The Secret Mistress

the Misses Briden were settling at the pianoforte to play a duet and a number of the other guests were going to listen to them. Miss Goddard led Angeline to the conservatory instead, where they sat on a wrought-iron seat among the potted plants.

“Edward needs to be jolted out of his complacency,” she said. “Yesterday’s plan did not work well, did it? He could see, both during the afternoon when I walked alone with Lord Windrow and last evening when I danced in the drawing room with him, that I was in no danger whatsoever. In both cases there were other people within sight or at least hailing distance all the time. And Lord Windrow is a guest here at Hallings and would not behave badly here. He is a gentleman, after all.”

“Then our plans will not work at all,” Angeline said with a sigh. “Not here at least. I so thought they would if I could just get you all here, where you are in daily contact with one another. Oh, what is the matter with Lord Heyward? I know he loves you, and of course you love him. That was perfectly clear when you danced together last evening. Why does he not simply declare himself?”

“He is clearly in love,” Miss Goddard agreed. “I do believe he needs only a nudge in the right direction and all will be well. Everyone will live happily ever after.”

Angeline felt rather as if someone must have poured lead into the soles of her shoes—or into the base of her heart. He must have said something last evening to make Miss Goddard so confident. She looked confident—she was smiling. Perhaps there was no need to do anything else after all. Perhaps matters could just be allowed to take their course. Miss Goddard had strolled in the formal gardens this morning with the Marchioness of Beckingham, the Dowager Lady Heyward, and Lady Overmyer, and they had all looked perfectly happy with one another when they returned to the house.

But Miss Goddard herself felt that he needed a nudge.

“Perhaps we must wait until after we return to London, then,” Angeline said, “when Lord Windrow is no longer on Hallings land.”

“Ah, but,” Miss Goddard reminded her, “he will not be on Hallings land later today, will he—or tomorrow until about noon. And he has already suggested that I accompany him to Norton Park.”

“To meet his mother?” Angeline was saucer-eyed.

“We have only his word for it that his mother is at Norton Park,” Miss Goddard said, “and that today is her birthday. And ten miles is a long way. I daresay there are inns along the route. I am not at all sure I should agree to accompany him. But he explained that his going alone would embarrass Lady Palmer as it would upset the balance of numbers here.”

“Oh,” Angeline said, her hands clasped to her bosom, “he does have dastardly designs upon you, then. Lord Heyward cannot fail to come galloping after you if you go. But you absolutely must not go alone. Oh, good heavens no. I will come with you.”

“I made it perfectly clear to Lord Windrow that I would not go unless you agreed to come too,” Miss Goddard said. “Of course, he pointed out that then the numbers here would be unbalanced again. But he is not correct on that, for of course Edward will follow us.”

It was perfect, Angeline thought, ignoring the heaviness of her heart. Perfect. Except for one thing.

“There will be a dreadful scandal,” she said, “when it is known that we are gone. Tresham will kill me. At the very least. Even if he never lays a finger on me.”

“Not necessarily,” Miss Goddard said. “Not if we explain that we have been invited to meet Lady Windrow and have each other for chaperons—as well as my maid. Aunt Charlotte insisted that I bring one, you know, as she felt it would be inappropriate for me to arrive at such an illustrious house party without. It will not occur to anyone that there is anything remotely improper about our going.”

“But why then,” Angeline asked, “will it appear improper to Lord Heyward? Can we be quite sure he will come after you?”

“Well,” Miss Goddard said, “Edward knows something about Lord Windrow that no one else knows. He will certainly be uneasy, and unease will turn to alarm if you leave a panicked little note for him.”

Angeline thought about it. Yes. Oh, yes, she could do that.

“And indeed,” Miss Goddard added, “you would not even be lying. For I really do feel uneasy about the whole thing. Why did Lord Windrow suddenly remember now, after flirting outrageously with me yesterday afternoon, that today is his mother’s birthday? Would it not have made more sense, if that really were the case, for him to have refused the invitation to stay here altogether?”

“You mean,” Angeline asked, saucer-eyed again, “that he really is intending to abduct you?”

“Well,” Miss Goddard said, “I do not believe he would stoop quite so low, but I must admit to feeling some anxiety. Perhaps it is because I know what Lord Windrow did when he met you on the road to London. Though I must confess that apart from flirting with me, he has never given me any personal cause for alarm.”

“We will do it,” Angeline said. “I shall go and write the note now and leave instructions with cousin Rosalie’s butler or a footman to deliver it to Lord Heyward half an hour after we leave.”

She got determinedly to her feet.

“Give the note to me,” Miss Goddard said, “and I shall make the arrangements.”

By this time tomorrow, Angeline thought as she hurried up to her room, Lord Heyward would have proposed marriage to Miss Goddard, she would have accepted, and she, Angeline, would have been put out of her misery.

She could then proceed to enjoy the rest of her life untroubled by an unrequited love. For though he had kissed her yesterday and no doubt would have offered her marriage later, and though he had waltzed in the moonlight with her last evening, Lord Heyward did not love her. He had admitted as much a month ago, and nothing had changed since then. How could it? One could not simply fall out of love once one was in, and Lord Heyward loved Miss Goddard.

She sighed as she shut herself up in her room.

EDWARD HAD NOT gone riding during the morning, even though he had seriously considered it when he knew that Lady Angeline was to be of the party. He could have tried to ride beside her, to engage her in conversation, perhaps challenge her to a race. But no, not that. He did not know the terrain in the park at Hallings or in the surrounding countryside. He must never encourage her to be reckless. She did that more than enough on her own initiative. Twice he had jumped awake during the night in a cold sweat, imagining what might have happened to her when they hurtled down that hill. She might have broken a leg again—or her neck. Or she might have collided head-on with a tree.

Anyway, he had not gone riding. Instead he had sat in the conservatory with Alma, who was an early riser. And he had asked her advice on something that had been bothering him.

“Would it be in bad taste, Alma,” he asked her, “to steal some of the thunder from Lorraine and Fenner while we are here?”

She did not stare at him in blank incomprehension as most people would have done. She was his sister, after all.

“Lady Angeline Dudley?” she asked.

He nodded, his eyes upon a pink geranium that had bloomed before its fellows in the same pot.

“Though maybe I should not ask her so soon anyway,” he said. “She warned me not to. But it does seem like the ideal time with both our families here.”

“She warned you not to propose marriage to her again?”