Regency Angel
Chapter 16
Angel and the gentlemen spent
the next two nights on the move, never sleeping in the same place twice. There
were no more incidents, but Roderick continued to allow Armand to use his
bedchamber, as he had no need for it.
The fourth evening of their
vigil began calmly enough, with the earl back under the queen's bed after a
night on a sofa, another under a table and a third behind a door.
Miss Singletary had routed the
vicar so that he had not bothered to return, although she had quietly confided
in Mr. Forde that she had removed all the nails at the top of the trellis and
it could now be pushed easily outward, if needed. Other than Powers' first
attempt, there had been no situations. In fact, rumor had it the vicar was
suffering from unknown injuries that required him to lie on his stomach, and
was unable to leave his house. However, none of them had let down their guard.
Rod moved from room to room on
the second floor, sometimes more than once an evening. Fortunately, he had the good
sense the week before to drop a suggestion in his sister's ear that would put
an end to all this nonsense. Fanny's father, Mr. Eaton, had been invited to
come for the ball, and to stay, naturally, the few days after that for the
wedding. It was to be a surprise for his wife and daughter.
Rod chuckled as he wondered who
would be the happier to see the man.
In the meantime, the three
protectors settled down for another evening of watchfulness. Or rather, David
hid and slept and Rod and Miss Singletary kept an eye out.
It was about 2 in the morning
when the shrieking began, and Rod knew it was not Miss Fanny on the floor
below. That left... Miranda. From the sound of it, she had encountered Armand.
By the time Rod reached his
room, Miranda was shouting obscenities and suggestive comments at the valet,
who was still cowering in the bed. An audience was gathering, including an
agitated Sarah.
"Still not sleeping at night,
Uncle Rod?" David asked conversationally, strolling into the melee.
"No. I have even given up my bed
to my servant, as you can see," Rod drawled, indicating poor Armand. "I have
had no use for it lately."
"Then you aren't ... You two
don't..." Sarah stuttered. Between Miranda's accusations and his sister's
imagination, he did not have to wonder what she thought.
"If what you say is true, why
are you in here, Lady Miranda?" David asked. "We all know you are a married
lady and could never be here for nefarious reasons of your own."
All eyes turned to Miranda.
"Armand!" Rod exclaimed. "You did
not tell me you had an assignation with her ladyship! I would have suggested a
more private spot!"
It would not hurt Armand's
reputation below stairs if they thought he was deliberately meeting Miranda.
The gossip would do Miranda more harm than good, however, now that the lower
orders thought she preferred servants.
He suggested Lady Miranda be
escorted to Sarah's chambers for the rest of the night, so that someone could
keep an eye on her. A fuming Miranda could not argue with her hostess, who
thought that was an excellent idea, and was led away by the oh-so-solicitous
Lady Willingham.
The gathered servants were
assured that they would not be assaulted in their beds by Lady Miranda, and
were sent back to sleep. That left only Rod, David and Armand.
"I will sleep on a cot in the
dressing room," Rod offered. "And you may stay where you are," he said to the
valet.
"No, thank you, sir. I believe I
appreciate my own bed much more. Good night!" With a huff, he grabbed Rod's
best pillow and left the room.
"You are going to have to double
that poor man's wages now, Uncle Rod."
"I know, but it will be worth
it." They both laughed. "I would still not return to your own room tonight,"
Rod advised his nephew. "Once Sarah falls asleep, Miranda could sneak out and
wreak vengeance on us all. Speaking of which, I did not see our two young
ladies tonight."
"Perhaps they slept through it?"
Down one floor, Angel did not
sleep through Miranda's caterwauling, but Fanny certainly had. Perhaps Angel
could slip out and find someone to tell her what was happening, but it was
possible Miranda's commotion was meant to be a diversion. If Angel ran off, Mr.
Powers could slip in a side door and avoid the trellis altogether.
Resolving to stay with Fanny,
she still wondered what was going on upstairs. Had Miranda been found with Mr.
Forde? The earl?
Patience, she knew, was a
virtue, and she was rewarded sometime later when voices were heard down the
hall.
"Do not worry, Lady Miranda,"
Lady Willingham said in a placating tone. "All of this will have blown over by
morning and no one will recall having found you in Rod's bed -- with his valet."
Angel's eyes widened and she
opened the door a crack.
"But I was not in bed with him!"
Miranda protested. "He ... I ... We..."
"Personally, I never cared for
anywhere but on a mattress myself, but each to her own," Angel heard Lady
Willingham say before the countess led her houseguest into a room and shut the
door.
It seemed her allies were
legion, Angel thought with a smile, shutting and locking Fanny's door before
heading back to her post. If Mr. Powers tried something now, he would find
himself flat on his back on the ground once more. And the dogs were once again
on patrol.
The next morning, Rod made no
delay in assuring his valet that he would be generously compensated for the
past evening's excitement. "What exactly did happen?" he asked as Armand helped
him into his waistcoat.
The valet paused, as if
collecting his thoughts.
"As you know, sir, I was
sleeping in here whilst you wandered the halls like a wraith."
Rod groaned. "Not by choice, I
assure you."
"And with good reason, sir. I
was sleeping soundly when a noise alerted me to the presence of someone else in
the room. I sat up, naturally, thinking it was you, sir." He busied himself
with the tying of Rod's cravat.
"Naturally. Who spoke first?"
"The lady climbed into bed with
me and suddenly began to scream. She said I had lured her here under false
pretenses and that I should be made to pay the consequences. She claimed she
was innocent and a victim of my lurid designs."
"All this while screaming?" Rod
was impressed.
"No, sir. She would scream, and
then fill in with words. Oddly enough, I had no idea she was Lady Miranda until
the first footman arrived with candles."
Rod laughed aloud and let Armand
help him on with his coat. "I daresay she did not even know you were not me
until that moment, either."
"I was beginning to wonder, sir,
as neither of us puts much stock in females."
Rod, who had been thinking that
Miss Singletary would be most interested in all this, was startled out of his
thoughts by those words.
"Er, yes, quite right."
Angel woke when Fanny nudged
her.
"You have been sleepwalking
again!" she said with a giggle. "Thank goodness it is only into here. Imagine
wandering into someone else's bedchamber!"
Angel realized Fanny was already
dressed, something she had been doing ever since she began to help Lady
Willingham run the house.
"Come have breakfast with us,"
Fanny invited. "And after we consult with cook, I will have time to go to the
attics with you."
Angel agreed with the plan and
joined Fanny and Lady Willingham in the breakfast parlor as soon as she could
get dressed.
"No Lady Miranda this morning?"
Fanny asked as she sipped a cup of tea.
"Lady Miranda is indisposed
today," the countess said. Fanny only nodded, no doubt thinking it was a
certain time of the month for her stepmother.
Angel was disappointed, but
realized she was not going to get more details from Lady Willingham. As soon as
she finished a plate of eggs and toast, she said she would be in the library
until it was time to visit the attics. With the lovely way Fanny and the
countess had become chummy the last couple of days, a book would be needed to
fill the time. Besides, with Miranda out of the way, at least for the day, and
the other ladies occupied elsewhere, she might have a chance of finding Mr.
Forde. He would give her the information she desired.
As fortune would have it, he was
in the library, writing a letter. He immediately put down his pen and stood,
giving her a bow and a smile.
