The Earl Claims a Bride (26 page)

Angelina would be happy to marry him should he ask her if—if only she could stop thinking about Lord Thornwick. That man was a distraction she didn’t need. If she could stop thinking about his kisses and the way he made her feel when he looked at her, when he touched her. At times she wished the captain would be more forceful, more demanding, and in charge. More like Lord Thornwick. Then there were other times that she was glad he was such a gentleman and so respectful of her.

She knew what she needed. She just didn’t know how to accomplish it. Captain Maxwell needed to kiss her. Yes, that would settle all her fears, she thought as she stopped near the dance floor. Surely if the captain kissed her she would feel the same way as when the earl kissed her. No, she would feel better, deeper, and even more glorious sensations than when the earl kissed her.

But the captain was a gentleman and Lord Thornwick couldn’t be bothered with things like what was proper and what was not. If he wanted to do something he did, rules be damned. How could she let Captain Maxwell know she wanted him to kiss her? At the present, she didn’t know. But she would invite him over and would find a way for him to kiss her even if she had to use some of Lord Thornwick’s underhanded methods to do it.

“Miss Rule.”

Angelina turned to see who had called her name and beheld the striking Dowager Duchess of Drakestone walking toward her.

“Your Grace,” Angelina said and curtsied.

“I’ve been meaning to write you a note and thank you for having Bishop Worsley deliver some of your artist friend’s work to me.”

“No thank-you was necessary,” Angelina said, her heart suddenly racing. “I’m glad to hear Bishop Worsley was able to help you?”

“So you didn’t know he’d been to see me?” she questioned.

“I knew he had an appointment with you but I didn’t know when or that he’d already seen you. I haven’t heard from him in several days.”

“Oh,” the duchess said, seeming confused by her answer. She opened the fan she was holding and Angelina recognized the garden scene as one of her own.

“That’s lovely.”

“Yes, I’m especially fond of ones like this one that have the sparkle and shimmer on them. It looks like dew glistening on the flower petals, does it not?”

“Yes, it does,” Angelina responded, flattered that the duchess appreciated the care she took to make each flower look real.

“Tell me, do you know Miss Paulette Savill well?”

Angelina swallowed uncomfortably. She prayed the look in her eyes was not giving her away. She didn’t know if it was a simple case of guilty conscience or if the duchess truly had a hunch that Angelina was the artist.

“Not too well,” she fibbed with a huge attack of remorse for being untruthful, but she felt she had to do it. She had to stop the duchess from asking more questions she couldn’t possibly answer. “I’m told she’s very private about her life and her work and I respect that. I hope you found more than one fan that you liked.”

Her Grace snapped the fan shut and said, “Oh, I found favor with them all, Miss Rule. I purchased everything the bishop brought with him and I asked him to bring more as soon as he could. They’ll make wonderful little gifts when I attend house parties, don’t you think?”

Angelina nodded and hoped she kept the shock from registering in her expression and her eyes, but she couldn’t stop her sudden intake of breath. Why hadn’t Bishop Worsley told her the duchess had bought all the fans and wanted more? And how much money did he get for the fans? Fearful excitement tore inside her.

“I told him I’d like Miss Savill to paint some fans for me with scenes I’d like to see. Perhaps a white peacock on a black fan. He was going to ask her. Do you think she’d do that for me?”

More painting?

Angelina didn’t even want to think about that but knew she had to. The more she could paint, the more money she could make. She looked down at her hands. For a moment, she felt as if the duchess could look straight through Angelina’s gloves and see paint stains on her fingers and know she was the artist.

“I—You—Bishop Worsley would be the best one to answer that for you.”

“Of course. You’re right.” The duchess looked at her for a few moments longer than necessary before smiling and then walking away.

Angelina felt frozen to the floor. Could the duchess somehow know she was Paulette Savill? What would Angelina do if she did? Her grandmother would be devastated. Her father would go to prison. And Angelina would be banned from Society for life. Heavens to mercy! But she couldn’t dwell on any of that right now. She had to find her grandmother.

