What a Reckless Rogue Needs (28 page)

She should be able to choose her spouse rather than have to settle for an arranged marriage, but it was complicated. He did not want to lose her, but he feared he might be too late. He might have to do something drastic, although he wasn’t sure what that might be. Angeline deserved a proper wedding, and God knew he would be ready to settle down after he used his fists on Brentmoor.

Sunday morning

Colin tugged on his cravat and ducked his head in his father’s study. “Oh, good, you’re
not
working.”

“Is this another special occasion?” the marquess said. “It’s seven o’clock in the morning. I expected you to be in bed after a nightlong debauch.”

“Alas there is a dearth of debauches in the country, so I’ll have to settle for church.”

“God save us.”

“May I come in?”

The marquess regarded him over his spectacles. “Yes, of course. Be seated.”

Colin slouched in the cross-framed armchair. “Is Margaret really that strict about the Sabbath?”

“Oh, yes. Now, I’ll give you a tip about women since it appears your friends’ mothers and wives are urging you to leap into matrimony. Never lie to a woman. They can sniff it at fifty paces.”

“So, did Margaret catch you
not
working?”

“I always knew you were clever. What is on your mind, son?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, two things.”

“Start with one,” the marquess said.

“I was thinking of looking for a property in the neighborhood.”

The marquess put his hand behind his ear. “Repeat that please before I fall off my chair.”

“You heard me. I wondered if you have any recommendations.”

The marquess set his pen aside and crossed his arms on the desk. “Are you unwell?”

Colin laughed. “No.”

The marquess drew out a quizzing glass from his pocket and peered at his son. “Hmmm. I don’t see any spots or fevered cheeks. But something tells me you are suffering from a malady known to many young men. Could it be you are in love?”

Colin’s ears got a little warm. “I haven’t asked—not properly.”

The marquess dropped the quizzing glass. “Do I want to hear this story?”

Colin shook his head. “Definitely not.”

“Do you plan to make a proper proposal to Lady Angeline?”

“Yes, but she turned me down.”

“Botched it, I suppose.”

He nodded. “How amenable do you think Wycoff would be?”

“Well, he might try to shoot you, but he’s a worse shot than I am. The odds are in your favor.”

“Ah, that is reassuring,” Colin said.

The marquess sighed. “I think the most significant question is whether Lady Angeline is receptive to your proposal. I know the two of you have been in one another’s pockets, but we both know she has endured a rough time. I’ve no doubt she will come about and be the toast of the ton once again. But marrying and participating in the London season may be too much for her all at once. I don’t know. Margaret and the duchess would have you rush to the altar. However, you know Lady Angeline better than anybody, and I think the two of you are especially fortunate that you have had the opportunity to really know one another before the marriage.”

“It was purposeful,” he said. “She suggested it.”

“Do you love her?”

He swallowed. “Very much.”

“And?”

“We’ve had a spat or two, but to our credit we reconcile well enough.”

“Ah, yes, reconciliation.” The marquess rose, walked around his desk, and clapped Colin’s shoulder. “I can’t think of a better wife for you, son. No doubt the two of you will have many spats, reconcile frequently, and present me with my first grandchild within nine months.”

Colin laughed. “Thank you, Father.”

“Do you plan to journey to London next week?”

“Yes.”

“Your friends are prepared and the plan is solid?”

“Yes, everything is in order.”

“Son, I’m rather fond of you, though I’m not certain why.”

Colin laughed.

“I will give you a bit of advice. Beat the bloody hell out of the bastard, but don’t kill him. His foul blood isn’t worth having on your hands. When it’s over, have him hauled off to a press-gang. He’ll wish he were dead and that’s punishment enough.”

Colin nodded. “Thank you, Father.”

“Take every precaution, son. You have a beautiful young woman who will be waiting anxiously for your return and so will I. Finish this nasty business once and for all. Then we will celebrate upon your return. While you’re in London, you might consider purchasing a special license.”

Colin nodded. “I appreciate all of your advice, particularly the reminder for the special license. I would very much like to wed her upon my return.”

“You might propose first,” the marquess said.

“Yes, on bended knee this time.”

“Do I want to hear about the other time?”

Colin shook his head. “Probably not.”

“I love you, son. Go defend her honor, and then come home in one piece. I’ll see what I can do about finding you a property.”