"You were coming in here to
read, Miss Singletary? Might I suggest a stroll on the east lawn instead? It is
much too fine a day to stay inside."
She nodded. "My bonnet..." It was
upstairs, and indisposed or not, Miranda might still require her services.
"Unnecessary. If you freckle, it
will only add to your appeal."
Angel had not been concerned
about those, only about going outside bareheaded, but if Mr. Forde did not mind
either, why should she?
They left by way of a set of
French doors in the drawing room down the hall, and stepped out into the
sunshine.
"I did not see you amid all the
trouble last night," he noted immediately they were away from the house.
Angel chuckled. "Fanny is a
heavy sleeper and I could not leave her."
"More trouble with Powers?"
"None. I believe his injuries
left him with no doubt of his welcome here. I think I could stop sleepwalking
for an evening. And I told you that I have removed the nails from the top of
the trellis. He will get more of the same if he attempts to call again."
"You are most sensible, Miss
Singletary."
That rankled a bit, Angel
thought peevishly. Why did everyone always use such bland words in conjunction
with herself? For once, she would like to be called beautiful. And then
regretted such a thought. Vanity was a sin, was it not? Being sensible was a
virtue.
"A penny for your thoughts," Mr.
Forde said softly. Angel looked up to see him standing rather close to her.
"I was just thinking how
virtuous I should feel, being called sensible."
"It is a compliment coming from
me, Miss Singletary, I assure you."
"Because you have no use for
females."
"Oh, I have uses for them, my
dear," he said with a laugh she could only describe as wicked. "But I could never
call any of those sort of women sensible, either."
"Miss Denton, perhaps?"
"Desiree is in a class by
herself."
"I wonder if she ever brought
her gentleman up to scratch."
"What?"
Miss Denton -- she was hoping to
have her protector propose marriage, was she not?"
Mr. Forde tried to look
offended, but all he could do was laugh. "Yes, she entertained such a wish. No
doubt she is Lady Copely by now. He is an elderly gentleman and not prone to
waiting. Neither is she, for that matter. Perhaps I will call at the lodge
tomorrow and see if she succeeded in her goal."
"You are going away, then?"
"It is only an hour from here,
Miss Singletary. I might have to invite David along to keep an eye on him..."
"That might be wise. Our
opponents might be demoralized, but I doubt they may be counted out
completely."
"Makes sense. Lady Miranda was
most put out that she found my valet in my bed instead of me."
"Poor Mr. Armand!" she
commiserated.
"He is scarred for life, no
doubt. I have given him a pay raise to compensate for the horror."
Angel giggled. "That was his
screaming then, that failed to wake Fanny last night?"
"No, that was Miranda," he
confirmed, "who has taken to her bed for who knows how long."
"Perhaps I should go to her. I
am, after all, her companion."
"You would do that? After all
she has not done for you over the years?"
"Do not sound so amazed, Mr.
Forde. After all, charity begins at home."
"As she has no doubt reminded
you."
"Frequently. At least I have a
roof over my head and food in my stomach without having to compromise my
virtue."
"But at what cost? You may have
some of your basic needs met, Miss Singletary, but you are hardly a ‘lily of
the field.'"*
"No, hardly that," she agreed.
He reached down for a rose,
plucking a yellow one from a bush. "You deserve finer arraignment than the drab
clothes you are provided with."
Angel countered with another
Bible verse.**
"In lieu of such adornment,
then, may I offer this?" He tucked the rose behind her left ear. "And may I
know the color of your ball gown, Miss Singletary?"
"Ball? Gown? Heavens! I have to
run! Fanny and I are to comb the attics for finery!" She put a hand up to her
rose to hold it in place as she ran toward the house, giving Mr. Forde a small
wave as she slipped in a small side door. She never noticed Lady Miranda at an
upstairs window.
*Why are you anxious about
clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. They don't toil,
neither do they spin -- Matthew 6:28
**Let your beauty be not just
the outward adorning of braiding the hair, and of wearing jewels of gold, or of
putting on fine clothing; - I Peter 3:3
Fanny and Angel spent a pleasant
day in the attics unearthing a rainbow of old-fashioned dresses. Some of which
might even be made over into a modish ball gown.
"Look at this one!"
Fanny cried, holding up an emerald green satin. "You could cut a bodice
and cap sleeves out of the quilted panniers and the rest would fall nicely on
you." They set it aside and thought it might do until they uncovered a
dress in ice blue silk, trimmed in tulle dotted with sparkles.
"How about this one?"
Angel suggested.
"You would look divine in
it!" Fanny exclaimed. "The tulle could be fashioned around the
neckline and held in place with silk lozenges on your shoulders."
They finally took those two
gowns and another in pink that Fanny said was not as flattering, but had a
good-quality lace on it. Retreating to Fanny's room with their spoils, they
were joined there by Lady Willingham.
"Lady Miranda has been
asking for you for the past hour, Miss Singletary, but I fobbed her off by
saying you were doing a chore for me. As I dislike the attics, your chore is
now complete. Will you come back here when she is finished with you? We should
have something to pin on you by then, I am certain."
Angel left the two ladies
plotting to outfit her with a gown and went to Miranda's bedchamber.
"You sent for me, Cousin
Miranda?"
"Where have you been?" Miranda
was sitting up in bed, a red satin bed jacket covering the top half of her, and
sipping chocolate. "Never mind. I have a few errands I wish you to perform.
Take this letter to the vicarage, to begin with, and wait for a reply."
Angel blanched. She knew the
vicar's reputation. Back injury or not.
"Oh, go on with you, Angela! He
is not going to compromise a poor, unattractive chit such as yourself. You have
nothing to recommend you, except perhaps as an easy conquest. You are so
desperate; I imagine you would jump at the chance to be a vicar's wife. Or
discard..."
Angel gave Miranda a sweet
smile. "There is nothing I would like more than to see Mr. Powers flat on his
back. But, as you say, I am no temptation."
"Quite. After you bring me his
reply, I want you to let out my gown for the ball."
Angel smirked. "A bit tight, is
it? Why not has your maid do that?"
"She will be busy elsewhere.
After you sew up my gown, I want you to make an arrangement of feathers for my
hair. Then you may have time to dress for dinner. If not, I am afraid you will
have to forego that dubious pleasure."
"May I ask why you have decided
to put me to work all of a sudden?"
"Certainly, although I am rather
surprised at your asking. You have never questioned me before now. The fact is,
you are becoming quite attached to Mr. Forde and I cannot allow it."
"Cannot, because you are
jealous, perhaps?"
"Cannot, because you are my
poor, silly cousin who becomes enamored of the most unattainable... On second
thought, I ought to encourage you. After all, if I could not attract the man,
you would not have a snowball's chance in..." Miranda laughed. "At least it will
give me some amusement. Now hurry up with your chores, little cousin, and I
might even come down to dinner. I would not want to miss the sight of you
trying secure the elusive Mr. Forde's affections.
"Oh, he is nice to you now,
Angela, but like all men, when he gets what he wants, you shall never see him
again." She threw her note at Angel and told her to run along. "I would not be
happy if I were the reason you did not come down to dinner!"
