An Angel for the Earl by Bárbara Metzger

at me that way before, not even Captain Anders. While such, ah, attention cannot help but gratify my vanity, this”—she indicated her body, her clothes—“is merely the devil’s handiwork. I do not intend to spend eternity looking like a doxy.”
    With that businesslike pronouncement, the needlework vanished and a piece of paper appeared in her hand. “How do you feel about ‘God, King, and Country’?”
    â€œPardon me?”
    â€œâ€˜God, King, and Country.’ You know, what the crusaders shouted before battles. I still believe we need some kind of credo, a workable system to get you into heaven. It worked for all those feudal types.”
    â€œIt did? I mean, they were bloody-minded bastards. I’ll thank you not to put me in any clanking armor for all eternity. I’m no blasted fanatic, b’God. And as for the king, the man is a hopeless lunatic. Everyone knows that. Would dancing with him on the parapets in my nightshirt show my moral fiber?”
    â€œAnd country?”
    â€œThey wouldn’t let me join up, blister it. The heir and all that, last in the line. I would have gone,” he said, raising his chin.
    â€œBut you could have served your country by taking your seat in Parliament, and you never did.”
    â€œWhat, argue endless politics with those old bag-wigs?” He had another sip of the champagne, then put the glass down. “I’m sorry, I never thought. Would you care for some champagne? I could fetch another glass if you’d prefer.”
    â€œI’ve never tasted champagne,” she answered with a hint of regret. “But even if it were possible, the last thing I need is another vice.”
    â€œWhat, a tiny sip of wine? That cannot be so great a sin. And while we’re talking about that, I don’t see why I cannot go on as I have been, sowing my wild oats like every other buck in town. Soon enough I’ll have to settle down, set up my nursery, take my seat, be an upright citizen. That’s the natural way of things. Even m’father got religion before he died.”
    â€œHaven’t you been listening? You might have another forty or fifty years to balance out your current dissolution, but I need you reformed now, in the two weeks or so before I die.”
    â€œYou’re wrong, you know. I have listened to you. I just haven’t believed all the fustian. The doctor thought you could wake up anytime if you really wanted to. So why give yourself two weeks? You could have the same thirty or forty years to embroider altar cloths. That’s a better bet than putting your money on me. Besides, there’s champagne and waltzing. I wager you’ve never waltzed either. Why die if you don’t have to?”
    â€œThere is no reason for me to live. I’d have no family, no friends, no resources, not even any references to get a position. Those pleasures you speak of are for the privileged, not destitute females with no reputations. Once my father casts me out, I’d have to become what you think I am, or starve. I’d rather die. Especially if I have hopes for a better life after, with your help, thank you.”
    â€œI still don’t understand. If you are here to win me over to the side of the angels, why in hell are you in the guise of the devil’s daughter?”
    â€œIt’s because of the odds against my succeeding. Now, there’s something in your ken.”
    â€œThey gamble in heaven? Hallelujah.”
    â€œOf course not, silly. But purgatory has a special place for gamblers where they win all the time, so there’s no pleasure in it.”
    â€œSo the odds against my reforming are not good?”
    â€œYou’ve heard of a snowball in hell? So won’t you please try?”
    â€œCertainly, as soon as I see my tailor.”
    â€œTailor!” she cried, clenching her fists. Of all the uncooperative, disaccomodating fribbles. “With all those