What a Reckless Rogue Needs Part 5

She lifted her chin. "If you wish me to answer, you will avoid using a harsh tone."

"I beg your pardon," he said. d.a.m.nation. He did not want her poking into his affairs.

"It is quite obvious that you've had a nasty shock."

This was an unfamiliar side of her, but to be fair, she was no stranger to difficulty. "I'll sort it out." But he was far from confident.

"I overheard my father mention that someone was interested in purchasing Sommerall," Angeline said. "It has been unoccupied for many years."

"I beg your pardon, but this is not a matter I wish to discuss." Leave me alone.

"Oh, my stars. You do not want the marquess to sell."

"Angeline-"

"That is why you're so angry," she said.

He halted. "Of course I'm furious. My mother is laid to rest there."

"Surely you can persuade your father not to sell. I would think he would cede the property to you."

He shook his head and started walking again. "He will-if I do his bidding." They skirted around the thick, gnarled roots of an old oak. "I want the property, but that is insufficient for my father."

"What did you propose?" she asked.

"To take care of all needed renovations, but we could not agree on the terms."

"I don't understand. What is it that your father wants?"

"Proof that I'll honor my commitment." His father's lack of trust burned deep.

"The only way to prove you will abide by your obligation is to allow you to begin," she said. "I fail to understand why this is a problem."

He glanced at her. "My father proposed a different way for me to demonstrate responsibility."

"What is it? Clearly you find it abhorrent."

He laughed without mirth. "Marriage." He should have kept that between his teeth, but his head ached with the anger still infusing his blood.

She stopped him. "That is ludicrous," she said in an outraged tone. "Forgive me, but your father goes too far."

"I share the sentiment, but it matters not." His breath misted in the cold wind. "My father owns the property and can do what he wants." His father intended to manipulate him like a marionette.

"Marriage does not a.s.sure responsibility. We both could name dozens of irresponsible people who are married," she said. "The king, for example."

"My father's demands are unreasonable. Where am I to find a bride in the middle of the countryside?" he said. "It's not as if I can pluck her like an apple off a tree." He didn't want to marry now, and by G.o.d, he certainly didn't want to wed under duress, but he didn't want to lose Sommerall.

They walked in silence for a while, and then she said, "There is the little season in London."

"It will look as if I'm desperate." He huffed. "Considering the circ.u.mstances, I suppose I am."

"You are hardly desperate," she said. "Dozens of ladies in London would leap at the opportunity to marry an earl."

"I'd no idea you were so romantic."

"Oh, yes, I'm waiting for my s.h.i.+ning knight in rusty armor." She regarded him with raised brows. "And you?"

"A local milkmaid."

"I'm tempted to say you'll find a way, but that will not help," she said.

He hesitated, but plunged in anyway. "Why did you break your engagement with Brentmoor?"

She didn't respond immediately.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "Obviously, it is a painful topic, and I intruded."

"It could have been far worse," she said.

He frowned. "How so?"

She met his gaze. "I might have married him."

I might have married him.

Angeline marched into her room, yanked the ribbon loose beneath her chin, and slapped her burgundy velvet bonnet on the bed. She'd owed him no answer at all, but the words had spilled off her tongue. Had she learned nothing?

Upon seeing the maid's wide eyes, Angeline took a deep breath and slowly released it. "Marie, will you help me with the spencer?"

"Yes, my lady."

Angeline lifted her chin while the maid helped her out of the tight sleeves. "Thank you, Marie. That will be all."

After the maid left, Angeline sat on the edge of the bed. Why had she responded to Colin's question earlier? She ought to have upbraided him for his impertinence. Unfortunately, his question had caught her off guard, and she'd blurted out the words. She'd likely piqued his curiosity, but she'd no intention of satisfying it.

Angeline realized she was overreacting, because she was sensitive about the subject. While his question had been impertinent, she had commiserated with him. She understood all too well how it felt to have a parent dictating one's decisions, but she swore that when this house party ended, she would move into the dower house where her grandmother once lived. There would be a dustup, but she could not continue to live like a child in her parents' home. She was thirty-one years old and determined to live independently for the rest of her life. It would not be easy, but she would live comfortably on the trust her grandmother had left for her.

After all that had happened to her, she'd known that marriage was out of the question. She knew how others would view her, but that was nothing new. Angeline intended to make what she could of her life.

A tap sounded, and her mother opened the door. "Angeline, why are you sitting here? I expected you in the drawing room over an hour ago."

"I just returned from a walk."

Her mother's lips thinned. "Gather your sewing basket and join us in the green drawing room."

Like all ladies, she'd learned the art of needlework at a young age. She was in no mood to sit for hours with her embroidery, but she knew it would be rude if she did not put in an appearance. There was no need to rush, however. "I will join you after I finish this chapter in my novel."

The d.u.c.h.ess arched her slim brows. "Directly, Angeline."

When the door shut, Angeline inhaled sharply at her mother's command. To be ordered as if she were a young girl set her teeth on edge. It was one more reason to seek her independence. No matter how much she loved her mother, Angeline could not spend a lifetime beneath her thumb.

