What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(49)

But would there be? No matter how kind he had been to her, she could not forget that he was a notorious rake. She’d heard ladies whispering immoderately about him in the retiring rooms at balls, and she had seen him walking out into dark gardens with scandalously dressed ladies at balls.

Her instincts told her he was different. He’d shown sympathy for her and made her feel better about herself for refusing Brentmoor’s insistence on intimacies. But she couldn’t forget Brentmoor’s attentive concerns when she’d first met him. Colin was different. He was.

Yet she’d had to persuade herself the same way she’d done with Brentmoor.



After dinner that evening, the ladies had repaired to the drawing room while the men drank their port. Angeline was aghast to learn her mother and Margaret were making lists for the party they were planning to ease her back into society. She had to stop them somehow, because it might well end up in disaster.

“Mama, Margaret, I beg you to forget this party for now. I am not ready to face society. I am simply unable to entertain the thought. Perhaps the time will come, but I am too uncomfortable with the idea right now.”

“Angeline, by spring, you will be ready,” the duchess said.

“Please do not move forward yet. I’m not ready for this step. I hope you understand and will abide by my wishes. It would be a mistake at this time.”

“Of course, dear,” the marchioness said. “We’ve no intention of forcing you, but Charlotte’s letter sounded so positive.”

“Charlotte has been a good friend to me for many years, but I believe she would counsel me to wait. I think it is for the best.”

Margaret turned her attention to the duchess. “Perhaps we should wait. Angeline is sure to receive many invitations. It would make for an easier entry back into society.”

They still did not understand, but she had no intention of elaborating. Her mother and Margaret were grasping at straws, and Angeline found it unbearable. Then it occurred to her that she could divert them. “Perhaps we could discuss the girls’ debuts.”

When Penny heard mention of a debut, she and the twins left the pianoforte to join them.

“Angeline, tell us about your debut,” Penny said.

A lump formed in her throat. As an elder sister, she ought to have brought it up earlier, but that was before she had been afraid to encourage Penny.

“Oh, yes, please do,” Bianca said. “I wish to hear about every moment.”

Angeline recollected standing still in the receiving line, waiting for the first guests to arrive. Silly thoughts had flitted through her mind, and she’d had to stifle a giggle. Had she really ever been so young and na?ve?

“Tell us about your gown,” Bernadette said.

“At first I thought it a bit plain. It was white with a high waist and made of beautiful lace. In the candlelight it was gorgeous,” she said. “The best part was that Mama relented and allowed me to have white slippers with scarlet stripes.”

“Do you still have them?” Bianca asked.

“They’re packed away in a trunk for safekeeping at Deerfield.”

“Mama, will we go to London and have gowns made up by a modiste?” Bernadette said.

Margaret smiled. “Yes, you shall have new gowns, slippers, bonnets, and stockings.”

“We shall have to pour through all the fashion books,” Bianca said.

“Girls, you must practice at the pianoforte, as you will be called upon to exhibit after you debut,” the duchess said. “You must attend to your dancing lessons as well.”

“I shall probably make a cake of myself,” Bianca said.

“We always do,” Bernadette said, laughing. “We had better pay attention to Mama’s lessons in deportment.”

Penny hunched her shoulders. “I fear I’ll make no impression at all.”

“We won’t let you be a wallflower,” Bernadette said.

“Exactly,” Bianca said. “We will not let you out of our sight, unless a handsome swain asks you to dance.”

“My palms are damp just thinking about dancing with a boy,” Penny said. “Angeline, you will be there? I cannot do this without my wonderful sister.”

“You will do very well.” She met her mother’s eyes briefly and looked away. If she were a better daughter, she would confess today’s events to her mother. But she could not do it, because she didn’t want to raise her mother’s hopes, and if in the next three weeks, she or Colin determined that they would not suit, it would be best if their families never knew.



The marquess finished his port and regarded his son. “You were at Sommerall today?”

“Yes. I wish to complete my inventory of the items in the attic. I covered the few paintings I discovered and set aside those items you might find useful. If you are amenable to sending a wagon, I’ve put items in crates that the tenants and servants might find useful.”


The marquess arched his brows. “Well, I did not expect you to labor in the attic. Servants could have accomplished the task.”

“They would not have known what was valuable and what was not. I found correspondence that I left on your desk. You were out shooting.”

Wycoff narrowed his eyes. “My daughter was with you?”

“Yes, she helped. The scullery maid attended us again.” Although Agnes had not shadowed them, he did not divulge that information. He wanted to reassure Wycoff, especially after hearing what had transpired with Brentmoor.