Forgetting about dancing with the captain, Angelina whirled from the direction of the dance floor and went in search of Lady Railbridge. They had to find out why Bishop Worsley hadn’t sent them word that the duchess had purchased all her fans.

Another thought struck her as she searched the crowd for her grandmother. Since the duchess had bought all the fans—how much money would that be? Angelina had no idea what price the Bishop had put on them. And what was happening with the miniatures Mr. Eyston had? She wondered if the bishop had finally made an arrangement with Mr. Eyston. And if so, what was he paying for the mourning and snuffboxes, and the other paintings she’d had delivered?

After a frantic search of the ballroom, Angelina found her grandmother sitting in the retiring room with a small group of ladies. After speaking to everyone, Angelina managed to pull Lady Railbridge aside and tell her what the duchess had said.

“Don’t look so anguished, dear,” Granna said and patted her cheek affectionately.

Realizing her grandmother wasn’t taking this as seriously as she was, Angelina said, “I simply don’t understand why we haven’t heard from him that he had sold every fan to the Duchess of Drakestone.” Angelina didn’t add that she also had a feeling the duchess suspected her of being the painter. That would only distress her grandmother, and Angelina was worried enough for the both of them.

“He is a busy gentleman, I’m sure. He can’t come rushing over or sit down to write to us with every bit of news.”

“Do you suppose Bishop Worsley has already completed the sale of the other things to Mr. Eyston as well?”

“I have no idea what he’s been able to accomplish,” her grandmother said, pulling her shawl tighter about her slim shoulders. “He told us it would take time.”

“Her Grace didn’t say when she purchased them, but it’s been over a week since he told us he had an appointment to see her.”

“And she may have just seen them today.” Her grandmother’s eyes narrowed. “What is this? It’s not like you to borrow trouble this way. It’s usually your motto to wait until you have something to worry about before you start wringing your hands.”

Angelina was getting no help from her grandmother. She took in a deep breath. “Is that what I’m doing? Wringing my hands?”

“You are close to it. You must not fret about this. It could be that she just purchased them before coming to the party tonight. We have no idea. Replace that expression of worry with a smile, young lady. You must remember Bishop Worsley has things to take care of besides just your paintings. If we don’t hear from him soon, I’ll send a note to him and ask that he visit us. Now, does that make you feel better?”

Angelina smiled. “Thank you, Granna. I’m sure you’re right. I will trust that he is working on my behalf and be done with it.”

“That’s my dear.”

Her grandmother was right. She couldn’t allow herself to worry about the bishop. Her grandmother trusted him completely. Angelina had to do that, too. For a little longer anyway.

The end of the Season was fast approaching.

Chapter 23

I’ll smother thee with kisses.

Venus and Adonis
18

Angelina sat up straight, took off her spectacles, and rolled her shoulders several times as she flexed her fingers. She sat in her painting room off the kitchen hunched over a fan. She’d received word from Bishop Worsley yesterday morning that the duchess wanted a black silk fan painted with nothing but a white peacock with his tail feathers open. That was no surprise to Angelina, but she had waited to start it until she’d heard from Worsley. The duchess probably had no idea how tedious it was to paint that tail. It had taken her most of the day.

He’d also written that he was still in negotiations with Mr. Eyston and would call on her and Lady Railbridge in the next few days. Angelina found that she was constantly either tamping down her excitement over actually selling her fans or worrying about whether she could make enough money to help her father before it was too late. If Bishop Worsley didn’t come over soon, she would be very close to doing what her grandmother had accused her of—wringing her hands.

It had rained for three days so she hadn’t been able to go out into the garden to paint, which made the laborious job a little more enjoyable. She loved feeling the fresh air on her face and hearing the sounds of nature when she was outside: birds chirping, bees buzzing by, and her dogs barking at passing carriages.

She’d chosen this room at the back of the house as her painting space for several reasons. It was well away from the drawing room where her father and grandmother often spent time. She loved them but their chatter could be a nuisance when she was concentrating on small details. There was a large window, which was a must. The hazy yellow glow of a lamp could never take the place of daylight when painting. It was where Rascal and Mr. Pete slept at night, and Sam when it was too cold for him to be outside where he preferred. Since the room was considered Angelina’s and her pets’ domain, not even Mrs. Bickmore ventured into it very often.

