Chapter Five
Angelica barely glanced up from her book as her mother entered the drawing room. She had already been through the indignity of being forced to put up her hair, put on her nicest day dress, and keep her gloves pristine – not to mention the trauma of spending an entire day sitting in the drawing room waiting for gentlemen to arrive! She had already received morning calls from three of the young men she had danced with at the ball, and the experience had bored her almost to tears. Thank goodness social convention kept the visits brief!
If Angelica was forced to say another word about the weather, the delightful company at the ball, or her family's health, she could make no promises not to scream. The last enquiry was particularly egregious, since Lily had not yet recovered from her exertions and had spent the day in bed.
Angelica knew she was being unfair to the gentlemen. It was perfectly polite to enquire about her sister's health. They meant no harm by it. But surely, by now, everyone who came calling knew that Lily suffered from a weak heart? What good did it do to ask about it?
"Reading again," sighed Mrs Stirling, pressing her lips together. "It would be more appropriate to occupy yourself with needlework, Angelica. That is the most genteel task when one is At Home and between visitors."
Angelica held up her thumb by way of answer. It sported several red marks from her errant needle, one of which was still lightly bleeding. "I did my best, Mama. You know how needlework disagrees with me." Sighing, she set the book aside. If catching a husband meant being bored to death, she could only imagine what horrors actually being married would bring. "I could sit at the pianoforte and play a little?"
No-one had ever dared to describe Angelica as an accomplished young lady. She could never sit still for long enough to truly apply herself to the study of music. The only thing that ever held her attention was a book, and only then simply because she loved to imagine herself in the place of the heroine, having adventures she could only dream of from her safe, quiet life in the bosom of her family. Still, she enjoyed the pianoforte when she was in the mood for it. And it was, at least, a genteel option.
"That is not entirely a good idea," said Mrs Stirling. "What will you do when the next gentleman comes calling? You will not be able to speak to him while you play."
Angelica rolled her eyes. "Mama, do you really believe that any of these fine gentlemen are at all interested in hearing me speak?"
She thought she saw a smile hovering just behind her mother's eyes. "Perhaps keeping you behind the pianoforte would not be such a bad thing, after all," Mrs Stirling allowed. "Very well. Go and play something light and cheerful. We do not want the house filled with a funeral march, or another of your impressions of a church organ."
Angelica pulled a face – she was not entirely in the mood for anything light and cheerful – but went to the pianoforte and leafed through her sheaf of music all the same. She unbuttoned her gloves and stuffed them into her reticule, caught a glance from her mother, took them out again and laid them neatly on the side.
She was halfway through the most light-hearted piece she could find when Kitty made an appearance in the room, causing Angelica to play a series of wrong notes in surprise. Mrs Stirling, too elegant to wince, waved her into silence.
"Begging your pardon, Mrs Stirling, but it's Miss Lily," said Kitty, wringing her hands. "She tried to get out of bed and it brought on another fit of breathlessness. I'm sure she'd be ever so grateful if you came up to sit with her."
"Go to the kitchens and ask them for another infusion," sighed Mrs Stirling. "I'll be there in a moment. Angelica? Make sure you don't receive any gentlemen until you are properly chaperoned again."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Mama," said Angelica, rising to her feet. "But mayn't I come up too?"
"Lily does not like being crowded, you know that," said her mother sympathetically. "I will send for you when she's feeling stronger. Don't distress yourself. You know how these episodes come and go. Sit down and carry on playing."
Angelica did as she asked. The only time she would ever obey her mother without question was when Lily's health was concerned.
She had only been playing for a few moments when the butler, Mr Hinchley, came in with a calling card.
"A visitor, Miss Angelica."
The calling card was small, too small to be a lady's – gentlemen's calling cards were designed to fit into a pocket, while ladies' were not.
It was also printed on thick, heavy card that screamed money even to Angelica's inexperienced eyes. The elaborate, curling font on it spelled the name:
Edward Thorne, Duke of Redhaven
Angelica almost dropped the card onto the floor. Mr Hinchley raised an eyebrow. "Is something the matter, Miss Angelica?"
"Nothing!" she squeaked. The Duke of Redhaven! The strange man who had shown up late, danced one dance with her and left as abruptly as he appeared! The man whose name had made her father whisper about murder!
Mrs Stirling had been quite clear: Angelica was not to receive anybody unchaperoned. But...was it really possible to refuse a Duke in that manner? Would it not be seen as rude?
Angelica wondered if Mr Hinchley would have the answers. He had been their family butler for years, and her father trusted him implicitly. Did he understand all the complicated rules of the ton which left Angelica baffled?
"Hinchley... This calling card is from the Duke of Redhaven."
"Yes, Miss Angelica." Hinchley waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. "An important visitor, I can only assume."
"Yes," said Angelica faintly. What would make her mother angrier? Letting the Duke in – or rejecting his visit? "Ought I to ask you to show him in, Hinchley?"
"Unless you are not At Home, Miss Angelica."
Angelica slapped the calling card down onto the shining top of the pianoforte. It was so unlike her to be indecisive. She utterly abhorred that trait in others; now was certainly not the time to display indecision herself. "Show him in, please, Hinchley. I am indeed At Home."
