The Angel and the Aristocrat by Merry Farmer
Chapter 2
Lord Rafe McAllister, Marquess of Rothbury. If ever there were someone or something for Angeline to be frightened of, he was it. She would never forget the way her heart trembled as she glanced up at him from the floor while cleaning up the mess she’d made. She would never forget the way her body tightened and trembled as well, but with an entirely different sort of emotion. She’d heard all about those women who were irresistibly drawn to men who frightened them or were harsh to them while at school, but never in a million years would she have dreamed she’d be one of them. And she wasn’t.
Because as much as Lord Rafe had frightened her, something about him had touched her as well. Anger wasn’t the only emotion she’d seen in his eyes. She’d seen a fair amount of sadness there too.
“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?” she asked her friend, Miss Melanie Pennypacker, as she and the rest of their group of friends walked toward the conservatory for that week’s Friday night dance.
“Of course, he’ll be here,” Melanie laughed. Melanie was American, from Philadelphia, and had been sent to London for finishing school with the rest of them years ago in the hopes that she would find a titled husband, like so many other American “dollar princesses” who had invaded British shores. Angeline had no idea why she was still unmarried and still in England, but she was glad for it. “Miss Julia requires all of her houseguests to attend her scheduled events,” Melanie went on.
“We’ve been informed that there is nae possible way for us to escape them, though I intend to try,” Lady Raina Oliphant, another of Angeline’s friends who she had just been reunited with said. “I’ve had enough of being snubbed and sniffed at by high society already. I will walk ye to the door, but ye cannae convince me to set foot in that ballroom.”
“If you insist,” Angeline said. She sympathized with her friend and the ill-treatment she’d received, but secretly she wished she could enjoy the evening with Raina.
“The dances are one thing,” Raina went on, “but do ye ken she has theatrical events arranged for us to take part in as well?”
Melanie shuddered.
Angeline just laughed. “I never minded our theatric endeavors in school,” she said. “We were all fortunate enough to wear pretty costumes.”
“Speak for yourself,” Raina said. “She made me play a tree in that production of Macbeth that we were forced to suffer through. A tree! When I was the only actual Scot at the school!”
“I suppose she thought it would be too much on the nose for you to play Lady Macbeth,” Melanie said.
“Lady Macbeth?” Raina balked. “I wanted the title role!”
The three of them laughed. Angeline clapped a hand over her mouth, once again hating the sound of her laughter.
As soon as they reached the door to the conservatory, Raina peeled away from them, backtracking as if she’d caught whiff of a horrible smell.
“This is as far as I go,” she declared. “I wouldna set foot in that ballroom if my skirts were on fire and it contained the only water in the county.”
“Suit yourself,” Melanie laughed, glancing over her shoulder as Raina marched determinedly away. “We’ll tell you all about it later.”
Most of the gentlemen of the party were already assembled in the conservatory, watching the ladies arrive. Several of them took a keen interest in the newly-arrived duo. Angeline thought the gentlemen’s attention was lovely, and there were some handsome men among them, but she turned this way and that, craning her neck, searching for Lord Rafe McAllister.
“Ladies, you all look charming,” Miss Julia said, swishing over from the cluster of men where she’d been standing with her new husband to greet them. “I always knew that you would all grow into your looks.”
Angeline exchanged an amused look with Melanie, who appeared to be having a hard time not laughing.
“Let me introduce you to some of our very special guests,” Miss Julia went on, leading the three of them over to the group of men. “Gentlemen, may I introduce you to two of my most favorite former pupils? Lady Angeline O’Shea and Miss Melanie Pennypacker.”
A short round of bowing and curtsies followed as versions of “How do you do?” were exchanged all around.
“And my dears,” Miss Julia went on with an excited smile. “Please allow me to introduce the Duke of Cashingham, Lord Dorset, and Mr. Reginald Howard, a dear friend of my husband’s.”
Another round of bows and curtsies and versions of, “Lovely to meet you” followed that. Angeline’s heart thrummed against her ribs, and she tried not to be overwhelmed by the amount of formality and protocol around her. She was a member of the Ascendency in Ireland, which meant she was used to society and polite gatherings, especially those with prominent English lords, but the whole thing made her head spin all the same. She’d learned everything she needed to know to deport herself at the Twittingham Academy, but she was so out of practice that it felt laughable.
