s obvious scepticism.

  “Don’t endanger your soul by lying, Angel,” was the dry rejoinder. “Why don’t you call the doctor? You are certainly not yourself these days.”

  “I don’t need a doctor — I shall be better directly. All I need is a little rest.” She rose from her chair in some agitation and advanced to the door, but her queasy stomach and swimming head betrayed her. Lydia caught her as she collapsed.

  When Angelica came to her senses, she was in her own bed attended by Annie and Lydia. The latter said immediately in rather defiant tones that she had sent for the doctor. Angelica protested feebly but was hushed by Annie. She turned her head away to conceal the tears of weakness quivering on her lashes and subsided without a word. Nothing seemed to matter very much at the moment, and she was too tired to struggle against anyone.

  The doctor, after his examination, was delighted to confirm Lydia’s diagnosis and warmly congratulated the still unbelieving Angelica. She smiled faintly at him, avoiding her sister-in-law’s triumphant glance, and sank back on the pillows with her eyes closed as soon as the door clicked shut behind them. For a few minutes, there was absolutely no movement at all from the slender figure on the huge bed, then the beautifully moulded lips trembled into a very small, secret smile.

  Lydia was back almost immediately, bouncing over to the bed to kiss her sister-in-law jubilantly.

  “What did I tell you, Angel? Are you not simply thrilled? Does Giles know? Oh, how foolish of me. From your very expressive face when I suggested it earlier, you had not the least suspicion, had you?”

  “No, and I must confess I feel decidedly foolish at this moment.”

  Lydia grinned, then said more seriously, “How do you feel right now, Angel? You must not try to do so much in future. Tonight, for instance, we shall stay home and have a comfortable cose instead of going to Almack’s.”

  “Don’t be nonsensical, love. I told you all I needed was a rest and that was the truth. If I lie down upon my bed in the afternoon on occasion, I shall do splendidly in the evening. Robert is coming to escort us tonight, and I expect to enjoy myself excessively.” She hesitated briefly. “I know I need not remind you to say nothing to Giles or Aunt Minerva until I have broken the news.”

  “Of course not, Angel. Now you have that rest. I’ll join you for tea later.”

  After Lydia had left, Angelica found she no longer felt like resting. She was not looking forward to telling Giles. Try as she would, she could not guess whether he would be pleased or not. There was no doubt he adored his Jenny, and Aunt Minerva had indicated it was Alicia not Giles who decided against more children. But when a man had no love for his wife, would he welcome her child? She began to pace the room anxiously, trying to fight down a rising sense of panic. Suppose Giles were very displeased, what would she do, indeed what could she do? She put a shaking hand up to her forehead, which was damp with nervous perspiration, and frowned ferociously. She must gather her wits and compose herself. She owed it to herself to stay calm; she must not fret over Giles’s possible reaction. Gradually, she became more tranquil. It would not do to worry about Giles’s reaction until after she had told him. She would put it out of her mind until then.

  Fortunately for the success of this admirable resolution, she did not have very long to wait. Lydia joined her for tea in her sitting room, and they were comfortably discussing their respective wardrobes when Giles entered abruptly. His eyes went immediately to Angelica. At the sight of her serene figure his own taut body relaxed perceptibly, and he greeted them both before taking a chair and rather absently accepting a cup of tea. His first words confirmed that the unusual honour of his presence at tea was not for social reasons. Ignoring Lydia’s offer of jam tarts, he turned to his wife and said shortly:

  “Chilham tells me you fainted this afternoon and the doctor was called. What is wrong?”

  Angelica glanced imploringly at Lydia, who understood the unspoken message and excused herself hastily. Her brother did not take his eyes from his wife’s bowed head as she busied her hands unnecessarily at the tea tray.

  The silence seemed to propagate itself, spreading like smoke and stifling any sounds therein. Angelica raised a hand nervously to her tight throat but could not manage any kind of answer. The tension was becoming brittle when Giles leaned forward and seized her wrist with steely fingers.

  “Well,” he repeated grimly, “what was it?”