Perhaps she would have been better off if she had married Brentmoor, even despite his betrayal. She certainly wouldn't have wanted for independence. Doubtless Brentmoor would have ignored her in favor of his married mistress. She pressed her fingers to her temples as if she could push the awful memory out of her brain. Of course, she could not have married him after what had transpired. Truth be told, it would have been horrible. Ironically, they had both left England after the scandal erupted. He'd fled his creditors, and she'd fled the gossips.

There was no point in antagonizing her mother by procrastinating any longer. She retrieved her sewing basket and walked to the landing. When she saw her father, she hurried her step. "Papa, wait."

He frowned. "Is something awry?"

"Oh, no." She smiled despite his harsh expression. "I was hoping we might-"

"Your mother is expecting you in the drawing room," he said, and turned away.

Her hand trembled, and she dropped her basket. She knelt, and her eyes blurred as she retrieved the needles and embroidery thread. He'd taught her to play chess and vingt-et-un. They used to read together and discuss books. They had been close, until the awful day she'd broken her engagement. She'd disappointed him, and now he barely spoke to her. A familiar ache settled in her chest. Her father's rejection hurt one hundred times more than Brentmoor's betrayal.

Angeline dashed her hand beneath her eyes and rose. She took a deep breath, knowing it was critical that she appear unperturbed in the drawing room. The last thing she wanted was to alert her mother, and she most certainly did not want to worry Penny, who knew little about the awful events that had led the d.u.c.h.ess to take Angeline to Paris.

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. Out of necessity, Angeline had learned to keep her head high, even in the face of condemnation and worse.

When she walked into the drawing room, she greeted everyone and decided to sit with Penny and the twins. The d.u.c.h.ess regarded her with lifted brows.

Angeline smiled. "Forgive me for being late. I accidentally dropped my basket."

"You are here, and that is all that matters," the marchioness said.

Angeline brought out her sampler and threaded a needle. Her mother insisted that keeping busy helped to lift one's spirits, but for Angeline, needlework left her with too much time to dwell on the past. She preferred vigorous walks, because she felt free from all the constraints in her life.

"You are quiet, Angeline," Margaret said.

"Forgive me. I was lost in thought."

"What were you thinking about?" Bianca asked.

Angeline smiled a little. "That I have not spent time with a needle recently and need to practice my skills. What are you embroidering, Bianca?"

Bianca held up her sampler.

Angeline blinked. She couldn't make out whether the embroidery represented a tree or an animal. So she settled for an innocuous reply. "Oh, how...unique."

"It is Hercules," Bianca said. "I thought I should immaritalize him."

Bernadette elbowed her sister. "Immortalize, you silly goose."

Penny clapped her hand over her mouth, but a giggle escaped her. "Sorry, Mama," she said, lowering her chin.

The marchioness smiled. "Do not fret, Penny. Last week, Bianca embroidered a skull and crossbones."

"It was only a jest, Mama," Bianca said, her eyes twinkling.

"You would do better to embroider a proverb," the marchioness said.

"I don't know any," Bianca said.

"Of course you do," the marchioness said. "A st.i.tch in time saves nine."

"What does that mean?" Bernadette said.

"Do not put off something, for it will only be more difficult later," the marchioness said.

Bianca shrugged. "You could wait and do it all very fast at the last minute."

Angeline's shoulders shook with laughter as she pulled the needle through her sampler. The twins never ceased to amuse her. She realized she felt better already. Matters with her father were difficult now, but she mustn't give up. He only needed more time to forgive her. She had to believe that in time she would reconcile with him.

"Penny, what are you embroidering?" Bernadette said.

"A leaf pattern on a handkerchief."

Angeline looked at her sister's work. "The whitework embroidery is very pretty, but you have always had a gift with a needle."

Penny blushed. "Thank you."

"Everyone has a talent," the marchioness said. "Angeline has an expertise in converting old-fas.h.i.+oned rooms to fas.h.i.+onable rooms."

Angeline smiled. "I fear it is my only real talent. My needlework is only average at best, and I'm surprised Hercules did not howl when I played the pianoforte last night."

"But Colin was much taken with your playing," Margaret said with a sly smile.

Oh, no. Surely Margaret wasn't bent on matchmaking. Angeline focused her attention on her needlework. "I'm fairly certain he felt obliged to turn the pages."

"He rather looked as though he were enjoying it."

"I must say you looked as if you were enjoying his conversation as well, Angeline," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

G.o.d help her. If Margaret and her mother kept this up, she would have to put a stop to it. Otherwise, she and Colin would find this house party even more of a trial. She wondered if she ought to warn him and decided to do so only if Margaret and her mother became even more obvious.

The marchioness looked at Penny's needlework. "Your st.i.tches are perfect."

"A thing worth doing is worth doing well," the d.u.c.h.ess said.

"My girls would do well to remember that proverb," the marchioness said.

"Yes, Mama," the twins said in unison.

"Why do I suspect you will both forget the moment something else catches your fancy?" the marchioness said.

Angeline liked Margaret very much. She had a witty way of managing her high-spirited girls. Even her scolds were gentle but effective.

"Mama, may we take Hercules for his walk now?" Bianca asked.

"I can see very well you are wild to be out of doors." The marchioness turned to the d.u.c.h.ess. "Do you mind if Penny joins them?"