“Oh, how lovely,” Miss Julia went on. “The orchestra has begun the first waltz. Perhaps you ladies would like to dance with these gentlemen?”
“That would be lovely,” Melanie said, sending Angeline an amused look.
“If I might?” Lord Dorset offered his arm to Melanie.
“Certainly,” Melanie said with a smile, then let herself be led off to the dance floor.
“Lady Angeline, would you do me the honor?” Lord Cashingham offered his arm to Angeline.
“Why, thank you,” Angeline said with as much of a smile as she could manage.
As Lord Cashingham led her out to the center of the floor, Angeline looked sympathetically over her shoulder to Mr. Howard. The man wasn’t exactly a sterling prize, what with his paunch, his receding hairline, and his slight, constant sniff, but Angeline felt rather like he had been handed the thin end of the wedge by not being paired up for the dance. Her friends would likely say she was being overly sympathetic to a man who didn’t deserve it, though.
Angeline also glanced around for Lord Rothbury as Lord Cashingham drew her into dance position as they waited out the opening strains of the waltz. Lord Rothbury had to be there at some point, as Melanie had implied. Angeline looked forward to seeing him again with an odd combination of hope and embarrassment. She didn’t feel as though she’d properly apologized to him that afternoon. She hoped his shoes had dried out and that his trousers weren’t ruined. But more than that, she longed to make him smile. He seemed too dour for a man who was so handsome.
The waltz began in earnest, and Lord Cashingham led Angeline gracefully into the steps of the popular dance. That meant she was forced to turn her attention back to him. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the first clue how to converse with a duke during a waltz.
“As I understand it,” he began the conversation for her, sounding perfunctory at best, “Lady Fangfoss has arranged for this summer house party as a way to reunite some of her students.”
He was a perfect gentleman, but Angeline still felt horrifically self-conscious. “Yes,” she said bashfully. “We are her failed students, you see.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she yelped and snapped her mouth shut. Even if it was the truth, she shouldn’t have been so blunt. She missed a step in her embarrassment as well, which caused the duke to step on her toes.
“My apologies,” he stated drily, as if knowing it had been her fault.
“No, it was my fault, I can assure you,” Angeline said, her face blazing hot. “I regret to say that I’m clumsy. And I often say all the wrong things. I haven’t been out in company enough during these last few years. My father was dying, God rest his soul, and….” She pressed her lips shut, staring hard at Lord Cashingham’s shoulder so she wouldn’t have to look in his eyes.
The man took his time answering. Finally, he inclined his head the merest amount. “I forgive you. We all have our faults.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” Angeline glanced up at him in awe. “You’re a duke, after all. Dukes are…are perfect.”
Again, her partner seemed to consider his words before answering, “I am not perfect. I doubt any man is.” It wasn’t anything as common as a moment of hesitation, but as if he was as careful with his words as he was with his expressions.
He was trying to make her feel better, but Angeline only felt worse. As they’d dressed for the dance, she and her friends had gossiped about the fact that Lord Cashingham, a duke, was the ultimate prize for the young ladies invited to the house party. Who wouldn’t want to marry a duke and become a duchess, after all? Especially since he was ever-so-handsome, with his stately pale good looks and his patrician nose. He seemed like a man born to rule, and knew it.
The more she danced with the man, however, the more Angeline got the impression he was quietly sizing her up, and judging her unworthy to be his duchess. Which was fine by her, because his censure caused her to miss her steps, and she didn’t know what to say to him, and every moment of their dance made her feel as though she would be a terrible duchess.
“What do you think of Yorkshire so far?” Lord Cashingham asked her politely after they’d made a few turns around the dance floor.
“I only just arrived this morning,” Angeline confessed, “but so far, I have found it quite—oh!” She gasped as—at last—she spotted Lord Rothbury stride into the room. “Lovely,” she said, disconnected to anything else she’d been saying. “He’s quite lovely. I mean—” she gulped and focused on Lord Cashingham again, “—Yorkshire has been quite lovely so far.”
The duke raised an imperious eyebrow at her, as if he knew full well where her thoughts had headed. Perhaps not specifically, as when he looked past her, his gaze didn’t settle on any one man as the object of her sudden musings, but he seemed intelligent enough to guess.
“Of course I will be busy most days on my estate—Cashingham borders Fangfoss—but the countess sent me a full schedule for the party,” Lord Cashingham went on. “I was surprised to see she referred to some of the events as ‘mandatory fun’?”
