Page 10

Chapter

Ten

O ver the next two days, Angelica was distracted with fabric choices, designs and fittings for the gowns she’d wear for the London Season. Not to mention Evangeline and Lord St. George, who were traveling to collect her and take her to London were arriving any day.

She was looking forward to their arrival, and to seeing London for the first time, but a part of her also did not want to leave. Not if Lord Benedict was still recuperating under her ancestral roof.

The man took up far too much time in her thoughts and as much as she tried to remind herself that he was not for her, that he’d chosen a different path in life, she could not help but admire him and enjoy his company.

Not to mention he was one of the most handsome men she’d ever met in her life, and after the other evening when she believed herself about to be kissed…

Well, she could not get the thought from her mind.

The warmth of his breath, the nearness of his lips lingered in her memory like a half-savored dream.

And he would be in London when she was there.

Would he attend the balls and parties? She did not think he would, and the thought left her a little disappointed. How she would love to dance with him, to be in his arms, to see if maybe he would throw all his thoughts of joining the church aside and choose her instead.

The very idea sent a longing ache through her chest, one she tried hard to ignore but could not.

Determined to stop pining after a man who was not for her, Angelica shook the thought aside and instead tried to concentrate on the gardeners who were pruning shrubbery and weeding garden beds, preparing them to look their best for the summer months while she sat outdoors, enjoying the warm afternoon sun.

Bright lavender and pale-pink roses bloomed under their careful hands, the plants’ scent sweet and thick in the early afternoon air.

Again, her mind turned as to why Lord Benedict would not choose her.

He was not the type of flippant man who would throw all his hopes and dreams aside for a woman whom she did not even know.

They were friends, yes, but more than that made her a fool.

She needed to stop thinking about him or she would make herself sick.

Angelica inwardly groaned as the very man she was trying to forget appeared in the gardens, walking on the lawns beyond with his brother. He was as tall as Lord Whitmore, who strolled beside him, there to reach and help his injured sibling should he require assistance.

Even from a distance, Lord Benedict’s stride—though uneven—carried a quiet strength. The pale linen of his waistcoat fluttered slightly in the breeze, and the golden sun caught the strands of his dark, unruly hair.

For all of Lord Whitmore’s naughty habits, flirting being one of his most distinguished, he did adore his little brother and seemed genuine with his care for him and his wishes for him to get better.

“Lady Angelica,” Lord Whitmore said, throwing her a wave as they came closer.

Angelica stood, smoothing her hands over the soft muslin dress dyed a pale blue that matched the day’s sky, and smiled as they joined her.

“Lord Whitmore, Lord Benedict, it is a perfect day to be outside. How are you feeling, Lord Benedict? It is good to see that you’re walking better at least.” Her words came out sounding like nervous babble and she hoped his lordships did not notice.

“I’m much better and I do believe that by tomorrow we shall be able to leave and give you and your family a much-needed break from us,” Lord Benedict said, with a laughing smile.

Angelica could not see anything amusing about the fact of him leaving before she was ready to let him go, which may be never. She tried not to react, but her stomach clenched all the same.

“I did not think you were leaving for another week. Ravensmere mentioned so this morning at breakfast. However will we survive without our guests? We shall miss you.”

“I have convinced my brother that I’m well enough to travel and so he has relented.”

“But we shall see each other in town, Lady Angelica,” Lord Whitmore added, looking to his brother. “Will we not, Benedict?”

Benedict threw his brother a warning glare, so quick that had Angelica not been mooning over the gentleman and watching his every nuance, she would have missed it.

“Oh yes, of course. My brother is gracious enough to allow me to practice my faith out of our home. My chaplain and mentor sometimes holds mass for us there in the home’s private chapel.

Maybe you could attend one where I’m announcing the sermon. ”

She nodded, but the thought of spending any prolonged period in a church, even one located in a private home, did not fill her with the same joviality as it seemed to give Lord Benedict.

A tightness twisted in her chest. He truly was planning to walk away from the world—and from her.

“I will try to make time, my lord, but I know my sister, Lady St. George, has much planned and I’m not of the same faith, so I’m uncertain if that is even allowed.”

“Oh, it is allowed, Lady Angelica. I’m also not Catholic,” Lord Whitmore said with a grin. “But I have given my brother leave to do as he pleases and right at this moment, he pleases to be Catholic.”

