Ah, he thought as he smiled fondly at her, the butterfly was emerging from the cocoon, was it? The solemn, bookish girl was suddenly realizing that there was life to be lived and that it must be done now because time moved inexorably onward. He just hoped she had not pinned all her hopes for happiness upon Windrow, though he did not believe she would be so foolish. He was not about to utter any advice, however. Eunice was quite mature and sensible enough to order her own life.
“And you,” she said. “Are you enjoying yourself, Edward?”
“I am,” he said and smiled.
“You see?” she said softly. “I was quite right, was I not?”
He was not really sure what she meant, though he thought he knew.
“Yes,” he said. “You were.”
She smiled warmly back at him.
Chapter 18
BY THE MIDDLE of the following afternoon Angeline was in despair—for more than one reason.
The least important—oh, it was very much the least—was that she had seriously underestimated her leftover feelings for the Earl of Heyward after she had rejected his marriage offer. She had been angry with him at that time and horribly disappointed, so of course she had convinced herself that she did not love him at all and that she was loving all the busy activities of the Season and the attentions of numerous other gentlemen. She had even persuaded herself that she was on the brink of falling in love with two or three of them.
It was all nonsense, of course. For she had fallen in love with Lord Heyward the first time she set eyes upon him, and she had not fallen out of love since. It would be done, but it had not happened yet. And yesterday had not helped at all. Why had he not gone to Miss Goddard’s rescue as she had been confident he would, instead of insisting upon helping Angeline get rid of the nonexistent stone in her shoe? And why had they not remained with the group afterward? Why had he kissed her? And why had she allowed it? Why had they waltzed on the terrace last evening instead of inside the drawing room? Even that would have been bad enough, but being outside was disastrous. She had never been so deliriously happy as when they were dancing, and never so deeply in the grip of despair as when she came to her senses afterward.
For he had then danced with Miss Goddard, and it had been another waltz because that was what everyone had wanted, and they had talked the whole time, never taking their eyes off each other’s. She had glowed with obvious happiness, and his eyes had smiled warmly at her the whole time even if the rest of his face had been in repose.
Oh, they were meant for each other. There was no doubt in Angeline’s mind—and surely there could be none in the minds of his mother and sisters either, or in that of his grandmother. And she could not resent the fact, because she liked Miss Goddard exceedingly well and genuinely wished for her happiness.
Why, instead of teaching her poetry and drama and needlework, had her governesses not taught her the most important lesson anyone could learn—that life was really not going to be easy after one was free of the schoolroom?
And there was the second, and more important, reason for Angeline’s despair. For she had pledged herself to bring Miss Goddard and the Earl of Heyward together. She had even gone so far as to tell Miss Goddard what she was doing so she could help bring about her own happily-ever-after. She had agreed to do it, had she not? That meant she wanted the Earl of Heyward, that she loved him. Angeline was so happy for her that she sank one rung further down the ladder of despair.
And the answer to that was to redouble her efforts. Though they were not working nearly as well as she had thought they would. Well, not at all, in fact. Goodness, she had schemed to have both Miss Goddard and Lord Windrow invited here, only to discover that Lord Heyward did not seem unduly alarmed by the attentions Lord Windrow was paying the woman he loved. It was all very frustrating.
Angeline went out riding in the morning with a group of other guests. Miss Goddard was not one of them, however, so there was no chance to implement anything. For some distance she rode between Lord Windrow and Tresham, and the two of them talked of going fishing with some of the other men after breakfast. Lord Windrow also mentioned the fact that it was his mother’s birthday and that he really ought to ride over to his home later to dine with her and spend the night before returning tomorrow.
“Will she not come here?” Angeline asked. “I am sure Cousin Rosalie would be delighted to have her, and we could all give her a grand celebration.”
It was perhaps not quite the thing to invite someone to Rosalie’s house, especially for a birthday party, without first consulting Rosalie herself, but Angeline was sure she would not mind.
“Alas,” Lord Windrow said, “my mother is not strong, and she is something of a recluse. If I am to see her on her birthday, I must go to her.”
“You will upset the balance of numbers here if you do,” Tresham said, “and doubtless throw Rosalie into consternation. Such things matter to the ladies.”
“Far be it from me to do anything so dastardly,” Lord Windrow said, smiling at Angeline. “I shall think of some solution. Tell me, Lady Angeline, is there a color not represented in your rather splendid riding hat? It would be a shame if there were. It would be sitting all alone on a palette somewhere, feeling rejected and dejected.”
Tresham barked with laughter.
“If there is such a color,” Angeline said, laughing too, “let it come to me in the form of a feather or a ribbon and I shall add it to the rest.”
“Ah,” Lord Windrow said, “but how can one improve upon perfection?”
Angeline enjoyed the ride, as she always did. She rode back with Ferdinand, and he gave her a blow-by-blow account of a bare-knuckled boxing match he and a group of friends had ridden twenty miles from London to watch a week ago. It had gone fifteen rounds before the champion had finally knocked out the contender, and by that time both their faces had resembled raw meat. It was the best, most enjoyable fight he had seen for ages. Angeline scolded him for going, and begged for every detail he had omitted.
“But don’t you ever fight anyone like that, Ferdie,” she said. “Have some regard for my nerves.”
But really the morning was wasted, for of course most of the men did go fishing after breakfast and did not return until just before a late luncheon. The second day of the house party was already more than half over. And Lord Windrow was indeed going home to Norton Park to see his mother on her birthday—he spoke of it again at the table. Her campaign would have to proceed without him, Angeline thought, at least until tomorrow. Not that she was having a great deal of success with him here anyway.
Matchmaking clearly was not as easy as she had expected it to be.
However, something happened after luncheon to cause her to brighten quite considerably. Miss Goddard linked an arm through hers as she was about to wander into the drawing room, where the Misses Briden were settling at the pianoforte to play a duet and a number of the other guests were going to listen to them. Miss Goddard led Angeline to the conservatory instead, where they sat on a wrought-iron seat among the potted plants.
“Edward needs to be jolted out of his complacency,” she said. “Yesterday’s plan did not work well, did it? He could see, both during the afternoon when I walked alone with Lord Windrow and last evening when I danced in the drawing room with him, that I was in no danger whatsoever. In both cases there were other people within sight or at least hailing distance all the time. And Lord Windrow is a guest here at Hallings and would not behave badly here. He is a gentleman, after all.”