Angel did as she was told,
waiting outside the vicarage for a reply and then coming back to the manor to
let out Miranda's gown. Miranda seemed oddly triumphant about something as
Angel sat in her dressing room and ripped out seams.
"I have come up with another sewing
project for you," she told Angel. With an evil grin, she tossed a pile of lace
in her cousin's lap. "I came across this beautiful, old and very expensive lace
in Fanny's room while you were gone and I want you to redecorate my gown for
the ball."
Angel did not say a word, merely
nodded, a lump in her throat, and continued to pull stitches out of the dress.
She had to be careful not to pull too hard -- the heavy satin unraveled too
easily and she was letting out, not taking in. That thought alone kept her from
scratching Miranda's eyes out. That and the knowledge that the retaliation was
not hers to administer.
As it was, she barely had time
to dress and go down to dinner, where she found everyone else had already
assembled. Miranda was telling a tale about why her cousin did not dance.
"It was her first ball and she
never could recall the steps to any of the dances. Our dancing master always
did prefer me, of course, but Mama said we must let her make the attempt just
the same. It was a disaster! She fell into the orchestra in the first set and
no one asked her again, poor dear. So do not be surprised, Mr. Forde, if my
cousin steps on your feet."
"I have not yet even asked Miss
Singletary for a set," he stiffly replied.
"No? I was certain that was your
purpose for strolling in the garden together this morning."
Angel came in quietly and took a
seat next to Lady Willingham.
"I suppose that is neither here
nor there," the countess said with false gaiety. She sighed with relief when
her butler appeared at the door. "Dinner? Shall we all go in?"
"She certainly is brazen
enough," the earl said as he and his uncle lingered over their after-dinner
port. Neither was eager to join the ladies, as Miranda had spent the entire
meal baiting first Miss Singletary and then Rod. He did not like leaving Miss
Singletary to fight her cousin alone, but then again, the lady could defend
herself. Or ignore her, as she had done most of the evening.
"I want to call at the lodge
tomorrow," he said to his nephew, "and see how Desiree is getting along. Care
to come with me?"
"Two days before the ball and
you need to ask?"
Rod laughed. "I thought that
might be your answer."
They left early the next morning
with only a note for Lady Willingham, who did not see it was anyone's business
where the gentleman had gone. When pressed by a curious Fanny, and an even more
nosy Lady Miranda, she only said they were conducting important errands for the
wedding.
At the lodge, Desiree was still
in attendance, as was Lord Copely. It was evident that with a large diamond on
Desiree's hand and the marriage record she kept waving in their faces, she was
now Lady Copely.
"Lovie Monkey Buns has been a
darling, Rod," she confided as she sat down next to her much-older husband. "He
brought so many presents with him, didn't you, Bon-Bon Beany Pie?" she cooed.
"And he will give me whatever I wish when we return to London."
"You are going back soon?" David
asked.
"In two days. Frisky Goober
Face's daughters must be apprised of our happy news, and there is a townhouse
to redecorate. Isn't that right, Peachy Pie Boo Bear?"
"Yes, my little Smoochie
Sunshine Muffin," the old man agreed.
"He's so adorable!" she
squealed.
"Then you will be able to come
to my betrothal ball?" David asked.
"Oh, no, we could not impose!
But tell me. Is that sweet young lady who was so kind to me still there?"
"Of course! I am to marry her
next week!" David exclaimed.
"Miss Singletary? How peculiar!
What does Miss Eaton have to say about that?"
Rod laughed aloud even as his
nephew scowled. "He is still to marry Miss Eaton and Miss Singletary is still
in residence. Lady Willingham quite dotes on them both. Too bad Lady Miranda
has arrived to spoil everything."
Desiree made a face. "She is
enough to ruin any picnic! Throwing her considerable weight about, is she? Some
women can't seem to shed that extra poundage after a babe. That won't happen to
me, though, when I give you a son, Huggalump Honey Pot," she assured Lord Lovie
Monkey Buns.
"I know it will not,
Kissey-Pinkie Pot Cheeks."
Rod shot David a pained
expression, but his nephew appeared to enjoy the cloying endearments. No doubt
he and Miss Fanny would be calling each other Davey Wavey and Fanny Panny
before too long. His own Miss Singletary would never do such a thing, he was
certain. Besides, what rhymed with Angela?
"I am pleased as punch, Rod, to
hear Miss Singletary is in residence at the manor. I have a present for her.
Especially now that you say there is to be a ball. Lady Miranda keeps the poor
chit in rags and it just ain't right."
"Is not right, Lovey Cakes,"
Lord Copely corrected his wife. She gave him a sunny smile that made Rod's
stomach turn.
"Whatever you say, Snooky
Numnums."
"There is not much we can do
about that, Desiree," Rod said truthfully.
"Miss Singletary and Fanny have
been combing the attics for dress materials," David ventured.
One of Desiree's eyebrows shot
skyward. "Fanny? That self-centered little chit you are to marry?"
"The very one," David proudly
agreed.
"Well, well ... The girl is
growing up. Marriage will do that, won't it, Sweetum Baby Nuts?"
"Yes, it will, Binky
Sparky-Pants."
Rod had just about as much of
that as he could bear, and he began to take his leave.
"Wait just a moment!" Desiree
exclaimed. "I have a gift for Miss Singletary!" She ran from the room.
Rod agreed to wait for it, but
almost changed his mind when she came back in with a large dress box.
"How am I supposed to carry that
on the front of my saddle?" he demanded.
"You will think of something,
Rod." She patted his cheek. "It is for Miss Singletary, after all. But there
are a few conditions."
"Conditions?"
"First of all, you can't give
this to Miss Singletary until tomorrow evening."
Rod frowned. He had hoped to
pass the gown on to the lady as soon as possible.
"Two, you can't give it to her
directly."
"I know that, else I would have
already done so, believe me."
"I can see that." Desiree's
smile was rather smug, as if she knew something about him that even he did not
know. "The last condition. If asked, Miss Singletary can only be told the gown
is a gift from her godmother."
"Her godmother," Rod repeated.
"That's right. She will
understand."
"If you say so."
"I do say so, my sweet Rod." She
patted his cheek once more. "I am always right. Isn't that correct, Wicked
Bun-Bun Lovey Cakes?" she asked Copely.
"That's right, my Sweet Bunny
Loveheart."
"Now run along with you, Rod. I
have a feeling you will be needed at home very soon."
Once the gentlemen had left for
the day, Lady Miranda seemed to have it out for every female in the household.
She had her maid in tears, she was at loggerheads with Fanny over every little
thing she said, and she continually insulted the countess. As for Angel, she
could do nothing right, and found herself consistently pinched and slapped for
not giving Lady Miranda her full attention.
Because of Miranda's constant
scenes and commotions, neither Angel nor Fanny nor the countess were able to do
much work on Angel's gown. Because the lace had come up missing (and Angel was
not about to name Miranda as the thief), the emerald green was decided upon and
a bodice and sleeves had been cut out of the quilted material. Soft folds of
satin had been unstitched from the older gown and were waiting to be attached
to the bodice. All that would be left after that was another trip to the attic
to replace the lace for the neckline and hem. Fanny promised to do that the
morning of the ball.