That evening

The marquess did his neighborly duty and invited Reverend Quimby and his wife to dinner. Mrs. Quimby once again regaled everyone with minute descriptions of Harwell, Baron Overton’s property. Angeline politely conversed with the reverend, but she was anxious. Her father had announced they would stay an additional week at Deerfield and gave no other explanation. Earlier this afternoon, her father, the marquess, and Colin had gone into the study. They had remained there for several hours. Angeline was very concerned. She feared that Colin would challenge Brentmoor to a duel. All afternoon, she had waited for an opportunity to speak to Colin, but she’d ended up reading to the ladies while they stitched this afternoon, and there had been no chance to have a private conversation with Colin. She was anxious and hoped that they would be able to talk in the drawing room, because she needed reassurance that he would not duel.

When dinner ended, the ladies withdrew to the drawing room for tea and stitching. Penny played “Robin Adair” and the twins sang. For once, Angeline focused on stitching, hoping to evade a “coze” with Mrs. Quimby.

“Lady Angeline, you have been especially quiet this evening,” Mrs. Quimby said.

“My thoughts have been elsewhere, Mrs. Quimby. Do forgive me. How are you and all of your family?”

“We are all happy and well. Reverend Quimby received a letter from Baron Overton a few days ago.”

“Ah, letters are always welcome.” Angeline exchanged a smile with Margaret. Clearly Mrs. Quimby was ready to launch into her favorite topic.

“Of course, all is prospering at Harwell House,” Mrs. Quimby said. “I am only sorry that the reverend and I missed Baron Overton’s dinner party. But I have the letter here. It will only take a moment to find it in my reticule.”

Angeline met her mother’s resigned gaze. She hoped there was only one letter.

“Ah, here it is,” Mrs. Quimby said, smoothing out the paper. “Yes, Baron Overton writes that he was gratified to invite the most illustrious guests who are new to the neighborhood, Lord and Lady Brentmoor.” She paused. “Are you acquainted with the family, Lady Angeline?”

Angeline hesitated for a moment, and then she pulled the embroidery thread. Mrs. Quimby could not have known that the mention in the letter would cause great consternation.

Margaret had a gift for maneuvering guests who overstepped the bounds. “Mrs. Quimby, do you have friends or relations near Baron Overton?”

“Unfortunately, no. If I did, I assure you, I would be in raptures. The thought of Mr. Quimby and me in the same neighborhood as Baron Overton is one I sometimes entertain.”

“How delightful,” Margaret said.

Now that Margaret had distracted Mrs. Quimby, Angeline released a sigh of relief.

“We will journey there at the end of the month. I do hope to make the acquaintance of Lord and Lady Brentmoor. I have heard she is a great beauty,” Mrs. Quimby said. “Is that true, Duchess?”

“I do not consider beauty a recommendation for making acquaintances,” the duchess said. “Character is the important factor.”

Angeline thought that Mrs. Quimby could not fail to notice the duchess’s chilly reply.

“Oh, to be sure,” Mrs. Quimby said, “but one cannot help noticing great beauty. I wondered if you had an opinion of her looks.”

The duchess lowered her embroidery. “I do not.”

Angeline was certain her mother’s curt reply would quell the woman.

“It is a shame that Lord Brentmoor lost his esteemed father, and of course, his grief must have been large,” Mrs. Quimby continued, “but a fortune will always be welcome, to be sure.” She laughed.

Angeline thought the woman exceedingly vulgar.

Margaret turned her attention to Mrs. Quimby. “Allow me to pour you another dish of tea.”

“That is so kind of you, but I’m not thirsty. Lady Angeline, you did not say whether or not you had met Lord and Lady Brentmoor?”

Unfortunately, the reverend’s wife was not the sort of woman who sensed undercurrents in conversations. Again, Angeline chose to ignore the question.

Margaret rose. “Duchess, let me bring you another cup of tea.”

Angeline noticed her mother’s lips were drawn tightly.
Poor Mama to have to suffer Mrs. Quimby’s prattle about Brentmoor.

Mrs. Quimby continued, undeterred. “Lady Angeline, I believe you did not hear my question about Lord and Lady Brentmoor.”

Angeline smoothed out her embroidery. “Mrs. Quimby, the persons you mentioned are not friends of mine.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure Baron Overton would be glad to make the introductions—”

Margaret approached Mrs. Quimby. “Unfortunately, Baron Overton is not here to perform the introductions. May I get you a second cup of tea?”