  She gave an involuntary shiver at the unsympathetic tone and glued her eyes to his as though compelled to study them. She thought — she hoped they were evidencing more anxiety than sternness. Her own were softly luminous as she said gently:

  “It was nothing…” At his impatient shake, she hastened on, “Nothing serious, I mean. We … I am going to have a baby.”

  She felt him recoil; her hand was almost flung back as he released her. His voice when it came was level. “And the happy father is myself?” he added swiftly, but it was too late. He saw dawning horror replace the radiance in her eyes, and all colour drained from her face, leaving her eyes glittering like green glass. Before he could move she was on her feet, her hands gripped together in front of her as though only thus could she keep them from his face. She spoke softly with controlled, icy anger:

  “How could you? I’ll never forgive you for that, never.”

  She was across the room and had closed the bedroom door behind her almost before he had struggled to his feet and taken an impetuous step forward.

  He had laughed at her tempestuous fury over his appearance during her bath, but he had never felt further from laughter than now when faced with her cold, scornful rage. He went swiftly to the door, determined not to allow this mood to exist between them, but paused with his hand on the knob as he heard Annie’s cheerful voice giving commands to her mistress.

  “Damnation!” He had almost decided to get rid of Annie and force Angelica to listen to him when Chilham appeared in the sitting room entrance with a message for him, putting forward the hour at which he was to dine with friends. He glanced frowningly at the mantel clock but realized he had not time to settle this with his wife at present. With another muttered imprecation, he strode out of the gold-toned room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was after midnight when Angelica and Lydia returned from Almack’s. Lydia was in radiant good humour, having successfully escaped Angelica’s chaperone’s eye to engage in not one but two delicious flirtations. She chattered gaily all the way home in the carriage, needing no more encouragement than an occasional murmur from Angelica to reveal in her artless way just how successfully she had evaded her sister-in-law and to what frivolous use she had put her brief freedom.

  “And he was so importunate I felt I simply had to console him by bestowing a rose from my nosegay on him. It was the kind thing to do, don’t you agree, Angel?” she finished rather breathlessly, turning her piquant little face toward her companion. The demure little mouth was belied by black eyes dancing with mischief, and at last her sister-in-law’s abstraction was pierced.

  “Oh, Lydia, how indiscreet of you,” she uttered, aghast at this
latest evidence of her charge’s capricious nature. “You know you don’t even like Sir Julian above half either. Now we shall find him camped forever on our doorstep. If you do not take care, my girl,” she continued, with unwonted severity, “you will find yourself betrothed to someone you do not care a scrap for because one of your outrageous flirtations has been taken seriously.”

  This appalling prospect had no appreciable effect on Miss Weston. “Oh, pooh,” she said, tossing her curls airily. “I can handle Sir Julian. If he presses his advantage, I’ll tell him I was carried away by his poetic compliments but that Giles considers me far too young to contemplate marriage. I do not expect he will, though. You take this too seriously, dearest Angel. Everyone flirts at parties; it is what makes them so much fun.”

  “You must take care not to be thought fast, my dear,” returned Angelica seriously, “lest persons of sensibility take you in disgust. Someday, there will be a man for whom you will learn to cherish the warmest emotions. How terrible if he should be turned aside by a reputation as a heartless flirt.”

  “When I fall in love, I shall know how to convince the object of my affections of my sincerity, never fear. And of course then I shan’t wish to flirt with other men, except a very little perhaps,” said the unrepentant rogue, dimpling adorably. “But don’t alarm yourself, dearest. I am really most discreet and do not allow gentlemen to go beyond the line.”

  Angelica sighed, fearing Lydia’s definition of discretion would not coincide with her brother’s, but as the coach was drawing up to the front door at this moment, she allowed the subject to drop.

  Inside, Lydia yawned daintily. “My bed will look good to me tonight, I confess.” Sweeping her sister-in-law with a discerning eye, she added, “You have been a trifle off-colour this evening. My conduct is not responsible for your pallor and depression of spirits. Are you feeling ill again?”