What a Reckless Rogue Needs (The Sinful Scoundrels, #2)(83)

“Ah, here is the place I marked where we left off,” Angeline said. “If everyone is ready, I will continue the story.”

“Please begin,” Margaret said.

Angeline read, “‘Marianne’s abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to Elinor’s.’”

“If Elinor and Marianne were twins, they would be equal,” Bernadette said.

Angeline continued on, and the girls questioned her about Marianne’s behavior. “The author tells us that Marianne is everything but prudent,” Angeline said. “So it is possible that she still has much to learn about life.”

Margaret’s eyes brightened. “Goodness, I wonder who might resemble Marianne.”

“The youngest sister’s name is Margaret,” Bernadette said.

Margaret continued stitching. “Yes, but the fictional Margaret is only thirteen years old, younger than my girls and Penny.”

“Is it a love story?” Penny asked.

“Oh, yes, very much,” Angeline said, “but like all good novels, there are difficulties and sometimes it will seem all is lost.”

“Is there a handsome gentleman?” Bianca asked.

“Yes, but he is not what he seems,” Angeline said.

“If he is cruel and wicked, I will not like him,” Penny said.

“Girls,” Margaret said, “do be silent so that Angeline can continue the story.”

“Oh, do read more,” Penny said. “I’m anxious to find out what happens.”

A footman entered with a tray of mail. Angeline had not responded to Charlotte’s letter because she feared creating havoc for her friend, but she found herself hoping for a letter nonetheless.

Margaret sorted through the letters and handed one to the duchess. “This one is addressed to you.”

The duchess broke the seal and gasped. “It is from my son,” she said, standing. “Lady Landale has been delivered of a healthy boy. Both mother and child are well.”

Everyone exclaimed.

Margaret rose to hug the duchess. “I am so happy for you. Your first grandchild.”

Angeline clasped Penny’s hand and smiled. “What do you think, Penny? We are aunts now.”

“Oh, I can hardly believe it,” Penny said. “Mama, have they named him yet?”

“He will be christened John. Oh, I cannot wait for Wycoff to return.” The duchess brought out a handkerchief. “It has been a long time since we’ve had happy news.”

Angeline forced herself to smile. Her mother had not meant to wound her. Angeline was simply a little sensitive today after her difficult conversation with Colin. Perhaps she was also a little out of sorts because she’d foolishly hoped for another letter from Charlotte. She ought to have known better. Charlotte had written the one letter in secret, because her husband had forbidden her to write to Angeline.

“Oh, Mama, when can we go see our new nephew?” Penny said.

“Very soon, I hope,” the duchess said. “I will have to consult with Wycoff, but this news will surely be all that he ever needed. A boy. I am so overjoyed.” She pressed the letter to her heart.

Angeline closed the novel and set it aside. She rose and leaned down to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Mama, I am so glad for all of our family. I am especially happy for you.” It was true, but it was also true that the news was a stark reminder that she might never be a bride or a mother.

“Thank you, dear,” the duchess said.

“I wish to compose a letter to my brother straightaway,” Angeline said. “Mama, Margaret, will you excuse me?”

“Of course, dear,” the duchess said. “I’m sure you’re bubbling over and wish to express it to your brother.”

“We will continue the novel tomorrow,” Angeline said. When she quit the drawing room, she squared her shoulders and walked up the stairs. Under no circumstances would she allow herself a drop of pity. She would not do anything to spoil this wonderful day for her family.

She bit her lip, walked quietly into the bedchamber, and sat at the corner desk. She removed a sheet of paper and found the ink and the quill. When she attempted to dip the quill in the ink, her hand shook. She set it in the holder and told herself that she only needed a few moments to gain her composure.

She drew in air and released it. She did it again. Once more, she retrieved the quill, but her fingers still trembled. She set it aside, stood, and crossed to the bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress, and the bed ropes squeaked, reminding her of that horrible night she’d caught Brentmoor betraying her. Her hand shook as she covered her mouth. Then she pulled out the drawer and rummaged for a handkerchief. She blotted her eyes, blew her nose, and took another deep breath. Then she walked to the washstand, poured cold water into the bowl, and bathed her hot face.


It was foolish to feel sorry for herself, but she feared that she would never have a husband and family because of what had happened with Brentmoor. With a shaky sigh, she supposed she wasn’t the only woman in the world to indulge in a little self-pity. Of course she did not begrudge her brother and his wife. She was happy for them, and she was elated that the news had made her mother so happy. It was just that some days like today were made up of happiness for some and gray clouds for others. Sometimes it just seemed like a thunderstorm, and too overwhelming.