What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(24)
He still could not fathom why she’d gotten involved with Brentmoor. The man was well known for high-stakes gaming and multiple liaisons. She could not claim ignorance of his character. Perhaps Brentmoor had convinced her that he’d turned over a new leaf and reformed, but that also brought to mind another question: Why had Wycoff allowed the man to court his daughter? The duke was no fool.
Was it possible she’d carried on a secret romance with Brentmoor? He mentally shook off the thoughts. Whatever had occurred was none of his affair.
Granted, he’d led a rake’s existence for years, but he’d only dealt with sophisticated women. He never went near the innocent belles or single ladies; he avoided anything that might result in getting a leg shackle. At any rate, he wasn’t one for a grand romance. He’d leave that nonsense to radical poets and besotted swains.
More than anything, Angeline needed real occupation. Last night, she’d tossed and turned in bed. She would be here for only a month. When the house party ended, she would return to Worthington Abbey and make the announcement to her family. There was no doubt in her mind that her mother and father would disapprove, but there was nothing they could do to stop her.
It would be far better to move into the dower house as soon as possible, but thoughts of Penny worried her. Her sensitive sister would be overset, but Angeline would make sure that Penny knew she could visit at any time. There would be much to accomplish. She would have to hire a cook and a few servants. Perhaps she would even buy a gig and learn to drive it. It wasn’t the life she had always envisioned, but she would make the best of the situation.
She could well imagine her mother imploring her to make one more attempt during the spring season, but Angeline had no intention of exposing herself to society again. She knew exactly what would be in store for her, and she refused to play into the hands of the gossips.
She worried about her father’s reaction the most, but eventually even he would come to terms with her decision. Unfortunately, ever since the debacle with Brentmoor, he had all but avoided her.
It would be better for all of her family if she lived quietly and independently in the country. Her mother and father would take Penny to London in the spring, and while it hurt to know that she would never be able to see her sister at her come-out ball, Angeline knew it was for the best. She’d learned she was strong enough to withstand many things, but she could not bear the thought of her poor reputation hurting her sister.
Sommerall, one hour later
Colin carried the heavy hamper. “Cook must have packed enough food for an army. Honestly, I don’t know what she was thinking.”
“The fresh bread smells wonderful,” she said, “and I smell biscuits.” She reached inside. “They’re still warm,” she said, popping one in her mouth.
“You’re like a greedy child sneaking a biscuit,” he said.
“We both used to steal biscuits when we were children,” she said.
He huffed. “I don’t remember anything of the kind.”
“You ought to remember. We were nine years old, and I stole two biscuits, but you got caught with your hand in the jar. As I recall, you got your hand rapped for it.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Now I remember. You escaped all punishment. I was a gentleman even as a child and took your rap on my hand.”
“Hah,” she said.
While John took the horses to the barn, they walked up the steps. When Colin turned the key, Angeline had the oddest sensation that she’d done this once before with him. The feeling was so strong she felt as if it had truly happened.
He ushered her inside, and there was a familiarity just at the edges of her thoughts, although she couldn’t point to anything specific. They would have been young children at the time the marquess had closed up the house. Most likely she was imagining something that had never happened, and even if it had, there was no significance attached to it.
Colin removed his gloves and ran his finger along the marble hall table. “Dust,” he said with a frown.
“After so many years, the dust should be much worse,” Angeline said. “Obviously, someone has cleaned it before, though not regularly.”
Agnes set her basket on the floor and applied a feather duster to the table and the gold-framed mirror above.
“We can set our gloves here and hang our wraps on the pegs,” Angeline said, removing both. “Thank you for persuading me to accompany you. Painting screens, embroidering, and playing the pianoforte seem so frivolous. Helping you restore Sommerall will give me a sense of real achievement. I feel invigorated already.”
“I never realized that ladies might grow bored with their lives.”
“I doubt I count as the average lady,” she said. Then again, she doubted the lightskirts he consorted with spent their days embroidering proverbs in genteel drawing rooms.
“Angeline, I won’t pry, but you mustn’t let the actions of a dishonorable man dictate the rest of your life.”
She gave him a wan smile. “It is kind of you, but there is no reason to worry.” Of course, she would never admit how many times she had gone over the events in her mind. She’d pinned the exact moment when Brentmoor joined her group at Vauxhall, uninvited. The lanterns had added a little ambiance as they’d walked along. When he’d dared her to set foot on the dark walk, she’d refused and dismissed him from her thoughts. That had not deterred his single-minded courtship, but it marked their first encounter, one she wished she could expunge permanently from her brain.