enough if she does not,” Meg proclaimed vehemently. “I want him. He’s beautiful!”
“Meg, darling!” Marisa placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder, but it was angrily shrugged away.
“Don’t ‘darling’ me, dear sister. Your sweet reason act doesn’t fool me, even if it does papa. What passed between you two
in that salon? I’ll vow you threw yourself at his head.”
“Margaret, be still!” Angus thundered at last. “I’ll hear no more of your brazen talk this night. If it’s Marisa the earl
wants, then it’s Marisa he’ll have!”
“No, I say you cannot do this, Father!” John dared to contradict, although his father’s temper when roused was fearful to
behold. “He’s a black-hearted devil. Did you not hear him at dinner tonight?”
“Damn your impudence, boy!” Angus roared. And John faltered under his father’s towering rage as he had always done. “What
mean you interfering in my plans for all of you? You do as I say as long as you reside under my roof! Or I’ll throw you out—penniless—to
go beg in the streets!” He swung about to include his daughters in his tirade. “And that goes for the two of you, too! Marisawill marry the earl… and John, you’ll take that commission in the army when Straeford arranges it. Then it will be Meg’s turn.
She’ll have a season among the
beau monde
and find some other eligible lord to marry. I’ll hear no more about it! My decision is made! Make no mistakes about it!”
Angus stormed out of the room, refusing to look at his older daughter, who had not voiced her feelings in the matter. This
was what Jenny had always wanted for her children and Angus was going to see that his beloved wife’s wishes were carried out.
4
A lady swathed in a dark veil scurried down the carpeted corridor searching for number 278. She tapped lightly on the door
and waited breathlessly as she heard the lock turn and the door open revealing Lord Straeford’s valet, Billings. Despite that
gentleman’s training, he could not prevent a look of surprise before he recovered his usual façade of cool detachment.
“Is your master in?” the mysterious woman questioned in a low, wispy voice.
Billings hesitated, not sure of himself. A woman was unheard of in the Stephens Hotel—at least a respectable woman—but something
in the lady’s manner forbore his immediate rejection.
“Who shall I say is calling, madam?”
“Tell him it is… Evangeline Seton.”
“If you will kindly step inside and be seated, I shall make your presence known to his lordship.”
Mrs. Seton arranged herself stiffly on the small divan before the fireplace, not allowing herself to relax, but sitting forward
as if ready for flight on the moment. The room was silent and watchful except for the ticking of acarriage clock on the mantel which revealed the hour to be three o’clock of a gloomy winter afternoon.
Lord Straeford strode into the room, his forceful footsteps announcing the presence of a man used to command and authority.
“My dear Mrs. Seton, how may I be of service to you?”
The dark-clad woman jumped back at the appearance of the man she had forced herself to seek out. Raising the veil of her bonnet,
she observed his dark, alert visage through faded blue eyes and understood immediately why this was the colonel her husband
had come to hate. The strength of his character was plainly revealed in the firm, chiseled planes of his face and the depths
of those somber green eyes. All that discipline acting in striking contrast to Horace’s self-indulgence!
“I know it is improper for me to be here, my lord, but I… if you could spare me a few minutes?” She let the question dangle
without completion.
“Certainly, madam. I am at your disposal.” There was no warmth in Straeford’s voice, but the rules of courtesy he stringently
observed.
“My dear sir, I hardly know where to begin.” She looked to his lordship to help her find her
“Meg, darling!” Marisa placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder, but it was angrily shrugged away.
“Don’t ‘darling’ me, dear sister. Your sweet reason act doesn’t fool me, even if it does papa. What passed between you two
in that salon? I’ll vow you threw yourself at his head.”
“Margaret, be still!” Angus thundered at last. “I’ll hear no more of your brazen talk this night. If it’s Marisa the earl
wants, then it’s Marisa he’ll have!”
“No, I say you cannot do this, Father!” John dared to contradict, although his father’s temper when roused was fearful to
behold. “He’s a black-hearted devil. Did you not hear him at dinner tonight?”
“Damn your impudence, boy!” Angus roared. And John faltered under his father’s towering rage as he had always done. “What
mean you interfering in my plans for all of you? You do as I say as long as you reside under my roof! Or I’ll throw you out—penniless—to
go beg in the streets!” He swung about to include his daughters in his tirade. “And that goes for the two of you, too! Marisawill marry the earl… and John, you’ll take that commission in the army when Straeford arranges it. Then it will be Meg’s turn.
She’ll have a season among the
beau monde
and find some other eligible lord to marry. I’ll hear no more about it! My decision is made! Make no mistakes about it!”
Angus stormed out of the room, refusing to look at his older daughter, who had not voiced her feelings in the matter. This
was what Jenny had always wanted for her children and Angus was going to see that his beloved wife’s wishes were carried out.
4
A lady swathed in a dark veil scurried down the carpeted corridor searching for number 278. She tapped lightly on the door
and waited breathlessly as she heard the lock turn and the door open revealing Lord Straeford’s valet, Billings. Despite that
gentleman’s training, he could not prevent a look of surprise before he recovered his usual façade of cool detachment.
“Is your master in?” the mysterious woman questioned in a low, wispy voice.
Billings hesitated, not sure of himself. A woman was unheard of in the Stephens Hotel—at least a respectable woman—but something
in the lady’s manner forbore his immediate rejection.
“Who shall I say is calling, madam?”
“Tell him it is… Evangeline Seton.”
“If you will kindly step inside and be seated, I shall make your presence known to his lordship.”
Mrs. Seton arranged herself stiffly on the small divan before the fireplace, not allowing herself to relax, but sitting forward
as if ready for flight on the moment. The room was silent and watchful except for the ticking of acarriage clock on the mantel which revealed the hour to be three o’clock of a gloomy winter afternoon.
Lord Straeford strode into the room, his forceful footsteps announcing the presence of a man used to command and authority.
“My dear Mrs. Seton, how may I be of service to you?”
The dark-clad woman jumped back at the appearance of the man she had forced herself to seek out. Raising the veil of her bonnet,
she observed his dark, alert visage through faded blue eyes and understood immediately why this was the colonel her husband
had come to hate. The strength of his character was plainly revealed in the firm, chiseled planes of his face and the depths
of those somber green eyes. All that discipline acting in striking contrast to Horace’s self-indulgence!
“I know it is improper for me to be here, my lord, but I… if you could spare me a few minutes?” She let the question dangle
without completion.
“Certainly, madam. I am at your disposal.” There was no warmth in Straeford’s voice, but the rules of courtesy he stringently
observed.
“My dear sir, I hardly know where to begin.” She looked to his lordship to help her find her
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