There was little furniture in the room: the desk and chair where she worked, an old settee that needed to be reupholstered, and a table to hold a teapot and cup. She looked over at the window. The floral-printed draperies were held back by dark-pink ribbons. In the sill sat the pot of violets Lord Thornwick had brought her. She smiled every time she looked at it. The brown leaves and wilted blooms had fallen off and now there were signs of new growth.

There was no clock in the room but Angelina assumed it was a little past midafternoon. She had worked since early morning. Her eyes were dry and her shoulders achy, but she had to keep painting. Every piece she could sell would bring her father that much closer to being free of his debt. And that would give her the freedom to choose her own husband.

Sam, Rascal, and Mr. Pete roused from their napping and started barking. “Stay,” she said quickly before they could take off running toward the front of the house. Mr. Pete paid her no mind and raced out the door with his nails clicking on the hardwood floors as he went. “Quiet, Sam, Rascal, quiet.”

The dogs looked at her, squirming and making dog noises as if to tell her there was something going on in another part of the house they needed to investigate along with Mr. Pete. “Sit,” she said, and the dogs obeyed but continued to grumble. “It doesn’t matter what you hear, the door, another dog, or the wind. You are staying put. If someone is at the door, Mrs. Bickmore will handle it, not you. And don’t worry about Mr. Pete. He’s still a puppy. It’s my fault I haven’t worked harder to train him, but I will as soon as I don’t have to paint every day,” she said, doing a little grumbling of her own.

The dogs eventually lay back down near the fireplace. Angelina replaced her spectacles on the bridge of her nose and picked up the lid and her brush. A garden scene was one of the easiest things for her to paint, but she would love to know if she needed to paint more or if scenes of the park were more popular—or her favorite, which was a handsome gentleman kissing the hand of a beautiful young lady.

“Good afternoon, Angelina.”

Angelina was so deep in thought that when she heard Lord Thornwick’s voice, it startled her. Rascal and Sam jumped up and barked. She rose and settled the dogs again before turning her attention to the handsome earl. He looked so dashing dressed in his dark trousers, buff-colored waistcoat, and camel-colored coat, but what melted her heart was seeing him holding Mr. Pete in his arms. She felt a sudden urge to rush into Lord Thornwick’s arms and welcome him with a kiss.

Instead, she drew her eyebrows together in irritation at the thought of being so happy to see him.

She said to the rogue, “I’m sure I told Mrs. Bickmore that she must always announce you.”

The corner of one side of his mouth lifted with a smile. “It didn’t do any good.”

“Obviously.”

“Apparently this puppy is not free to roam in the house unattended,” he said, rubbing his open palm down Mr. Pete’s spine.

“None of the dogs are.”

“Mrs. Bickmore was trying to chase him. She was only too happy for me to catch him for her and bring him to you.” He put Mr. Pete down and then patted Sam and Rascal, who’d both come over to sniff him and say hello.

“I’m sure,” Angelina mumbled and looked down at her paint-stained apron and the old, simple gray day dress she wore beneath. Part of her hair was tied back with a black scarf and the rest of it she quickly brushed away from her face, knowing there was nothing else she could do to make herself more presentable.

Suddenly frustrated, she said, “Didn’t you stop to think that it might not be convenient for you to drop by my house unannounced?”

“I can’t say it crossed my mind.”

“Do you ever plan to let me know in advance when you are going to come for a visit?” she said, feeling more than a little annoyed that he seemed to enjoy catching her with paint all over her hands and her apron while he looked absolutely splendid.

“I just returned to London and you were the first person I wanted to see.” He moved in closer to her. “I missed you.”

“I find it difficult to believe that’s true.”

His gaze stayed on her face. “It is. And it matters not to me if you have paint on your hands or your apron.” He smiled. “I like looking at you. Like now. It’s the first time I’ve seen you with spectacles on.”

“Oh,” she whispered and quickly removed them and laid them on her worktable.