Simon paced in front of the stables as they approached. "You rode early," he said, frowning as he came forward to help Angel dismount. He was dressed to ride, she noted with dismay.
"I wanted to show Lady Angelique my school," the marquis returned before she could answer, stepping around her and heading for the manor. "She's quite progressive-minded," he continued over his shoulder.
He seemed in a hurry to leave them. Angel gazed after him, not certain whether to be vexed or amused. She turned back to see Simon wiping a disapproving look off his face, and she tried again to straighten her hat. "It's a nice school," she declared. It had impressed her, as had the marquis's obvious interest and pride in the structure, and the good he thought it would do for the local children.
"Another of James's foolish and impetuous ideas," Simon said, obviously out of countenance with the two of them.
"Simon, you should have seen Papa's face when your cousin asked me to go riding," she soothed. "If this continues, we could be married by Christmas."
Simon gave a reluctant smile. "Sooner than that, hopefully." He gripped her fingers. "But tomorrow you must ride with me."
She smiled back. "Of course."
For the next few days, in fact, she rode with Simon, he choosing midmorning as more suitable to her delicate sensibilities. It gave her little chance to ride as she would have liked, as she had ridden with James, but she said nothing. That hadn't been at all proper, and she would simply have to get used to the idea of doing without galloping.
The morning before the Stanfreds were to arrive she rose later than usual, and had to rush to dress in her blue riding habit and meet Simon. "Master Simon," Hastings greeted them as he came out of the stables. "My lady."
"Good morning, Hastings. Saddle Admiral and Heaven, if you please."
As the groom nodded and turned for the stables, James emerged mounted on the hunter, Pharaoh. With a nod at them and a kick, he sent the stallion off at a gallop toward the lake.
"He's a grand rider, ain't he?" Henry's admiring voice came from the manor path, echoing her own thoughts. She'd been curious to try Pharaoh herself, though she hadn't found an opportunity to bring it up with the marquis.
"Henry, why don't you stay here with Hastings?" Simon unexpectedly suggested. "He'll help you practice your jumps."
In the blink of an eye Henry's stubborn and disappointed look turned to a pleased smile. "Would you, Hastings?"
The grizzled head groom grinned at him. "My pleasure, Master Henry."
As soon as they were mounted, Simon started them off at a sedate trot along the lake path. "Are you enjoying Abbonley?"
Angel nodded. "It's enchanting," she smiled, gazing over to her right where she could just see the glitter of the lake through the trees.
"My father's estate at Wansglen is a great deal like this, though not nearly so grand." He glanced over at her. "Of course Turbin Hall is quite interesting, as well. Have I told you it still has some of the original furniture from when Henry the Eighth came to visit my great-grandfather?"
"It... hasn't been touched at all since then, you mean?" Angel queried.
"Oh, heavens no. Grandmama refers to it as the Talbott museum." He gave a short smile. "None of this modernizing James is so fascinated with. Windows, for example. With the tax on them, how many does one actually need? And yet James even had more put in for his kitchens. I'll admit mat some innovations might be handy, but after awhile a place loses its sense of history, don't you think?"
"Oh, of course," Angel returned weakly. She'd several times complained that her mother treated Niston like a museum, where no one was supposed to move a stick of furniture without first conferring with all the ancestral bones buried in the family cemetery. And Niston was less than half as old as Turbin Hall.
When they reached the picturesque stone bridge that spanned the stream by the far side of the lake, Simon unexpectedly stopped and dismounted, then stepped over to help her down as well. He took Angel's hand and led her over to sit on the low wall of the bridge beside him.
"I'm pleased you came here," he said, "and I hope that this plan with James hasn't offended you. I know he can be something of a... rakehell, I suppose is the word."
"Not at all," she answered truthfully, for she enjoyed the marquis's spirited company, and his flirting. He wasn't at all high in the instep like many of the titled English. Apparently, being a rake had its advantages. Sometimes she wished she could emulate him, for then she could behave as she fancied, and hang the consequences.
"That pleases me," Simon commented, obviously not reading her thoughts. With that, he took her chin in his hand and drew her face toward his, then kissed her gently on the lips. He repeated the action, then sat back a little. "It's been far too long since we did that last," he said.
"When you proposed to me?" she returned, smiling. Jenny Smith had told her last Season that being kissed was like thunder and lightning, but Jenny could be rather silly and believed all of those giddy novels she read. Kissing Simon reminded her of a gentle breeze, calm and safe and steady. And, she admitted for the first time, rather less than exciting.
That thought unexpectedly left her quite sad, and she took her leave of Simon once they returned to the manor, only to find that her family had driven into Esterley with Lady Elizabeth. She walked through the garden, trying to lighten her lowered spirits, but nothing helped. If their plan was working as well as they believed, they could be married by the end of the year. She should be ecstatic. Instead, she felt unaccountably lonely. She left the garden and went inside, wandering through the multitude of elegant rooms.
