And then he arrived, looking wonderfully … neat in a form-fitting coat of dark green superfine, buff pantaloons, and high-topped Hessian boots, his short hair slightly tousled from his hat.
Angeline beamed at him as he bowed to all of them, and waited impatiently while he spoke to his sister-in-law and Cousin Leonard and then to his grandmother and Cousin Rosalie and—at slightly greater length—to his grandfather and Mr. Lynd. But finally he came toward her group and actually took a seat next to his sister.
“Communing with your own thoughts over there, are you, Christopher?” he asked the viscount.
“I am attempting to keep my cold to myself, Edward,” his brother-in-law explained. “Ill health is my cross to bear in this life, as you know, but I try to bear it with patience and protect my fellow humans, the ladies in particular, from having to share it with me.”
“That is admirable of you,” Lord Heyward said good-naturedly while Lady Overmyer poured him a cup of tea. “Thank you, Juliana.”
He scarcely looked Angeline’s way for the next half hour, though he participated in the general conversation. But she did not mind. There were still no clouds in the sky.
Finally the countess got to her feet, swiftly followed by Cousin Leonard.
“Mother,” she said, addressing the dowager, “Lord Fenner has brought an open barouche and has invited me to drive in the park with him. Will you mind dreadfully returning home in the carriage alone?”
“Unless you would care to come with us, ma’am?” Cousin Leonard asked politely.
“One can be exposed to too much sunshine in an open carriage,” the dowager said, smiling graciously from one to the other of them, “and I did not bring a parasol with me. Thank you, Lord Fenner, but I will return home in the comfort of my own carriage. Edward was kind enough to bring it to London for me from Wimsbury Abbey. You go and enjoy yourself, Lorraine.”
It was the Earl of Heyward’s cue, it seemed.
“Lady Angeline,” he said, getting to his feet and looking directly at her at last, “would you give me the pleasure of driving you too in the park? I have the curricle with me.”
A curricle. Angeline had never ridden in one, since they were not vehicles much used in the country. But she thought them quite the most dashing of vehicles even if they could kill people who did not drive them with the proper care and attention. She would wager Lord Heyward was far from being a careless or inattentive driver.
She smiled brightly.
“What a splendid idea,” she said. “Thank you, Lord Heyward. I would like it of all things. May I, Cousin Rosalie?”
Rosalie inclined her head.
“You must be careful not to drive too fast, Edward,” Viscount Overmyer said, “even if the air does appear to be warm today. It is not warm when one is traveling at any speed. And you would not wish to cause Lady Angeline a chill.”
“Thank you, Christopher,” Lord Heyward said. “I shall keep that advice in mind if I should feel the sudden urge to spring the horses.”
Angeline almost laughed aloud. But she might hurt the feelings of the viscount, who had spoken in earnest and was concerned for her health.
“Thank you, Lord Overmyer,” she said, smiling at him. “But I trust Lord Heyward to keep my best interests at heart at every moment.”
“It is one of Edward’s most admirable traits,” his sister said. “He is utterly trustworthy, Lady Angeline.”
“We will leave now,” Lord Heyward said, “before I am elevated to sainthood.”
And he bent to kiss his grandmother’s cheek.
Chapter 9
HE FELT THAT he was making a grand public statement, Edward thought uneasily.
Engage a lady for two sets at her come-out ball, including the first, sit with her at supper, and then, two days later, on a perfect spring afternoon when absolutely everyone would be out, drive her in the park—on the high seat of a spanking new curricle.
Add a large, wide-brimmed bonnet in varying shades of green and orange—and not subtle shades at that—laden with artificial fruit and flowers and ribbons and bows and Lord knew what other bells and whistles, and a dazzlingly smiling face below it, and a mobile mouth, and a hand that waved to everyone and his dog—yes, she did indeed wave to a little fluff of a mutt, which was prancing along the pedestrian path with its mistress, its stub of a tail adorned with a blue ribbon bow.
He might as well be done with the whole business and put an engagement notice in tomorrow’s papers. He might as well get the wedding invitations made up and sent out. He might as well book St. George’s on Hanover Square for the ceremony and plan the wedding breakfast. He might as well start fitting out his nursery.
“Is this not all absolutely wonderful?” Lady Angeline Dudley said as he drove through the crowd of carriages and horses that made the fashionable afternoon loop in Hyde Park.
Or drove with the crowd would be a more accurate description. It was impossible to move at a faster pace than the slowest of the vehicles ahead of him, and that was very slow indeed. Speed was not the purpose of an afternoon drive in the park, of course. Neither was getting somewhere—hence the circular nature of the drive. One came to be sociable, to mingle with one’s peers, to hear the newest gossip, to pass along something even newer if one was fortunate enough to have heard anything suitably salacious. One came to see who was with whom and, sometimes, who was not with whom.
One came, sometimes, to make a statement. Sometimes one made a statement even when one did not wish to do anything of the kind, when one wished, in fact, to do the absolute opposite.
Sometimes one could wish one’s female relatives in perdition.
“It is your first drive in the park?” he asked.
She had ridden on Rotten Row, of course, at least once, but that was a different matter entirely.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Neither Tresham nor Rosalie would allow me to come here before I was out, and yesterday Rosalie insisted that I rest. I went to Hookham’s Library, though. Oh, I met Miss Goddard there, and we went to a tearoom together and talked for a whole hour. And the Marquess of Exwich called at Dudley House in the afternoon. He came to offer me marriage, the silly man. Oh, there is … what is his name? He was my third partner last evening. Sir Timothy Bixby, that is it. The lady with him danced once with Ferdinand. I cannot—How do you do?” She had raised her voice.
They stopped for a few moments to exchange pleasantries with Bixby and Miss Coleman.
Exwich, Edward thought. He must be fifty if he was a day. He had been married how many times? Two? Three? And he had how many children? Six? Eight? Eighteen? All girls, apparently.
“Did you accept?” he asked as they drove on.
She looked blankly at him for a moment and then smiled broadly.
“Lord Exwich?” she said. “Oh, no. He wears corsets.”
Which was, apparently, reason enough to refuse his marriage offer. And perhaps it was too.
She had taken tea with Eunice? He still had not called on her himself.
It took them an hour to make the circuit. Virtually everyone there, of course, had also been at Tresham’s ball, so everyone must be greeted and everyone’s health must be inquired after, and everyone must be reminded of what a beautiful day it was in case they had not noticed for themselves.
And everyone looked with open speculation from Edward to Lady Angeline and back again. Two men of his acquaintance actually winked at him.