Feeling a bit self-conscious as
he came home bearing a dress box, Rod quickly passed it off to Armand without
even looking inside. He suggested it go in an out-of-the-way place, such as
under the bed or in the back of the wardrobe, and made the valet promise not to
mention it to anyone. If someone were to comment on the box, he was to say it
was a present for the countess.
He then forgot about the gown
until the next afternoon, when the sound of Miranda having another fit filtered
up to his room.
"Whatever can be her problem
now?" he asked Armand, who had just finished supervising the pouring of his
bath. He had planned to lounge about in the water until it a dinner tray was
brought up, after which it would be time to dress for Sarah's party.
Miranda's unholy screams were
quickly joined by Fanny's caterwauling and someone else's -- Sarah's? -- sobs.
"Will you see what in the devil
is happening down there?" he enquired of Armand. He removed his dressing gown
and slipped into the tub while the water still hot, not conceiving of any
domestic crisis that would reduce his sister to tears.
"Well?" he demanded when the
valet returned. "A lot of damned female nonsense?"
"A bit more than that, sir. It
appears that the ladies were creating a gown for Miss Singletary to wear to the
ball, without Lady Miranda's knowledge. When she discovered it a few minutes ago,
she completely ruined it."
"What?" He sat straight up in
the tub. "She ought to be..."
"Horsewhipped?" Armand
suggested. "Fortunately, Mr. Eaton has arrived, sir, and has forbidden his wife
to attend the ball."
"Some punishment," Rod
sarcastically replied. "She most likely did not plan to attend in the first
place. I am more concerned with Miss Singletary, who by all rights should have
been able to enjoy herself this evening."
Armand cleared his throat.
"Perhaps there is something appropriate in that box you brought with you
yesterday?"
"What? Oh, the box. Perhaps. I
did not ... Desiree said Miss Singletary
was to have it ... Today..."
"Shall I deliver it to the
ladies, sir?"
"Yes, yes, but only if Lady
Miranda is not about. Oh, and Armand?"
"Sir?"
"You are to tell her it is from her godmother."
Fanny and Lady Willingham were
still red-eyed and picking up pieces of green satin when there was a knock at
the door. Angel went to answer.
"Mr. Armand!" she said
in some surprise when she found the valet there, holding a large box.
"Is Lady Miranda
gone?" he whispered.
"Yes. Will you not come
in?" She stood aside and allowed him entry, and he shook his head as he
put the box on Fanny's bed.
"Mr. Forde and I were much
aggrieved, Miss Singletary, to learn of the demise of your gown. However, my
employer was given something for you, miss, that he hopes will alleviate the
problem."
"I do not know how it
may," Fanny wailed. "We have no time to sew up a new dress!"
"Whatever is in the box may
be inappropriate," the countess reasoned. "Does Rod even know its
content?"
"I do not know, my
lady," the valet truthfully replied. "But if I may make a suggestion,
one only need look inside to find out."
Three pairs of eyes turned to
Angel.
"I beg your pardon?"
She had been staring at the box and not paying attention.
"Open the box!" Fanny
cried.
Angel thought seeing Miranda
denied the ball was enough excitement for one day, and she truly had no desire
to attend the ball. Until she opened the box.
Inside was a white gown made of
the sheerest silk, a heavier satin underdress lending the silk some propriety
and shape. Everyone, even Mr. Armand, gasped as she shook it out. The bodice
was tiny, and trimmed only with the finest, softest swansdown, giving it the
appearance of having...
"Wings!" Fanny
marveled, her hands clasped firmly behind her back. "Like an angel!"
"And such an angel shall
wear it," Lady Willingham said fondly. "All you need now is
a..."
"Halo," the valet
said, reaching into the box and retrieving a gold circlet.
"But who is this
from?" a bewildered Angel wondered. "Surely not Mr. Forde!" she
added with a blush.
"Certainly not, Miss
Singletary!" the valet exclaimed. "He was merely the delivery person.
However, he was instructed to tell you that this is from your godmother."
"My..." Angel checked
the box once more and found a satin fan inside, a note tucked into its folds.
Even angels need guardians
from time to time - Desiree
"Miss Denton! How
extraordinary!" Fanny cried, reading the note from over Angel's arm.
"Not that we need tell the world," she added. "Whomever heard of
a courtesan as a guardian angel?"
"But why not?" Lady
Willingham replied. "Let us give credit where credit is due."
"Quite, my lady," the
valet agreed. "Lady Copely is now a member of the Ton, after all."
"She did bring her lord up
to scratch, then!" Angel said with delight.
Fanny looked sufficiently cowed
until she recalled that they all must prepare for the ball. "My maid will
help us both get dressed," she offered to Angel.
"Thank you, Fanny dear, but
Miss Singletary is going to bring her finery to my room. I insist," the
countess said when Angel began to protest. "After all, this..." She
indicated the scraps of green fabric still remaining, "... happened in my
house. The least I can do is offer my services until the ball begins."
"Thank you, Lady
Willingham."
"My thanks will be seeing
you in all this! Armand, will you escort us to my rooms, please?"
The valet bowed and gently
packed the gown back into its box. Angel still clutched the fan and Lady
Willingham held the circlet. Fanny gave Angel a hug on her way out the door and
said she could not wait to see her dressed.
"Report, Armand!"
Roderick, against his will, was very curious about the contents of the dress
box. He pounced on his valet the moment he returned. Pounced figuratively,
anyway. He was still in his bath.
"The box contained a gown
appropriate for the young lady to wear this evening, sir."
"Yes, yes, I was sure it
would," Rod said impatiently, ignoring his manservant's look of surprise.
"But what does it look like? What color is it?"
"White, sir, as befits a
lady of her status."
"And?"
Armand was rifling through his
employer's waistcoats, but paused to answer. "Sir, if you wish to know something
specific, I must remind you that I cannot read your mind."
Rod caved. "What sort of
flowers should she carry?"
"None, sir. I do not
believe she should wear any on her person at all. You will understand when you
see her, but I do not wish to spoil the surprise."
Rod climbed out of the bathtub
and grabbed his dressing gown. "I think I shall send her flowers just the
same."
"Very good, sir."
Armand's voice was warm with approval. He had already laid out evening clothes,
but removed the waistcoat chosen earlier. In its place he put one of pearly
white satin with blue silk knots all over it.
"A sudden change for you,
Armand? Not your usual style."
"I have my reasons,
sir." Ones he did not disclose. Rod would have pressed him, but he was too
busy wondering what flowers to send to the ladies.
"Orchids for her ladyship,
pink roses for Miss Eaton and forget-me-nots for Miss Singletary," the
valet suggested.
"Orchids for Sarah?"
"Purple ones, sir. She has
no one, truly, to send her flowers and I believe she will appreciate the
gesture. She could wear one or two on her gown."
"What would I do without
you, Armand?" Rod asked with a sigh. Although he doubted the late earl had
ever bothered to send flowers, he knew David did on occasion. With him involved
with his own betrothed, perhaps he had not thought of his mother this time.
"I doubt you could do
better, sir."
"I doubt it, too."
Lady Willingham spent so much
time fussing over Angel, she had to be told three times by her maid to get
dressed or she would miss her own party.
Angel, primped to within an inch
of her life, sat sedately on the edge of a chair (lest she wrinkle anything)
while the countess was helped into a gown of violet silk. "You are
beautiful, my lady!" Angel exclaimed. The maid nodded in agreement.
