The gathered ladies all began to laugh, while Eleanor squinted up her eyes and glared. ‘Just you wait George. When you’re big as a house, and haven’t slept properly in months, and you can’t do the most basic things, like tie your own boots, or go for a ride…or, a whole host of other horrible things I won’t even bother bringing up, then we’ll see how you feel.’
‘When I’m big as a house and dying for a good gallop I promise to visit you so you can rub it in,’ George agreed solemnly, slightly marring her performance with a smile.
Eleanor harrumphed and shifted about on the sofa, obviously trying to find a more comfortable position. Imogen felt for her. Pregnancy always looked decidedly unpleasant.
Mrs Gable came out to check on them, accompanied by several maids loaded down with lemonade, ratafia, and a selection of tea cakes and finger sandwiches. She arranged all of them on the low table the ladies were seated around, then marched off into the house, the maids trailing behind her like ducklings.
George served everyone, and they all set into gossip, chatting about a host of people Imogen knew nothing about. It was amazing how a few years away from the thick of things could affect the list of players.
When Simone’s governess peaked out Mrs Staunton called her over to join them. The countess seconded the invitation, insisting that Miss Nutley come out and help to swell their ranks, asking her to fill them all in on how Simone was coming along with her studies.
‘Quite well,’ she said, accepting a glass of ratafia. ‘I think you’ll be quite impressed with the improvement of her playing on the pianoforte.’
‘She’s astounding really,’ Eleanor said of her step-daughter. ‘Her painting is improving in leaps and bounds as well. She’s going to need a real painting master soon. I think once this one arrives,’ she added, patting her stomach lightly, ‘I’ll have to see about that.’
‘I think you’ll find my cousin could take care of that for you,’ Victoria said. ‘He’s well acquainted with many of the leading artists. I’m sure he could find one of them willing to take Simone on; even young as she is.’
‘Mr Angelstone?’ Eleanor bit her lip.
‘Yes,’ George said with a chuckle. ‘You’d never know it to look at him, town beau that he is, but he has a very discerning eye. His London house holds quite a collection, and he’s friends with quite a few of our leading artists: Reynolds, Stubbs, Sandby, Cozens.’
‘Well then,’ Eleanor said, ‘I suppose I can safely leave it in your hands. I wouldn’t feel comfortable asking a man I barely know for such a favour, but he’ll gladly do it for you.’
Listening to them Imogen was amazed. Much like Mrs Staunton she could no more imagine Mr Angelstone hobnobbing with a bunch of painters than she could picture him squiring a young debutante about the dance floor at Almack’s. He exuded man-about-town, and she had no trouble at all picturing him haunting the opera house—or more particularly the opera dancers’ dressing rooms—or socializing with the rougher element that frequented the gin parlours around St James’s. But then he was obviously very well read. She flushed ever so faintly, remembering their first encounter.
Mr Gabriel Angelstone was more than a rake with the face of a Medici Prince. Her face grew warmer and she dug her hand into her pocket for her fan.
Chapter Four
We wish to extend our most sincere felicitations to a certain MP who has bravely taken a second plunge into matrimony. Our advice? Keep this wife far away from artists and footmen of all kinds.
Tête-à-Tête, 13 August 1789
Wandering along behind the coursing party, Gabriel kept one eye on his cousin’s sons and little Simone Staunton. They were keeping up rather well, but the younger ones would soon tire, or lose interest, and when they did he was more than ready to escort them back to the house. Back to where Miss Mowbray was waiting. George had clearly warned him off, but it wasn’t a warning he could take to heart.
The lure of the Portrait Divorcée, the illicit tug of scandal and beauty…it was too strong to ignore. George and Torrie could have all the plans they wanted. He had plans of his own, which ran entirely counter to theirs. He just had to figure out how to get the delicious Miss Mowbray into his bed without George killing him afterwards. Had to make it seem her idea, not his.
The children held out until after the first run of the day, but when the excitement wore off, they were ready to head back; the promise of lemonade and cakes a powerful inducement. Waving their fathers off, Gabriel turned back with the younger ones, leaving the young Lord Lovet to fully enjoy this foray into his father’s world. Julius would have a better time of it without his younger brother underfoot.
As they ambled back towards the house the children searched about for stones for their slingshots, ran off in pursuit of butterflies and birds, and chatted happily about their plans for the coming weeks. Circling past the lake they encountered Aubrey, accompanied by George’s massive dog. The boy quickly claimed Gabriel’s hand, allowing himself to be led up to the house. By now he was wet from falling in the water, and muddy from climbing back out, not to mention covered in dog slobber and all manner of twigs and stickers. His appearance was thoroughly disreputable, and perfectly normal.
Making their way up through the garden, Gabriel spotted the ladies out on the terrace and quickened his pace. Finally, a chance to catch his nymph. He smiled to himself as he and the children hurried up the stairs and he caught Miss Mowbray watching him.
She might be avoiding him, but she was definitely aware of him. It shouldn’t be too hard to bring her round. After years on the town he could tell when a
