Page 112 of The Duelist for the Ton
“I’ll leave the two of you in peace,” she said. “I can ask Mrs. Green to make tea.”
She exited the room, and Stephen retrieved the book she’d dropped.
“Latin?” he asked, opening the first page.
“It belongs to Mrs. Stowe. She’s been teaching me a few phrases.”
“I trust you’re not taking advantage of her, Angela. She’s your chaperone, not your governess. Though perhaps I should be grateful that she’s managed to encourage you to further your education. Poor Miss Treacher quite despaired of you.”
“I don’t see Mrs. Stowe as a governess,” Angela said. “Nor do I view her as a chaperone—she’s a friend. Which was why we were going to take tea together after—” She broke off, frowning. “Were you not supposed to be taking tea with Lady Portia?”
He nodded, and she fixed her clear gaze on him.
“What’s wrong, brother?”
“Nothing.”
“I can see you’re distressed. Something’s happened.” Then her frown deepened. “Oh no—I’ve ruined your life as well as risking my own, haven’t I?”
“What the devil do you mean?” he asked.
“She can’t forgive you, can she?”
No. And I daresay she never will.
Stephen ignored the taunts of his conscience.
“You left Duchess Whitcombe’s house party because of me.” She withdrew from his embrace and approached the door.
“Where are you going, Angela?”
“To explain to Lady Portia that it’s my fault you left early.”
“It won’t make any difference.”
“I can try, brother. She might listen to me.”
“The fewer people know about your little escapade, the better,” he said. “We’re trying to prevent gossip from spreading.”
“Lady Portia isn’t a gossipmonger. You’ve said yourself, she’s the most honorable person of your acquaintance. And if she’s to become my sister—”
“There’s no chance of that, now.”
Her face creased with distress. “No…” she whispered, her eyes glistening with sorrow. “Oh, brother, I’m so sorry!”
“I thought you disliked her,” he said. “After all, it was your incivility toward her that resulted in your not going to Rosecombe.”
She blushed. “I was angry because she seemed to dislike Sir Heath, and thought she was jealous. But I know now that I was wrong.” Then her smile returned. “Perhaps if I apologized, it would set things right? If she knows that I’d like nothing more than have her as a sister, she might—”
“No!” he said, and she flinched at the harshness in his voice. “Lady Portia and I will not be marrying—and that’s an end to the matter.”
“But you said she was the only—”
“She was,” he said. “But she no longer is.”
“Why?”
“It’s not your place to ask why.”