"Oh, I am no such
thing!" the countess insisted, but her face glowed with pleasure.
A knock at the door sent the
maid to answer it, and she returned with two bouquets, each with a card.
"From David!" Lady
Willingham cried. "How sweet of him to remember us!" Her flowers were
violets and Angel's were daisies.
"Daisies!"
"Yes, my lady, and do not
fret. I am flattered he remembered me and I like daisies very much."
"If you say so..."
There was another knock and the
delivery was more flowers.
"Oh, Roderick!" Lady
Willingham said softly as she looked at the spray of purple and white orchids
placed into her hands.
"Mr. Forde has exquisite
taste, my lady," the maid said. "He went to the greenhouse himself to
choose these."
"How do you know?"
"Mr. Armand said so."
"See how sweet and
thoughtful my brother is? What did he send you?"
Angel was reading her card: I
understand your attire has no need for adornment, but I wish you to have these
just the same. Will you save the first waltz for me? RF
"He gave me forget-me-nots,
even though someone told him that I do not carry flowers this evening."
She folded the card without showing it to anyone and tucked it into her bodice.
The other ladies exchanged glances, but said nothing about it, either. They all
looked up in surprise, however, when a third knock was heard.
The maid answered it, spoke
briefly with a footman and came back with bouquets of pink roses for both
ladies, and cards signed by Mr. Eaton. An old, moth-eaten velvet jewelry case
was perched in the center of Angel's arrangement, with another note:
I was going through some of
the family jewelry, choosing a few pieces for Fanny, when I came across this.
It was your mother's, given to me after my wedding by your aunt for
safekeeping. You never asked for it, but I thought you should have it to wear
to the wedding. After what Miranda did today, I hope it will be a partial
apology for that unfortunate incident - Eaton
Angel set aside the roses and
opened the slim case. Inside sat a beautiful strand of perfectly matched
pearls. The countess squealed with delight.
"Oh, they are absolutely
necessary to finish your ensemble! I never knew you owned something so
exquisite!"
"Neither did I," Angel
softly replied. She felt a pang of regret that the real Miss Singletary would
never see these. From what information she had been able to gather, she doubted
the poor thing even knew of their existence.
"Fortunately for all of us,
your aunt died last year," the countess said briskly and without any remorse.
"Else we would have them both breathing down our necks. But that is
neither here nor there, is it? Come, my love, let me put those on you and then
we shall go downstairs to shock and amaze all the gentlemen. You deserve such a
moment."
"But this ball is for
Fanny!" Angel protested as the countess fastened the pearls around her
neck.
"It has just now become in
honor of anyone ever hurt or slighted by Lady Miranda," Lady Willingham
fiercely replied. "And since I am the hostess," she added more
brightly, "I can decree anything I wish."
Both ladies thanked the maid
profusely for her hard work, and left the room arm in arm. When they reached
the top of the stairs, however, the countess stayed Angel with a hand.
"You should make a grand
entrance! I will go first to gain their attention, and when I call, you may
come down." She set Angel back out of eyesight. "We don't want to
ruin the surprise," she explained before descending in all her violet
satin splendor.
"Here is our beautiful
hostess!" Angel heard Mr. Forde exclaim. That was followed by the murmur
of voices. She could make out Fanny's high-pitched tones, but the male voices
were all a rumble.
"You will be the belle of
the ball, Mama!" she heard the earl say.
"Not I, you flatterer. I am
leaving that title to Miss Eaton and Miss Singletary to share amongst
themselves. Miss Singletary?"
That was Angel's cue, but she
shyly hung back. Belle of the ball? Not in a hundred years. Not even then.
"Miss Singletary?" Mr.
Forde called.
If it had been any other voice,
she would have stayed where she was. His voice, however, pulled at her like a
lodestone.
"Up here," she called
softly as she appeared at the top of the stairs. Below her, in evening finery
that would shame a peacock, were the earl and his mother, Fanny and her father,
and Mr. Forde. All watching her.
Lady Willingham's expression -
and Fanny's, for that matter - was smug, as if Angel was her own creation. The
gentlemen were all speechless. It gave Angel a somewhat heady feeling to have
stopped three men in their tracks. Mr. Eaton was the first to open his mouth.
"I am so happy to see that
this afternoon has not ruined your evening. I hope you will honor me with a set
tonight, Cousin Angela. The pearls look splendid on you," he added.
Angel agreed shyly to both the
set and the affect of the pearls, and found both her hand seized by the earl.
"I wish to put my name down
for a set, as well, Miss Singletary. Before our guests claim them all."
She held out her dance card.
"You already have a partner
for the first waltz!" was David's gleeful response. "Look, Mama! She
is going to dance with Uncle Rod!"
Angel blushed, but Lady
Willingham only beamed at her brother.
"You always were a quick
learner," she said with a smile.
Mr. Forde gave the countess a
mocking bow and offered his arm to Angel. "We are fortunate in that we are
not required to stand in the receiving line. Shall we go into the
ballroom?"
"Yes, run along you
two," Lady Willingham insisted.
Angel found herself being
propelled into the ballroom, where only servants and musicians milled about.
"Thank you very much for the flowers, Mr. Forde," she said as they
stood near the doorway.
"It was my pleasure, Miss
Singletary. I see now why I was told not to expect to see them with you
tonight. They would completely ruin the simplicity of your toilette. You look
like an angel."
"I told you before that I
am an angel," she lightly replied. "You did not believe me? Or
perhaps you are flirting..."
His eyes grew wide. "Flirt? I never flirt, Miss Singletary." He seemed offended, but ended up giving her a devilish smile. "I am completely sincere. If I did start flirting, however, you would be the first to know."
Chapter 19
As guests arrived, Mr. Forde
would bring Angel forward to greet the ones he knew. Before long, her dance
card was filled. Once her companion realized Angel would soon be inaccessible,
he added his name once more to her list of partners. It was for the supper
dance.
"I thought you and I could sit
with some of Sarah's neighbors so you may get to know them better," he
suggested.
"That is very kind of you, but I
am not certain why that is necessary."
"If you should decide to become
Sarah's companion, these would be some of the people who are friends with my
sister and nephew."
"And that might persuade me to
stay?" she wondered. It was very sweet of him, if unnecessary.
"I thought it made sense."
He was set to open the ball with
Fanny, while David was to partner his mother, but Mr. Forde stayed with Angel
until her first partner, Lord Anthony Birkthwaite, came to claim her. After
that, she barely had time to sit down between sets. It appeared that a
godmother was a good thing to have.
"I did not realize you waltz,
Miss Singletary," Mr. Forde said when it was time for his first dance with her.
She had put her hands up in the correct positions. "According to Miranda, you
have never been to a dance."
"I had not, but I have been
given a few lessons on the sly," she confessed. When Fanny had said something
about it the other day, Angel had asked her to show a few steps, an d she was
also a quick study. One had to be, in her line of work.
After the dance, when the
musicians were taking a well-deserved break, Angel realized that Mr. Forde was
not taking her to either Lady Willingham or the punch bowl, but out a set of
doors onto the terrace.
Others were of the same mind, so
they were not alone, but the couples were not mingling, leaving her and her
partner in their own little world.
