husband or children of my own, at least there can be this short
respite. I want to be near him for a time, until I am strong enough to go my
way alone.
“I will stay a while,” said Meg.
Oh, Lord, what had she done? Dessert was brought in, but she scarcely tasted
the Chantilly crème, and excused herself as soon as the meal was finished.
Impossible, she told herself as
she hurried up the stairs. She must write the marquis a note. Giving him her
parents’ names would suffice to clear up the matter. She might also confess her
friendship with Helen Cockerell, the cousin of his intended.
Yet even as she commanded herself
not to remain under this roof for a second night, Meg knew that she would. He
had touched a place in her buried so long that she had ceased to believe in its
existence.
She turned the knob and stepped
into her bedchamber, halting as she caught sight of something sparkling on the
dressing table. She crossed the room, picked up the silver-rimmed glasses, and
perched them upon her nose. Two side extensions balanced them loosely upon her
ears.
Around her, the room came sharply
into focus. How bright the golden bed cover appeared, and how the polished lamp
gleamed in its own light. How could she have failed to notice the intricate
leaf pattern on the wallpaper, which now leaped out at her?
They were the most splendid
glasses Meg had ever used. She did not see how she could bear to be parted from
them. But as the property of the late Lady Bryn, they could not possibly be
taken away from the premises. Perhaps it was a sign, she told herself shakily
as she began to undress.
That very evening, Meg wrote
notes to her cousins and her mother and Helen, describing her delight at
unexpectedly renewing old acquaintance with a dear friend and telling how she had
accepted the invitation to visit for a few weeks.
Chapter Six
Angela passed the evening
following her sister’s departure in a state of unaccustomed agitation, although
she hid these emotions from her mother by keeping her head lowered over a piece
of embroidery.
How terribly she missed Meg! And
how she resented the shallow society that had, in effect, banished her. Those
silly ladies and gentlemen would forget the incident in a week, so long as Meg
was absent. Why should they levy so strong a penalty for a mere
misunderstanding? Angela loathed them all. How, then, could she still yearn so
to be a part of that society, to dance with handsome gentlemen and go riding in
Hyde Park? Her longings shamed her.
Lady Mary read aloud as they sat
in their private parlour, a task that Meg had always fulfilled before. Angela
scarcely heard the words, but she noted the dryness of her mother’s voice that
signalled her advancing years.
I shall do it for Mother, Angela
told herself, pleased at this compromise. I shan’t go about to gratify my own
selfish wishes, but for all our sakes I must find myself a husband.
Would it be right, under the
circumstances, to marry someone she did not love? Perhaps she should make a
noble sacrifice. But it would hurt Meg and Lady Mary to see me unhappy, she
reminded herself. With a sigh of relief, the girl concluded that duty required
her to do exactly what she most wanted, which was to go out and enjoy herself,
and to find a man she could cherish.
The next morning, Angela bounded
out of bed with unaccustomed enthusiasm. Vauxhall, tonight, was to be her
initiation—albeit an informal one—into the exalted realm of the ton .
Upon opening the wardrobe to
select appropriate apparel for the morning, Angela noticed the dresses her
sister had left behind. They reminded her that she must speak with her mother
about ordering new gowns for her come-out.
There would be a ball in her
honour! Angela whirled about the bedroom in delight. So many wonderful things
to enjoy! People arriving in carriages, dressed in their finest, and instead of
peeking down from the stairwell as she had done in her childhood, Angela would
stand
respite. I want to be near him for a time, until I am strong enough to go my
way alone.
“I will stay a while,” said Meg.
Oh, Lord, what had she done? Dessert was brought in, but she scarcely tasted
the Chantilly crème, and excused herself as soon as the meal was finished.
Impossible, she told herself as
she hurried up the stairs. She must write the marquis a note. Giving him her
parents’ names would suffice to clear up the matter. She might also confess her
friendship with Helen Cockerell, the cousin of his intended.
Yet even as she commanded herself
not to remain under this roof for a second night, Meg knew that she would. He
had touched a place in her buried so long that she had ceased to believe in its
existence.
She turned the knob and stepped
into her bedchamber, halting as she caught sight of something sparkling on the
dressing table. She crossed the room, picked up the silver-rimmed glasses, and
perched them upon her nose. Two side extensions balanced them loosely upon her
ears.
Around her, the room came sharply
into focus. How bright the golden bed cover appeared, and how the polished lamp
gleamed in its own light. How could she have failed to notice the intricate
leaf pattern on the wallpaper, which now leaped out at her?
They were the most splendid
glasses Meg had ever used. She did not see how she could bear to be parted from
them. But as the property of the late Lady Bryn, they could not possibly be
taken away from the premises. Perhaps it was a sign, she told herself shakily
as she began to undress.
That very evening, Meg wrote
notes to her cousins and her mother and Helen, describing her delight at
unexpectedly renewing old acquaintance with a dear friend and telling how she had
accepted the invitation to visit for a few weeks.
Chapter Six
Angela passed the evening
following her sister’s departure in a state of unaccustomed agitation, although
she hid these emotions from her mother by keeping her head lowered over a piece
of embroidery.
How terribly she missed Meg! And
how she resented the shallow society that had, in effect, banished her. Those
silly ladies and gentlemen would forget the incident in a week, so long as Meg
was absent. Why should they levy so strong a penalty for a mere
misunderstanding? Angela loathed them all. How, then, could she still yearn so
to be a part of that society, to dance with handsome gentlemen and go riding in
Hyde Park? Her longings shamed her.
Lady Mary read aloud as they sat
in their private parlour, a task that Meg had always fulfilled before. Angela
scarcely heard the words, but she noted the dryness of her mother’s voice that
signalled her advancing years.
I shall do it for Mother, Angela
told herself, pleased at this compromise. I shan’t go about to gratify my own
selfish wishes, but for all our sakes I must find myself a husband.
Would it be right, under the
circumstances, to marry someone she did not love? Perhaps she should make a
noble sacrifice. But it would hurt Meg and Lady Mary to see me unhappy, she
reminded herself. With a sigh of relief, the girl concluded that duty required
her to do exactly what she most wanted, which was to go out and enjoy herself,
and to find a man she could cherish.
The next morning, Angela bounded
out of bed with unaccustomed enthusiasm. Vauxhall, tonight, was to be her
initiation—albeit an informal one—into the exalted realm of the ton .
Upon opening the wardrobe to
select appropriate apparel for the morning, Angela noticed the dresses her
sister had left behind. They reminded her that she must speak with her mother
about ordering new gowns for her come-out.
There would be a ball in her
honour! Angela whirled about the bedroom in delight. So many wonderful things
to enjoy! People arriving in carriages, dressed in their finest, and instead of
peeking down from the stairwell as she had done in her childhood, Angela would
stand
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