Page 34 of The Duelist for the Ton
Stephen shuddered at the memory of his nursemaid, who used to pinch him before presenting him to his mother and father before bedtime, then make a show of comforting him when he cried. At all costs, Angela wouldn’t suffer as he had.
“She’s perfectly amiable.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I’ll not hesitate to dismiss her at the slightest cross word.”
“Dear brother!” Angela laughed. “You’ve nothing to fear. I like Mrs. Stowe. She’s like an older sister, or…”
She hesitated, then looked away, her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of rose.
Or a mother.
Poor Angela. She’d grown up not only lacking a mother’s love, but being subject to Father’s condemnation for her entry into the world having facilitated their mother’s exit from it.
Was it any wonder that the urge to destroy anyone who gave Angela even the merest slight often rendered him unable to draw breath?
But he had to temper his fear, or he’d keep his sister at home under lock and key, safe from predators—the very predators who paraded about Hyde Park in their finery, using their sophistication to corrupt an innocent.
“Mrs. Stowe said something very odd yesterday,” Angela said.
“Which was?”
“She said that to love was to be enslaved. What could she mean by that?”
Doubtless Mrs. Stowe meant that she’d suffered heartbreak. The late Mr. Stowe had, by all accounts, been a respectable man of means, but if his widow had been reduced to earning a livingescorting young women about while she sat in a dark corner subject to the taunts of the likes of Foxton, then she had not benefited from the marriage.
But Angela need not have her eyes opened to the miseries of the world. No, she needed protection from them. And until she’d found a husband to care for her as she deserved, Stephen would devote his life to providing that protection.
“I suspect Mrs. Stowe meant that you must not give your heart too easily,” he said. “And I agree. You must not lose your heart to the first handsome man who pays you a compliment.”
“Oh, no,” she replied. “I intend to have a whole flock of suitors and then take my pick of the best.”
“Then take care not to break their hearts,” he said, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze.
“Haveyouhad your heart broken, brother?”
At that moment, as if Fate played a trick, he spotted Lady Staines arm in arm with her husband, and a small pulse of pain flickered in his heart at the memory of her rejection. But Lady Staines was not the woman she had once been. The socially ambitious Juliette Howard was now the serene and blissfully happy countess, having married for love.
“Colonel Reid!” she said, steering her husband toward them. “What a pleasure. And who’s this delightful young lady? Though perhaps I needn’t ask. You’re so alike that she must be your sister.”
Angela gave a shy smile and moved a little closer to Stephen. He placed a protective hand on her shoulder and bowed. “Angela, may I introduce you to Lord and Lady Staines? Lady Staines, this is my sister Angela.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, my dear,” Lady Staines said. “Eleanor! Do come and meet Lady Angela Reid.”
Stephen’s stomach clenched with discomfort. It was awkward enough facing one Howard sister, let alone both of them.
“Duchess,” he said, as the duke and duchess of Whitcombe appeared.
Angela’s grip on his hand tightened. “D-Duchess…” she whispered.
But she had no cause for fear. The duchess’s peculiarly intense emerald gaze flicked over Stephen before settling on his sister.
“Lady Angela,” she said, nodding. “Is this your first Season? Are you out yet? I trust you have a chaperone other than your brother.”
Angela’s eyes widened. The duchess was not known for engaging in social pleasantries. She preferred to speak more directly, often saying what was on everyone else’s mind, but they were too polite to voice.
“I-I am out, Your Grace.”
“Excellent,” the duchess said. “Then I can invite you to our house party at Rosecombe Park. I trust you’ll come.”