"The stars are all out tonight,"
he said, looking up as they leaned against the stone railing that edged the
terrace. "How insignificant I feel sometimes when I think of how vast that
expanse is."
"He stretches out the north over
empty space; He hangs the earth on nothing," she quoted with a smile.*
"So it seems," he agreed.
"Still, these lights hanging in ‘nothing' have been my friends for many years.
At a time when I should have been cursing the heavens for what someone did to
me, I found only solace in them."
"Tell me about that someone."
He nodded. The time had come to
tell her. "I met my late wife when I was nineteen and still at Cambridge. Her
brother and I roomed together and I was invited to come home with him one
holiday. When we arrived, she was just coming down the stairs, and for me, it
was love at first sight. I thought she was sweet and demure and loved me in
return." He snorted.
"It was a good act. We wed when
I was twenty-one and she was twenty. Six months later she had enough money in
her pockets to run off to the Continent with her lover, the one she had been
with since she was seventeen."
Angel murmured sympathetically.
"The only people I have been
able to depend on, the only two who have never really let me down, are Sarah
and David."
"From what I have heard of the
late earl, they needed you, as well."
"I like to think they did. David
was small when I found myself suddenly widowed."
"Widowed?"
"The boat my wife and her lover
sailed on capsized. All hands were lost."
"All hands ... I can think of
worse deaths than drowning," she said without thinking.
Mr. Forde chuckled, an
unexpected sound. "You know this to be true?"
"It could have been more
violent," she replied. "And as much as you probably hated her at that point,
surely you did not want her to suffer a painful demise?"
"No, you are correct. I did love
her, even when I was angry at the way she treated me. I have never said that
before. I just cannot understand what made me so unworthy."
"Unworthy? You are one of the
most worthy gentlemen of my acquaintance! Not that I know so many, of course."
He laughed, as she hoped he
would.
"I am flattered."
"You should be. But listen to
me. Your late wife's choices were selfishly made and most likely had nothing to
do with anything you said or did." Angel did not think the woman was in heaven,
but if for some odd reason she had ended up there, she was going to get a
bear-garden jaw from Angel one of these days.
"How do you manage to make
people feel better after years of hurting?" he wondered.
"Do you feel better?"
"I do. Telling you everything
has eased my mind considerably."
Angel hardly heard his last
words, because he had closed the gap between them.
"It must be a gift," she softly
replied. Mr. Forde was so close, she could almost reach up and...
Riiiiiiip!
Angel looked down and saw her
foot had been on the inside of her hem and when she had leaned forward, the
stitching holding her skirts to her bodice had separated. More than just a torn
flounce, this was going to require the removal of her gown.
"I ... I need to go upstairs," she
whispered, her cheeks flushed.
He looked down and blushed, as
well. Certain undergarments were now in plain view. "I see. You cannot go back
in the ballroom like that, either, can you? Take the terrace steps and..."
"I know the way."
"You will come back for the
supper dance?"
"Yes, if I am finished in time."
"Until then." Mr. Forde lifted
the hand not holding her skirts to her stomach and brought it to his lips.
Angel blushed again and then
left quietly, staying to the shadows of the steps and slipping in the side door
she had used several days before.
Her head was swimming by the
time she reached the door to her room. She was sure Mr. Forde had been going to
kiss her before her own clumsiness had ruined her dress and the moment. And he
had kissed her hand! Granted, she had been wearing gloves, but the gesture was
just too...
She opened the door in a daze
and found Miranda glaring at her.
"Shame on you, brazenly standing
on the terrace with Mr. Forde," she said in a nasty voice.
Was that smoke Angel saw coming
out of her ears? Neat trick in a mortal body.
"I was doing nothing wrong,"
Angel calmly replied.
"Not after I ripped your gown,
anyway." Miranda's smile was pure evil.
"You..."
"I am not what you think, my
innocent little cousin. It might interest you to know that I am a demoness from
Hell."
"Oh? I never would have guessed.
Are you going to destroy me now that I know your little secret? After all, I am
the one who has gained Mr. Forde's attention, for some reason."
"There is that," Miranda agreed.
Her scowl was not pretty. "And you are supposed to be cowering by now. Why
aren't you cowering in fear?"
Because she fed on fear. "You
are impressively daunting, I grant you," Angel replied, having been in such
situations before. Being afraid got you nowhere. "But how do I know you are a
demoness and not just some denizen of Hell aspirant? I must say, you are off to
a rousing start."
"I am not an aspirant!" Miranda
screeched. Puffs were coming out her ears.
That really was smoke! Miranda
must truly be talented. Skilled or not, however, she was still subject to the
emotions produced in her mortal body, and that was usually the best ammunition
against such creatures.
"I shall need some proof," Angel
told her. Miranda did not appear to be paying too much attention to her
surroundings, else she might have pointed out the smoke as such.
"Proof! I will show you proof!"
The older woman produced a ball of fire in her palm. She stroked it a moment
before hurtling it at Angel.
Angel stood her ground and the
flames surrounded her for a moment before disappearing completely. Miranda
stood staring at her as if she had sprouted two heads. Angel could, if she
wished, but it would not top the smoke, in her opinion, so why bother?
"You ... You..." Miranda wagged her
finger at Angel and moved her mouth open and shut like a fish. "You are an
angel?"
"It seems that in all your
jealousy and vanity, Miranda, that you forgot a few rules. One, you wasted
precious energy twice in one evening."
"I..." Miranda let out a string of
expletives that singed Angel's ears. "You tricked me!"
"The second time, perhaps. I did
not realize it was you the first time, until you told me so." She hadn't even
realized someone had assisted in tearing her gown. "Either way, you are down to
one last chance."
"You are a fool if you think
that will stop me."
"The second rule you forgot,"
Angel continued as if Miranda had not spoken, "was that I am immune to your
tricks. You wasted that fireball for nothing."
"You tricked me!" she wailed
once more.
"I used no deceit. You are the
one who lost her head. I wonder what your superior will have to say about all
this?"
Miranda turned white. "It is
none of your business! But I cannot have you running back to Forde this
evening," she added, a crafty gleam in her eye. "So it looks like you
discovered I was feeling poorly and decided to spend the rest of the evening
attending to my needs."
"Or else?" Angel recognized a
threat when she heard one.
"I don't know!" Miranda was
exasperated. "But I will think of something and you may be certain it will be
incredibly unpleasant."
Angel nodded and rang for her
maid to make excuses to her hostess.
Back in the ballroom, Rod was
becoming anxious. It was almost time for supper and Miss Singletary had yet to
reappear.
"I would have thought you might
have secured Miss Singletary for supper, Rod," Lady Willingham said, coming up
to her brother.
"I had, but she tore her gown
and went upstairs to fix it."
"A little ripped hem is easily
repaired," the countess soothed.
"It was more than that," he
confessed.
"What did you do?" Sarah was
alarmed.
"Nothing! We were out on the
terrace, and..."
"The terrace!" To his amazement,
his sister giggled. "Now I really must know what you were doing! Did you kiss
her?" She seemed more curious now than concerned.
"Sarah!" The two watched as the
musicians struck up a waltz, the cue that supper was to be shortly served. He
noticed a few people looked their way when Sarah said ‘kiss.'
"May I have this dance, as it
appears something has postponed my partner?" he asked.
"Brothers and sisters do not
dance together!"
