awhile."
"There are fish?" Henry asked, his eyes lighting.
"Oh, yes. When I was younger I caught supper on a regular basis."
"Henry, Helen, come sit down and eat," Camellia called from one
of the tables that had been set up in the shade of the west wing.
"You shouldn't have told him that," Angel commented as the
marquis took a plate from one of the servants and handed it to her before he
accepted another for himself.
"Why not?" he asked, indicating that she should select her
luncheon.
"He'll nag you incessantly, now," she told him, picking up a
strawberry cream and then a second. Strawberries and horses were her greatest
weaknesses.
"Take another," he suggested, seeming to read her mind, and
reached over to place a third one on her plate.
Immediately Angel was distrustful of his solicitude. "Are you trying
to cushion the blow before you inform me that you've invited the Stanfreds
here?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Lady Angelique, I
really don't need to inform you of anything. This is my estate, and I
may invite whomever I choose to. come and visit me." Angel scowled, and he
raised a hand. "I don't wish to argue with you."
"Well, why not?" she demanded, primed for a fight.
James gave a short grin. "Because, much as I enjoy sallying with you,
I do prefer seeing you smile," he said softly.
That stopped her. "Oh," she managed.
"And I was being nice because I wanted to thank you," he went on.
She looked up at him. "For what?"
"I was rather . . . distracted at the Tremaines. You were very kind,
and I apologize for snapping at you." For a brief moment his expression
darkened. "What is between Desiree and me is not for public view, whatever
she might think."
She was tempted to ask what exactly was between Lady Kensington and him.
Instead she frowned and squinted, trying to-look ignorant. Acknowledging her
part would be decidedly unladylike, and the more proper she was, the less
excuse her parents would have to delay the wedding. "I accept your
thanks," she began, "though I'm not quite certain why, as it was you
claimed my hand for the waltz."
He looked down at her, and after a moment pursed his lips and nodded.
"Ah, How forgetful of me. Thank you again, my future cousin," he
remarked, then excused himself to take a seat.
Angel had only a moment to wonder why she was coming to dislike that
particular epithet before Simon reached her side. "How do you like
Abbonley?" he asked as he accepted a plate.
"It's magnificent," she said with a smile.
"Yes," he agreed ruefully. "I'm afraid it will make the
estate at Turbin Hall look quite shabby. Perhaps I should never have shown you
James' streasure."
Angel touched his sleeve, wishing people would stop referring to her
future home as mouldy and shabby. "You've done a grand job here,
Simon."
Simon grimaced. "James has done a grand job. I can take credit only
for maintaining it while he was away."
"Well, you've done that grandly," she insisted stubbornly, and
he smiled at her.
"You are too kind, Angel."
"Sounds like a reasonable enough compliment to me," the
viscountess said from behind her. Lady Elizabeth piled strawberries on a plate
held by one of the footmen, "I'm pleased you've come, child."
"Thank you for inviting us, Lady Elizabeth," Angel responded
with a smile.
"Nonsense," the dowager viscountess snapped, eyes twinkling.
"Jamie, come here and greet your grandmother," she demanded.
The marquis obediently rose and strolled over to kiss Lady Elizabeth on the
cheek. "Bossy," he murmured.
"Scamp," the viscountess replied in the same tone. Elizabeth took
a seat with Angel and Simon at the second table, and the luncheon conversation
was lively, to say the least. By the end of the meal Angel's sides hurt from
laughing. Simon for the most part stayed out of the good-natured bantering
between the marquis and his grandmother, but Angel had already noted that
bantering didn't seem to be Simon's style. It was James Faring's, however, and
unfortunately, and to the
"There are fish?" Henry asked, his eyes lighting.
"Oh, yes. When I was younger I caught supper on a regular basis."
"Henry, Helen, come sit down and eat," Camellia called from one
of the tables that had been set up in the shade of the west wing.
"You shouldn't have told him that," Angel commented as the
marquis took a plate from one of the servants and handed it to her before he
accepted another for himself.
"Why not?" he asked, indicating that she should select her
luncheon.
"He'll nag you incessantly, now," she told him, picking up a
strawberry cream and then a second. Strawberries and horses were her greatest
weaknesses.
"Take another," he suggested, seeming to read her mind, and
reached over to place a third one on her plate.
Immediately Angel was distrustful of his solicitude. "Are you trying
to cushion the blow before you inform me that you've invited the Stanfreds
here?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Lady Angelique, I
really don't need to inform you of anything. This is my estate, and I
may invite whomever I choose to. come and visit me." Angel scowled, and he
raised a hand. "I don't wish to argue with you."
"Well, why not?" she demanded, primed for a fight.
James gave a short grin. "Because, much as I enjoy sallying with you,
I do prefer seeing you smile," he said softly.
That stopped her. "Oh," she managed.
"And I was being nice because I wanted to thank you," he went on.
She looked up at him. "For what?"
"I was rather . . . distracted at the Tremaines. You were very kind,
and I apologize for snapping at you." For a brief moment his expression
darkened. "What is between Desiree and me is not for public view, whatever
she might think."
She was tempted to ask what exactly was between Lady Kensington and him.
Instead she frowned and squinted, trying to-look ignorant. Acknowledging her
part would be decidedly unladylike, and the more proper she was, the less
excuse her parents would have to delay the wedding. "I accept your
thanks," she began, "though I'm not quite certain why, as it was you
claimed my hand for the waltz."
He looked down at her, and after a moment pursed his lips and nodded.
"Ah, How forgetful of me. Thank you again, my future cousin," he
remarked, then excused himself to take a seat.
Angel had only a moment to wonder why she was coming to dislike that
particular epithet before Simon reached her side. "How do you like
Abbonley?" he asked as he accepted a plate.
"It's magnificent," she said with a smile.
"Yes," he agreed ruefully. "I'm afraid it will make the
estate at Turbin Hall look quite shabby. Perhaps I should never have shown you
James' streasure."
Angel touched his sleeve, wishing people would stop referring to her
future home as mouldy and shabby. "You've done a grand job here,
Simon."
Simon grimaced. "James has done a grand job. I can take credit only
for maintaining it while he was away."
"Well, you've done that grandly," she insisted stubbornly, and
he smiled at her.
"You are too kind, Angel."
"Sounds like a reasonable enough compliment to me," the
viscountess said from behind her. Lady Elizabeth piled strawberries on a plate
held by one of the footmen, "I'm pleased you've come, child."
"Thank you for inviting us, Lady Elizabeth," Angel responded
with a smile.
"Nonsense," the dowager viscountess snapped, eyes twinkling.
"Jamie, come here and greet your grandmother," she demanded.
The marquis obediently rose and strolled over to kiss Lady Elizabeth on the
cheek. "Bossy," he murmured.
"Scamp," the viscountess replied in the same tone. Elizabeth took
a seat with Angel and Simon at the second table, and the luncheon conversation
was lively, to say the least. By the end of the meal Angel's sides hurt from
laughing. Simon for the most part stayed out of the good-natured bantering
between the marquis and his grandmother, but Angel had already noted that
bantering didn't seem to be Simon's style. It was James Faring's, however, and
unfortunately, and to the
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