“Whitmore,” Lord Benedict said with warning. He met Angelica’s gaze, and something in him seemed disappointed by both her and his brother’s answer. She stood there, wondering what else she could say before Lord Whitmore thankfully stepped into the breach of silence.

“As thanks for all your family has done for Benedict and myself this past week, I will ensure that if you should attend one of Lord Benedict’s sermons, that he too shall attend a ball of your choosing, Lady Angelica. I think that is a good trade, do you not agree?”

Angelica smiled, thinking that Lord Whitmore was a marvel at his suggestion. “I think that would indeed be a fair trade, my lord. I shall send word to your home in town with the ball of my choosing. Pray, in what part of London do you reside?”

“We have a house on Berkley Square.”

“You do?” Angelica could not believe her fortune. “As it would have it, my sister Lady St. George resides on that very square. We shall be neighbors, how delightful,” she added, before she could think better of it.

Had she sounded too eager? The prickling of heat on her cheeks told her she had been.

Perhaps she ought not to announce too energetically how much she thought of the man before her. She did not want him to be frightened off. But also, she was looking forward to seeing him again, even if she was doomed to admire him from afar for the rest of her days.

“Lord and Lady St. George reside on Berkley Square?” Lord Benedict repeated, as if he had not listened to her words. “We shall see each other often.”

Angelica did not know if he was outraged or scared by that fact. “I promise not to haunt your shadow, my lord.” Angelica tried to hide the hurt his trepidation made her feel, but she could not. After their almost-kiss, she had not thought he would not wish to see her, at the very least.

It was not as if she were going to throw herself at his head and make him kiss her as she wished.

“Oh no, I did not mean to offend.” He reached for her hand and then thinking better of it, pulled away. “I know you’ll be busy with the Season, and, well, if you happen to see me and do not have the time to stop and converse, know that I understand.”

“Of course,” Angelica agreed, but still she could not help but believe he was trying to keep her at arm’s length. Stop what was simmering between them whenever they were near each other and certainly when they were alone.

Friendship, longing, desire…or something deeper still?

“But I always make time for my friends.”

“We would not think you would do anything less,” Lord Whitmore said. “I should imagine you’ve had a busy few days. Was that not a modiste I saw arrive with an abundance of silks just this morning?”

“Yes, and I shall have all new dresses for London, of course. I do think my sisters Evangeline and Rosalind are determined to spoil me.”

“Well, it may be the last time that they’re able to do so. Should you marry, you’ll move away and settle elsewhere. I should think they would relish giving you everything that you want,” Lord Benedict said, his attention on her more unnerving than it ever had been before, sounding almost heartfelt.

Angelica’s throat tightened. His gaze lingered, not with possession but with something near wistfulness. Was he imagining her married to someone else—or to him?

His words sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Maybe he was torn, understandably so, considering his future employment. Was he debating his choices? Had his meeting her perhaps muddled all his plans?

As unscrupulous as she was being to think that way, she hoped that meeting her had. She liked him far above anyone else she’d ever met, and something told her that even a Season in London would not change that.

No one else could make her breath catch or her heart race like he did with a single glance.

“It is true, my sisters are very kind,” she said, playing into his words. “I look forward to stepping out and enjoying the gaiety of the ton .”

“The men will flock to your skirts,” Lord Whitmore said, wagging his brows at his brother, whose features hardened at the marquess’s words.

Lord Whitmore was a terrible flirt and said the most outrageous, scandalous things. Still, she did like him, even if he were a little naughty.

“I do not know about that, but I hope to make friends, certainly. I do not know anyone outside of my family, so I will admit to you both that I’m fearful of being excluded.”

“No one would dare exclude an angel.” Lord Benedict reached for her hand and, taking it this time, linked their fingers. The warmth of his hold, his fingers slipping over hers, left her breathless and everything within her stilled.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears, her skin prickling at his touch.

“The world could not be so cruel to someone so kind as yourself,” he added, before letting her go.

She smiled, missing his touch the moment he pulled away. Angelica collected herself and hoped her words would not sound as breathless as she felt. “I hope you’re right, my lord, and suppose only time shall tell.”

“I should imagine so,” he agreed.