Finally she found herself outside her favorite room at Abbonley. The library door was open so she walked in, heading straight for the closest of the tall, narrow windows that looked out over the garden. For several minutes she sat there, gazing out pensively.
"What troubles you, Angelique?"
Angel nearly jumped out of her skin. She whipped her head around to see the marquis seated in one of the overstuffed chairs close to the fireplace, his gleaming Hessian boots stretched out in front of him with ankles crossed and a book in one hand.
Blushing furiously at being caught moping like a pea-goose, she started to rise. "I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't know you were in here."
He waved her back toward the sill. "Don't leave on my account. Just taking advantage of the lull." James looked at her closely for a moment, making her wonder again if he could read her thoughts. "Would you like a glass of Madeira or something?"
"It's a bit early for that, don't you think?" she returned
testily.
He glanced up at the clock on the mantel, then shrugged in his single-shouldered way. "I suppose so." He smiled a little grimly. "I was never much good at remembering what hours were socially acceptable for drinking."
"And now?" she asked, intrigued by his comment.
"And now I don't have to worry about it," he replied. "Part of my reformation, you know,"
"That's good, I think," she commented quietly.
"Thank you," he answered, then cocked his head at her, his eyes studying her face. "You haven't answered my question."
"Which question?"
"What troubles you?" he repeated softly.
Angelique looked back out the window and shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought something would be a certain way, and it wasn't."
He nodded. "I've found that to be true of a great many" things," he responded, typically cynical.
She lifted her chin. "You mean Desiree?" she asked boldly.
Several emotions, not all of them pleasant, played across his lean features. "Do I have a lantern above my head that lights every time you say that name, or something?" he finally asked.
"That's a bit absurd, don't you think?" she responded, relieved that he wasn't shouting.
"I am simply trying to figure out why you relate every minuscule particle of my conversation to my sordid past with Desiree Kensington. You use her name like a knife blade, you know."
"I do no such thing."
"You do," he argued. "And I'd rather you fling the spear of Miss Peachley in my direction, if you don't mind."
That only served to remind her that he'd selected Lily Stanfred as his future bride. "I'd fling neither at you if only you'd let Lily alone," she returned.
James Faring sat back and looked at her. "Am I so horrible that you can't stand even the thought of your friend being wed to me?" he queried. "Would I be such a terrible husband?"
"Yes," she answered, rising and moving to the fireplace. There was a lovely pair of Egyptian-style candlesticks there, and she lifted one to examine it.
"Why?"
"Because she's all wrong for you. Lily is very... nice. And you would be completely bored with her. Unless you like to speak of the latest Paris fashions or the weather."
She felt James walk over to stand behind her. "That's not a very kind description of a friend," he murmured in his dry voice. "Besides, I asked why I was wrong for her, not why she was wrong for me."
Angelique found that she didn't want to move. Her fingers stilled on the polished brass of the candlestick, her eyes half closed as she listened to the sound of his voice. "Did you?"
"I did," he continued. "You almost sound as though you're more concerned with my happiness than with Miss Stanfred's."
"I..." Angelique shook herself. "I don't need to be concerned with your happiness, because you don't believe in love."
She turned to look up at him. For a moment she stood frozen, as his eyes caught her own. The marquis's fingers crept up to softly stroke her cheek, and she held her breath. He leaned toward her, and with a shiver she tilted her face up.
"Sweet Lucifer," he whispered, and abruptly yanked his hand away and turned his back on her. He cleared his throat, quite unlike the rakehell he was known to be. "Did I see you eyeing Pharaoh again this morning?"
Feeling rather ragged, Angel sagged against the mantel. "Y-yes, you did."
He strode over to the window and pushed it open, leaning out to take a deep breath. "I was under the impression that you disliked my poor horse," he said after a moment.
She managed a smile, relieved that he'd turned the conversation. "I have nothing against Pharaoh—only the price you paid for him."
James relaxed a little as well and finally turned back to face her. "My man, Algers, feels rather the same way."
Down the hall the front door opened, and the sounds of the Graham family echoed into the library. Angelique quickly headed for the door. "I should go see what they've been up to," she muttered.
"Angelique," he called after her, using her given name for the second time. "I'm sorry. That won't happen again."
"I know.” She—they—had simply become caught up in the game. For Simon's sake, they could never let it happen again. Mistake or not, though, the look she had fleetingly seen in his eyes caused her to question feelings she would rather have let be—particularly the ones surrounding Simon Talbott, and whether or not she was in love with him.
***
"My lord, several coaches are approaching."
James looked up from his perusal of the estate ledgers and nodded at his butler. "Thank you, Simms. Alert the horde, and I'll be along in a few moments."
A minute later four pairs of feet ran past his office, to the accompanying sound of children's excited laughter and a large dog barking, and he sat back and smiled. His household, it seemed, was about to become even more boisterous. His life had given him little exposure to children, and to his surprise he was beginning to believe he had been missing something.