Angeline laughed. “Yes, well, Miss Julia—that is, Lady Fangfoss—used to hold Mandatory Fun events every Friday lunchtime at her academy.”
The rest of the dance passed in a discussion of some of the things they’d all once been forced to do in the name of fun five years prior. Angeline found it much easier to talk to the duke once she’d decided he didn’t see her as a marriage prospect. He was civil enough, and he was quite handsome, but they could both tell at once they weren’t meant for each other.
Lord Rothbury, on the other hand, was a different story entirely. Lord Cashingham must have caught on to who Angeline was staring at during the dance, because as soon as the music ended, rather than returning her to her friends, he did her the favor of escorting her over to Lord Rothbury.
“Rothbury, have you met the charming Lady Angeline O’Shea?” Lord Cashingham asked once the three of them formed a small group.
Lord Rothbury cleared his throat. “We had the pleasure of meeting this morning.”
“For which I apologize profusely,” Angeline said.
Lord Cashingham’s mouth twitched at her statement, which made Angeline realize how foolish she sounded. She fought to keep a pleasant smile in place, though, just as Miss Julia had taught them all to do when they were in school.
“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind dancing with the lady so that she could apologize more?” Lord Cashingham suggested with a nod for Lord Rothbury.
Lord Rothbury smiled, but it didn’t count, because it wasn’t a real smile. It was something tight and uncomfortable, as if he felt he had to. “I would be delighted,” he said. He offered Angeline his arm as the orchestra swept into the next song.
Again, Angeline didn’t know what to say as Lord Rothbury led her out to the dance floor, but for an entirely different reason from her speechlessness while dancing with Lord Cashingham. She couldn’t just stand there like a doll Lord Rothbury would be forced to hurl around the room, though.
“How are your shoes?” she asked in an embarrassed rush.
“They are quite well, thank you,” Lord Rothbury said. He seemed to remember who he was speaking to and what the topic of conversation was, and went on with, “I expect they will make a full recovery. As will my trousers.”
Something about that last statement made the otherwise handsome and dignified man blush. Angeline took that as a good sign. He wasn’t angry with her, and he just might have a sense of humor lurking under all of his finery as well.
“I must apologize to your trousers for any discomfort I might have caused them,” she went on, teasing him just a bit over his formality. “I can assure you that it was not my intent to alter their state at all, and I hope that the addition of a bit of dampness does not permanently interfere with their fit.”
Lord Rothbury burst into a fit of coughing, though he managed to keep time to the steps of the waltz as he did. “Not at all,” he said in a hoarse voice.
An awkward lull in the conversation followed. Angeline wasn’t sure she minded, though. The silence gave her a chance to settle into their dance position and to attune herself more to the rhythm of the dance. It gave her a chance to observe Lord Rothbury as well. He truly was handsome, with his classically beautiful features and dark, fathomless eyes. And once again, she felt that sadness, that tension, that she’d noticed that morning in the hall. There was so much more to the man than met the eye. She wanted to discover all of his secrets, which was mad, really, since she’d only just met the man. But sometimes all that was needed was a heartbeat to know that you wanted to know someone. Her cousin, Chloe, would say it was written in the stars and that the two people must have had compatible astrological signs. Angeline wasn’t so certain about that, but it had to be something.
“Are you enjoying Yorkshire so far?” she asked, taking a page out of Lord Cashingham’s book.
“My country estate is in Yorkshire,” Lord Rothbury answered. “Though miles from here, right up at the very top of the county.”
“Oh? How lucky you are to live in such a richly beautiful place,” she said with a smile.
“My ancestors weren’t so lucky,” he went on, his expression dour. “They were constantly at war with the Scots.”
Angeline suppressed a smile, wondering what Raina would say to that. “Do you have a house in London?” she asked, feeling more at ease and more confident in her ability to make light conversation.
“I do,” he said with a nod. “In Berkley Square.”
“How fashionable.” Angeline brightened. “And do you spend much time there?”
“During the season,” he answered. “When Parliament is in session.”