"But we are friends, as well,"
he reminded her.
Sarah's face softened. "That we
are, Rod, that we are. Besides, I am the hostess and a well-respected widow. If
I wish to dance with my brother, I shall."
"That is the spirit!"
They moved out onto the dance
floor and made a wide circle before speaking once more.
"Did you kiss her?"
"Sarah!"
"I want to know! I hope she
decides to become my companion, but I would much rather have her as a sister."
"Sarah!"
"I have seen the two of you. She
likes you, Rod, although I cannot see why she would not. I know you like her."
"You can tell?" He was stricken
that he could be read so easily, and by his own sister.
"Rod," she said with some exasperation,
"you spend fifteen years decrying the opposite sex and in the space of a couple
of weeks you meet a lady whom you have nothing but compliments for? I would say
you were well on your way to being in love."
Rod began to laugh. "Love? I do
not understand how you can jump from admiration to love so quickly."
Sarah gave him a wry smile. "I
was in love once, and admiration is a very good start."
They danced in silent
contemplation until the music ended, and he led her off the floor.
"It is no start, Sarah,"
he said as if they had been discussing this for the past hour. He got no
further, as a footman handed his sister a note. She read it with a frown.
"Miss Singletary will not be
returning to the ball," she sadly reported. "Her beautiful gown is
unrepairable."
Rod gave her a hard look. "A few
rips right about here cannot be fixed?" His hand demonstrated the location of
the tear.
"I do not know, Rod. It is
possible, but not probable..."
"She does not want to dance with
me, perhaps?" That thought bothered him more than it should have.
"Oh, no, Rod, that cannot be
true!" Sarah insisted. "Shall I go up and see what is the matter?"
"No, I believe I know the reason
she did not return." She was upset about the kiss that almost happened. It
would only aggravate matters if Sarah pressed her to come downstairs. But damn,
he had wanted to kiss her. He would do it, too, the next chance he got.
If he got a second chance.
* Job 26:7
Angel was quiet and withdrawn
the morning after the ball and went out of her way to avoid Mr. Forde. She
thought she was protecting him from Miranda. He thought she was afraid of him.
The countess kept them both
under observation, when she could, but having to plan a wedding and playing
hostess to Fanny's family kept her too tired to approach either of them on the
subject. Besides, she justified to herself, if they were both sleeping poorly
and barely touching their food (as did seem the case), it must be love.
As long as Angel steered clear
of Mr. Forde, Miranda made no demands on her time and she escaped to Nanny
Baker's house, or to play in the orchard with the Miller boys. After they
climbed trees and played tag, they would troop back to Stone Cottage together
for tea with a failing Mrs. Miller. Angel could do nothing for her -- her
limited power did not extend to healing someone who was not David or Fanny,
unfortunately, until after her task had been completed. All she could do was
sit and watch the poor woman waste away, counting the days until the dreaded uncle
claimed at least Crispin. Who knew what would become of the younger two?
At least Mr. Forde was doing
well in avoiding her, even at the cottage. The boys reported that the gentleman
had called on them several times, and they were sorry they could not play with
two of their favorite adults at the same time. Angel was not about to get into
a discussion as to why two of their favorite adults were not going to play
together again, so she said nothing.
She tried to tell herself that
she was much too busy keeping an eye on Miranda, but the truth was, the
demoness had not done anything out of the ordinary in the past few days. This
gave Angel plenty of time to think about Mr. Forde.
The morning before the wedding,
Angel came into the breakfast room just as the gentlemen discussed heading down
to the village pub for a drink or two after dinner.
"You will come too, Mr. Eaton?"
David invited his future father.
"Oh, no, no, no, my dear boy. I
am much too old for such shenanigans!" he replied with a hearty laugh.
"Just what sorts of shenanigans
do you think these two will be up to, Papa?" Fanny asked with round eyes.
"Well, there are bound to be
some pretty barmaids..." he said before realizing he had an audience. He blushed
furiously, but Miranda began to pursue the topic further, which put Angel on
alert.
"Barmaids, you say? How many?
Are they truly pretty?"
David answered cautiously, aware
that Fanny and his mother were listening. "Two barmaids, both rather plain."
"But well-endowed in all the,
er, social graces?" Miranda suggested.
It was David's turn to blush.
"It, er ... well..."
"They are barmaids, Lady
Miranda," Mr. Forde said testily. "What do you think?"
The countess changed the topic
to the wedding, allowing her son to lose his high color and keeping Fanny from
dwelling on buxom barmaids.
Lady Miranda, however, was kept
under surveillance by Angel and, did she but know it, Mr. Forde. They both
followed the lady after breakfast.
When Miranda went upstairs,
Angel took the back stairs, but apparently Mr. Forde had taken the main
staircase. They met in the hall in front of the Eaton's rooms.
"I should not be here with you,"
Angel whispered without any greeting.
"Why not? I do not bite," he
softly replied. "And why are we whispering?"
Angel glanced at Miranda's door
and he nodded.
"Are you afraid I will try to
kiss you again?" he asked.
Angel hesitated. The answer was
yes, and no. If Miranda caught them kissing, she had threatened consequences,
so yes. Was she afraid? No. Not of him. "You should not be here."
"I suppose you are trying to
discover what she is up to?" he asked, ignoring her statement.
"It cannot be good if she is
asking about the very place you and Lord Willingham are heading for this
evening."
"I thought so, as well. I plan
on keeping my eyes open for anything unusual."
"What about the usual?"
"What could be harmful in the
usual?" he asked with a laugh. Before Angel could reply, he swooped down for a
quick kiss on the mouth, turned with a smile and sauntered off down the hall.
She watched, bemused, until he
disappeared from view. At that moment, Miranda opened her door.
"Get in here! I have a few
chores for you!"
Miranda's first task was for
Angel to deliver another note to the vicarage, which she did. As soon as that
was accomplished, she went for a walk. It was no surprise, really, that she
ended up in front of Nanny Baker's cottage.
The older lady's welcome was a
nice contrast to Miranda's attitude and Angel soon found herself in front of a
warm fire, the cat on her knee. There was a cup of tea in one hand and a plate
of scones at her elbow.
"Seems to me," Nanny said after
Angel confessed everything about David, Fanny, Miranda and the vicar to her,
"We need to know what those two evil ones are up to next."
"Yes, but how?"
"I was thinking of paying a call
on that poor Mrs. Miller ... She would likely appreciate someone taking her lads
into the village for an hour or so ... Perhaps have them pick out a new shawl for
their mama at the seamstress' shop..."
Angel did not understand the meaning
of such a comment.
"Mrs. Pine is the biggest gossip
around. If anything odd is happening, she'll already know about it."
"Oh. Then we had better get to
it." Angel sat her cup down and scratched the cat's ears.
"Time waits for no one," Nanny
agreed.
Angel and the boys went into
Mrs. Pine's shop with the intention of buying a shawl when she realized they
were being followed by Mr. Forde.
"Come on, men," he commanded.
"You would rather be drinking lemonade at the inn or petting the horses in the
livery than shopping for clothes."
The boys agreed, despite the
fact that the purchase was for their mother, and Angel was grateful not to have
them overhear the chat she was about to initiate with the shopkeeper.
"One hour, Miss Singletary," Mr.