Yesterday, after he had witnessed his nodcock cousin kissing Angelique with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop, he had begun to wonder what might have happened if he had stayed in London and Simon had been the one to go off to war. It was fairly obvious--Angelique was set on some sort of escape from her parents, and had settled on his cousin as the one to set her free. From her words in the library, it seemed she'd realized she wanted more from Simon than that. For the past few days James had been trying to visualize her in the dark rooms of Turbin Hall, and had been completely unable to conjure the image. Turbin was no place for a sprite such as Angel.
Hearing her laughter as she greeted Lily Stanfred some fifteen minutes later cheered him considerably. He noted that while he received a smile from Miss Stanfred, Simon had somehow earned an on dit about the girl's dressmaker and apparently found it highly amusing.
The Graham twins had young Jeremy Stanfred by the arms as they dragged him toward the stables. James herded the remaining guests inside to their respective bedchambers, and announced that they would be picnicking by the lake at noon.
That accomplished, he made his way up to the attic to recover the fishing poles he had dug out yesterday. On the way down, he paused by his grandmother's bedchamber and rapped on the door. At her acknowledgment he entered. "The Stanfreds have arrived," he told her, leaning against the door frame.
Elizabeth looked up from the dressing table as her maid finished putting up her long white hair. "I would have to be deaf or dead not to know that," she returned.
"Do you picnic with us?" he asked, grinning at her caustic words.
She grimaced. "You and your al fresco dining." She sighed. "As matron of the house and the only proprietor of proper behavior in the family, I suppose I must."
"Yes, Grandmama." He pushed away from the frame.
It was clear from young Jeremy Stanfred's awestruck expression as James approached the children, that the Graham twins had been rather liberal in their description of him and of the Abbonley stables. "My lord marquis," he bowed, "I've... I've brought my Hannibal. Do you think you might teach us to jump like India and Henry?"
Henry leaned toward his friend. "You can call him Lord James," he whispered. "He's all the crack, Jeremy. Much more fun than most grownups."
"I believe I can manage a few more lessons," James chuckled, rumpling Henry's hair. "Care to have a go at these?" he queried, holding up the fishing poles.
"Oh, yes, Lord James!"
With that he herded Brutus and the laughing, excited children down to the picnic area his servants had prepared in the shade of a stand of elms. He found himself grinning as he watched the rest of the party arrive and sit down to eat. Abbonley had always been his place where he could be alone, though his own company was rarely comforting. Since the Grahams had arrived, the estate seemed more like a home than simply a place to escape to, and the sound of laughter and voices in the hallways reminded him of when he had been very young, before his mother had died.
The children finished eating and took the poles down by the old dock, where the ground was firmer. He couldn't see if they were catching anything, but from the shrieks of laughter he doubted it.
"You again triumph as a host," Angelique said merrily as she approached, a strawberry tart in one hand. He had noticed her fondness for the berry, and had instructed his cook to have it present at every meal. "I don't think they'll be catching anything, however." She chuckled. "Mama refused to let them dig for worms, so they have no bait."
"We'll have to see to that." James spied one of the servants approaching with a fresh platter of thin-sliced ham. "John, bring that down to the children," he instructed, "and inform them that it makes good bait."
"Yes, my lord." With a glance at him, the servant walked down to the shore. A cheer erupted as he handed the ham over to Jeremy.
"Oh, dear," Angel murmured, and he turned to look at her.
She was gazing toward the manor, and abruptly began laughing. A moment later he joined her. Grandmama Elizabeth had arrived for the picnic. Evidently, however, she had decided she had indeed had enough of dining on the ground, for trailing behind her were servants carrying, in procession, a chair, a writing table, a tablecloth and a canopy.
"She is an original," he muttered.
"Like her grandson," Angel concurred.
He looked back at her to find her hazel eyes dancing with mischief. "To which grandson are you referring?" he queried, raising an eyebrow.
"Tell me you've changed your mind about Lily," she whispered, taking a step closer.
"Tell me you've changed your mind about Simon," he murmured back, not surprised at her shocked expression. He was rather shocked that he had said it aloud, himself.
"Why should I?" she returned hotly.
"And why should I?" he repeated.
Before she could reply, Simon was there. "Come back and finish eating, Angel. Lily's been telling me an amusing story about Miss Delon which you must hear."
"Oh, by all means, excuse me," James said, sweeping a bow. "I would hate to keep you from that."
As he had expected, she scowled at him. "You certainly are puffed up with your own consequence today," she noted disdainfully, then turned away.
"Goosecap," he replied smoothly.
She whirled around and opened her mouth to make a retort. At the last moment she looked over at his cousin, snapped her jaw shut again, and with a twitch of her skirts turned to lead Simon back to where Lily waited.
James stood for a moment watching the three of them. Lily Stanfred was perhaps the more classically beautiful of the two young ladies, but there was a blithe warmth and compassion in Angelique that set her completely apart from any woman he had ever met. He only hoped Simon knew that, and that his cousin would appreciate what a rare and precious gift he had been given. With a sigh, James turned to the lake to offer his assistance to the children in their quest for supper.