“Oh, no, I’m perfectly satisfied, though I do thank you. Well, I hope you will have a chance to meet Lord and Lady Brentmoor during the spring season in London, Lady Angeline,” Mrs. Quimby said.

Margaret leaned forward and touched Mrs. Quimby’s arm. “I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Quimby. Would you be willing to play for us? I’m sure we would all enjoy it.”

Margaret spoke to the girls briefly. They left the drawing room, and their voices receded.

Mrs. Quimby prattled on about what an honor it was to be asked to play. Margaret managed to urge her across the room and onto the bench. After setting up the music sheets, Margaret walked away as quickly as possible. She smiled at Mrs. Quimby and turned to Angeline. “I am sorry.”

Angeline sighed. “She has no idea her words are unwelcome, Margaret.”

“My head aches from listening to her,” the duchess said. “Her manners are deplorable.”

“Your headache will be the perfect excuse,” Margaret said. “I will be concerned about contagion when the gentlemen arrive and will ask Chadwick to order the carriage immediately to take them home.”

“Thank you, Margaret,” Angeline said under her breath. “I do not want Mama to suffer any more talk of that fiend and his wife.”

“My concerns are for you, Angeline,” the duchess said.

“I hope the gentlemen are prompt,” Margaret said.

When Mrs. Quimby finished, she turned. “Would one of you like to exhibit? I do not wish to be greedy.” She laughed.

“Please, continue,” Margaret said. “We are all enjoying your performance.”

“She is blind to the feelings of others,” the duchess said. “Margaret, you will have to take her in hand. She will cause problems, because her husband is the vicar, meaning one cannot simply ignore her, which is impossible anyway.”

“I have tried repeatedly to deter her,” Margaret said.

“You are too gentle,” the duchess said. “A woman with her nature only understands the stark truth. You see the way she ignores suggestions, other than to show off at the pianoforte.”

When the gentlemen returned to the drawing room, Angeline caught Colin’s eye. He escorted her over to the window seat. “You look a bit distressed,” he said under his breath.

“Mrs. Quimby is oblivious. I will tell you soon. Margaret is speaking to your father now.”

“Oh, dear,” the duchess said. “I am not at all well.”

Mrs. Quimby halted. “Oh, my. Perhaps another cup of tea would work.”

Margaret hurried to the duchess. “Oh, dear, you are looking pale. I hope there is no contagion. Chadwick, please have the carriage brought round.”

He looked a bit taken aback, until Margaret said, “Chadwick, please do not delay. I could not be easy if Mrs. Quimby and Reverend Quimby remain when there is a possible contagion.”

“Ah,” the marquess said, lifting his chin. “I agree. We cannot expose Reverend and Mrs. Quimby. Let me ring for Ames to arrange matters.”

“I’m sure it is nothing,” Mrs. Quimby said, turning to her husband. “Do you not agree?”

Margaret took Mrs. Quimby’s arm. “I would never forgive myself if either you or Mr. Quimby fell ill. In fact, it is quite cold out this evening, but there are woolen rugs in the carriage, and you will be comfortable on your journey.”

Nearly half an hour elapsed before Margaret and the marquess returned to the drawing room.

“That woman does not know when to stop talking,” the marquess said. “I can’t very well ignore the reverend, but I cannot abide his wife.”

“Subtlety is lost on her,” Margaret said. “Be glad you were not here, Chadwick. It was a most distressing performance on the part of Mrs. Quimby.”

After Margaret described the events, the marquess groaned. “The woman is completely unaware of others’ feelings.”

“Chadwick, something must be done,” Margaret said.

“Oh, no,” the marquess said. “I’m not stepping in that mud puddle.”

Angeline sagged against the sofa. “She is unbearable. One hates to wound her, but apparently no one has ever curbed her prattling.”

“I very much doubt she will change at this late date,” Colin said. “Father, I suggest that you invite them only for tea.”

“We’ve set a precedent,” the marquess said. “It can’t be avoided now.”

“Lord Chadwick,” Angeline said, “perhaps you could suggest to the reverend that he include some examples in his sermon of how we learn more from listening than speaking. Then when Reverend and Mrs. Quimby call, you can always bring up what a wonderful sermon it was and how he and Mrs. Quimby are such wonderful examples. Every time Mrs. Quimby prattles, bring up the subject of your favorite sermon.”