Forde said as they left. "We will meet you at the inn."
Distracted by the two rather
tawdry-looking women who had come in a moment earlier, Angel merely nodded and
sent them on their way.
"Go away, you two!" Mrs. Pine
said to the two newcomers.
"Here now, Mrs. Pine!" the
blonde of the two protested. "We ain't here to browse. We're to buy!" She
displayed a battered, but plump, purse full of coins.
The shop owner eyed them
suspiciously, even as her nose twitched. "Where did you get that?"
The brunette giggled. "Got paid
for sumpin' we ain't even done yet!" The two doxies looked at each other and
laughed.
"You just wait on the lady while
we look around..." They barely acknowledged Angel.
But she had one ear open, even
as she perused the shawls and found one the boys were sure to approve of. It
was cream-colored wool with pale blue threads woven into it.
"Two gents..."
"Detain them all..."
"Her ladyship..." This was
followed by a spate of giggles.
Another woman came into the shop
and Mrs. Pine deserted Angel for what was obviously a more important personage.
She used the opportunity to sidle closer to the two tarts.
"I wouldn't mind..."
"His lordship..." They were
whispering, but certain words came out loud and clear. However, Angel was
unable to put together a clear picture of what was being planned. Mention of
Miranda and the earl told her enough to stay interested in the conversation,
but they were quiet once they realized she was eavesdropping.
Loudly declaring the shop
unworthy of their patronage, they flounced out. Mrs. Pine seemed relieved to
see them leave, muttering something about Cock and Bull trash. At least Angel
had a location, even if she appeared to pay no attention to the dressmaker's
words.
She purchased the shawl and met
the men at the inn, but did not say anything about what she had heard to Mr.
Forde, even after they returned the lads to the cottage. He would not likely
listen to her if she said he was in danger of a tavern maid.
No, this situation required a
female ally, and she was certain there would be another young lady at the manor
who would be willing to assist her in this matter.
She and Fanny were going to
become doxies for the evening.
After dinner, everyone excused
themselves early, the earl and Mr. Forde to go into the village, the Eatons to
their room and the countess to issue last minute admonitions to the servants
concerning the wedding breakfast.
Angel, having already outlined
her plan to Fanny as soon as she had returned from the village, went upstairs
and changed her appearance until she resembled Desiree Denton. That ought to
divert attention away from the more slovenly girls who had been in the dress
shop earlier that day.
Satisfied that her bodice was
low enough and her face painted correctly -- she had bribed Miranda's maid to
bring her some of that lady's cosmetics -- she went into Fanny's room.
"I cannot ... This gown..." Fanny
was fussing with the low neckline of her dress. Her problem was that she kept
pulling it up.
"Allow me." Angel gave it a tug
and Fanny's breasts almost spilled out. "Perfect!" she announced. A blush
spread across Fanny's face and chest.
"But, Angela," she protested,
"we cannot go out like this! What if someone sees us?"
Angel sat Fanny down at the
dressing table and tousled her curls. "We can and we are. Do you wish something
bad to happen to the earl or his uncle?"
Fanny shook her head.
"Then we have to do it like
this. One, the gentlemen will hardly be expecting it and will immediately drop
the other women, if only to tell us to go home. If we are fortunate, they will
even escort us back. We will only be on display long enough to gain their
attention. What could happen in that length of time?"
"Nothing, I suppose," Fanny
grumbled, even as she allowed Angel to fix up her face. "But do we have to walk?"
"Yes! We cannot risk anyone
seeing the pony and cart. Our reputations would end up in shreds. And you are
to become a countess tomorrow. How would that look?"
"Then we had better get going."
"That's my girl!"
Fanny was complaining again by
the time they reached the Cock and Bull, but Angel had to agree with her that
it had been no easy walk. Every pebble in the road seemed to have found their
way into two pairs of flat slippers, and they had been stopped once by an
inebriated gentleman on horseback. His had been an offer they definitely
refused.
Right before they approached the
tavern, Fanny balked.
"I cannot go in there dressed
like this!" she wailed.
"Yes, you can! Do you want
anything to happen to your fiancé? To the man you love?"
Fanny looked stricken. "But
David will see me like this, too! He'll... He'll think I am a wanton!"
Angel snorted. "It should not
take you more than a couple of days of married life to discover men like that
in their women. Come on!"
Fanny brightened visibly at her
words and linked arms with her.
"You are correct." She would
have marched right in the front door, too, but Angel held her back.
"We can't just waltz right in
the front! Our gentlemen would just waltz us right back out! We need to see
where they are first."
The two-story building had no
windows on the ground floor but it had a rear entrance. Angel saw no one was
about -- even the stables were quiet -- and slipped inside, Fanny on her heels.
All activity seemed to be centered on the main room. They peeked in there.
Mr. Forde and Lord Willingham
were in a corner of the room, the two girls from the dress shop perched on
their knees. Behind her, Fanny squeaked in surprise.
"They are enjoying themselves!"
she hissed.
At first glance it did seem as
if the gentlemen were having the time of their lives. They had a female in one
hand and a mug of ale in the other. However, on closer inspection, David's
smile was plastered on and Mr. Forde's expression was clearly pained. Now was
their chance.
"Follow my lead, Fanny, and
whatever I do to Mr. Forde, you do to the earl."
"Right."
They sauntered boldly into the
tap room amidst whistles and catcalls, and when Angel acknowledged the
appreciation with a wave and a smile, so did Fanny.
"Thank you for keeping our seats
warm for us, girls," Angel told the doxies. "We will take it from here." Mr.
Forde rose quickly and grabbed her by the arm.
"What in heaven's name are you
two doing here? And dressed like this!" he harshly whispered.
"I am not entirely certain," she
softly replied. Out of the corner of her eye she saw David push away his own
barmaid and plant Fanny on his knee.
"Here, now!" the brunette with
Mr. Forde exclaimed. "We was here first!" She shoved Angel out of the way and
attached herself to his other arm.
"But now we are here and you may
just run along," Angel insisted, pulling Mr. Forde toward her.
"What are you doing?" he asked
once more.
"Keeping you away from this
woman?" she suggested. "Actually, I was unsure what to expect, so I do not have
any plan at this point." The brunette was still tugging on her side and Angel
glared at her.
"I was here first and he's mine!
Ain't you?" the tart begged of Mr. Forde.
"Er, no, not really. But then
again..."
The girl started to cry. "He
says he ain't mine and here I was, lettin' him hold me on his lap..."
One of the rough-looking men
sitting at a low table rose and cracked his knuckles. "Want I should take care
of the gent fer ya, Jenny?"
"No!" Mr. Forde and Angel cried
at once.
"I think the young lady will
admit she was sitting on my lap without permission," Mr. Forde insisted.
Another man rose to stand with
the first one. "Are you callin' our Jenny a liar?"
"Er..."
"Yes!" Fanny cried, gaining
everyone's attention. When she realized all eyes were on her, she hesitated.
"Because everyone knows Mr. Forde prefers..." She paused again.
Angel knew Fanny could not say
blondes, because Angel was not one. How was she going to get them out of this
now?
"Because?" the first man
prompted.
"Because he prefers men," Fanny
sweetly replied. The farmers took even further exception at that point and she
had just enough time to hide behind David before all hell broke loose.
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