He didn’t say more, and his answer didn’t give her much to go on in terms of conversation. She had the odd feeling that he wanted to look at her, to study her face, perhaps, and memorize her for later, but his expression was determinedly neutral, and he didn’t seem to be looking at anything at all as he moved her around the dance floor. Perhaps he was just shy. Mr. Darcy had been shy, and an entire book had been written about the misunderstandings that caused. Angeline made up her mind not to let any sort of misunderstanding exist between her and Lord Rothbury. Not that she was anywhere near as clever as Elizabeth Bennett. She still didn’t feel as though she’d made amends to him properly for that afternoon, but the dance was exactly what they both needed to solidify a formal acquaintance. And once they were acquainted, anything could happen.
The waltz ended far too soon for her liking, even though their conversation had been sporadic at best, and when she indicated, Lord Rothbury walked her over to where Avery was standing at the side of the room. He graciously took his leave of her, perhaps lingering a bit too long over her hand, which suited Angeline perfectly.
“Who was that?” Avery asked with all the brotherly protectiveness he could muster once the two of them were standing alone.
“That was Lord Rafe McAllister, Marquess of Rothbury,” Angeline announced, as if claiming a victory.
Avery looked impressed for a moment. They both followed Lord Rothbury’s progress across the room. He looked as though he were heading for the table where refreshments were set up, but before he could get close, Miss Julia intercepted him. She dragged him over to one of the other female guests and made introductions. Before Lord Rothbury knew it, he was walking out onto the dance floor with another partner.
“Poor devil,” Avery laughed.
His laughter was short-lived, though. Miss Julia snagged the arm of Charity and pulled her over to where Angeline and Avery were standing.
“Lord O’Shea, have you met Lady Charity Manners yet?” she asked. Before either Avery or Charity could say anything, Miss Julia went on with, “I believe Charity would fancy a waltz right about now.”
“Oh, I was just—” Charity glanced over her shoulder, then sent Angeline a look that begged for help.
“I would be delighted,” Avery said, more than a little humor in his voice as he offered his arm to Charity. “It’s what we’re here for, after all.”
Angeline sent Charity an apologetic look, then watched her and Avery make their way onto the dance floor. They took up a spot near Lord Rothbury, who Avery looked over with a stern, assessing look.
As if she were thinking whatever Avery was thinking, Miss Julia leaned closer to Angeline and said, “I saw you dancing with Lord Rothbury. You seemed quite taken with him.”
“I felt the need to apologize for the incident with the flowers this morning,” Angeline said, her face heating. “But yes, he is intriguing.”
Miss Julia cleared her throat, the light of mischief in her eyes. “I was informed by my dear husband earlier about the unfortunate circumstances Lord Rothbury has just extracted himself from.”
“Unfortunate circumstances?” Angeline’s brow flew up, and she turned to Miss Julia, full of questions. “What unfortunate circumstances?”
“He was just thrown over by an ill-intentioned fiancée,” Miss Julia whispered. “It was a bit of a bad business, as I understand,” she went on. “Hubert would not give me all of the details, as he deemed them inappropriate for delicate ears, but I was given to understand that our Lord Rothbury has been grievously wronged.”
“Oh, how sad.” Angeline pressed a hand to her heart. “No wonder he has such a sadness about him.”
“Sadness?” Miss Julia blinked. “I didn’t notice that. I rather think he has a sort of anger in him that could use a good and sweet maiden to quell.”
Angeline hummed, wondering if Miss Julia were referring to her. “That too, perhaps.” She tilted her head to the side. “He is rather handsome.”
“And he has a small fortune,” Miss Julia whispered. “He’s managed his family’s estates well, but he also secretly invests, and he’s very good at it.”
“Is he?” Angeline was impressed that Lord Rothbury was an intelligent man, but money had never been her first consideration when it came to giving her heart away. Sometimes it was more of a deterrent than an attraction.
“I predict that you have a good chance of winning Lord Rothbury’s affections,” Miss Julia went on, then gasped a bit and said, “I’m sorry, I see a gentleman who isn’t dancing. We must remedy that situation immediately.”
She grabbed Angeline’s hand and tugged her off across the dance floor to the unfortunately unpartnered gentleman. Angeline had the feeling that no person standing singly around the edges of the conservatory would be safe from Miss Julia’s matchmaking. She didn’t mind being thrown at another man, though. Not when her mind was already made up. She had quite a bit more to learn about Lord Rothbury. He may or may not have been the right man for her. But if there was one thing she had determined already, it was that she would stop at nothing until she made the man smile.