Angelica did not often admit to being nervous, but when she was, she had a bad habit of twisting the buttons on her gloves. It was only this that reminded her she had taken them off to play the pianoforte, and which sent her scrambling to put them back on again. She could only imagine how horrified her mother would be to hear that she had received an actual Duke without gloves!
In the interval between their dance and the Duke appearing in the drawing room, Angelica had managed to convince herself that it was only morbid fascination and a trick of memory that made him so alluring in her mind's eye. She remembered him as tall, so he certainly must have been tall – but, surely, he had not also been strong-jawed, handsome, muscular, with striking green eyes full of melancholy darkness?
Angelica knew she had a tendency to let her imagination run away with her, and so she was perfectly prepared to greet a thoroughly ordinary-looking man.
Unfortunately for Angelica, the only way in which memory had deceived her was in failing to give the Duke's looks full credit. The moment he stepped into the room, her heart gave a little judder of recognition.
This man, it seemed to say, is the finest-looking of your entire acquaintance.
The Duke bowed to Angelica silently, and turned his head to look about the room, giving her ample opportunity to take in his elegant profile, the almost cruel tilt of his lips, and the delicately-carved line of his nose that seemed almost too refined for a real person. He might as easily have been a Greek statue.
And this man might be a murderer? Truly, the poets Angelica loved were wrong when they wrote that outer beauty meant inner grace.
Angelica struggled to pull herself together and remember the proper thing to say. "Good afternoon, Your Grace," she managed. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"
Angelica had spent long hours training in the proper way to pour out tea, and only when she managed the ceremony without knocking over the sugar pot or spilling a drop was she allowed a key to the closely-guarded tea cupboard.
"Forgive me, Miss Stirling," said the Duke, still looking about curiously. "I did not realise you were alone."
Angelica felt a flush of horror creeping up her neck. She never blushed when she was embarrassed – her mother always said she did not have the necessary grace to feel embarrassment – but guilt always turned her cheeks as red as two ripe apples. "My mother has just now been called away," she said. "It's Lily, you see."
The Duke did not see. He simply watched her with those sea-green eyes and waited for her to explain herself.
"Lily is my sister," said Angelica.
"Ah. I am not acquainted with Miss Lily Stirling."
"She's older than me." Angelica had no idea why she found it necessary to explain everything in detail to the Duke, but the words were falling from her lips now and if there was a way to stop herself blabbering once she had started, she was yet to discover it. "She has been Out in society for some years now, but she suffered a bout of rheumatic fever that left her heart very weak. My mother is attending to her."
"I am sorry to hear of your sister's ill health," said the Duke gravely. He looked about the room again, as though expecting a chaperone to appear from the woodwork. "Your father?"
"Out of the house on business, Your Grace." Angelica wished the Duke would sit down, but she had no idea how to properly invite him. She began to wish she had paid more attention to her mother's lessons on etiquette.
"Business," the Duke repeated. Angelica bit her lip. She knew, or at least strongly suspected, that the Duke had just remembered that her father's fortune came from trade. "Our fathers were friends, you know. My father based his friendships on merit, rather than rank. He was an egalitarian."
"That is admirable," said Angelica.
"It made life very difficult for me as a young man. Society did not approve of a Duke who mingled with..."
"With what? The lower classes?"
The Duke gave an elegant shrug. "Your words, Miss Stirling. But your father is a gentleman as well as a businessman. I find his success...admirable. Yes. Admirable." He nodded. "A good word."
"Then we have established that both of our fathers were admirable men," said Angelica, taking the opportunity to sit back down on the sofa whether it was polite or not. The Duke did not seem to notice. He had begun to pace up and down the room, running his eyes over the heavy mahogany furniture without really seeming to see it. Angelica supposed his own home must be full of such very fine things that her family's décor was wholly unremarkable.
"I must admit that I had thought to speak to your father first, but the opportunity of finding you alone seems too fortuitous to pass up," said the Duke. He stopped and cast her a stern look. "Not that I believe in fate, mind you. I am a firm proponent of the notion that every man must steer his own course. Discover his own destiny. With that in mind..."
To Angelica's astonishment, he stepped forwards and seized her hand.
She was no expert, but she was absolutely certain that morning calls did not typically involve physical contact of any kind.
If only his eyes hadn't been so dratted green, she would have jerked her hand away immediately. As it was, she was near-mesmerised, and far too shocked to move.
"Miss Stirling," said the Duke, "I have come to ask you for the honour of your hand in marriage."
"My what?"
He raised an eyebrow. "I do not see that I left anything unclear, Miss Stirling. I wish to take you as my wife."
Angelica snatched her hand back and rubbed it with the other as if he'd stung her. "Absolutely not!"
Now both of the Duke's black eyebrows were soaring up into his forehead. "Excuse me, Miss Stirling, you appear to be confused. I have just made you an offer of marriage."
Angelica got to her feet. The nerve of the man! To propose once in such a manner was cheek enough, but three times in a row? It was simply unbearable!
"You are quite excused, Your Grace. You see, I have just refused you."