Beauty and the Baron

The earl looked pleased yet somehow regretful. “You may be right, though that is more to his credit than to mine. At the very least I should have taken better care in his religious education. You don’t give any credence to that silly gossip about my grandson being involved in unholy practices…do you?”

“No!” Angela hoped she sounded more certain than she felt. “Of course not!”

The earl lifted his stick, pointing toward a hill half a mile to the east. “That’s where he goes, I believe, most nights after we’ve had dinner and spent a quiet evening together. After I retire to bed.”

Angela stared toward the hill, the base of which she and Lord Daventry had skirted on the previous evening when he’d driven her home. “H-have you ever asked him what he does there?”

The earl lowered his stick by slow degrees until it hung at a dispirited angle. “Never. I’m not sure I could stomach his answer. And he has never volunteered the information.”

As they walked on a little farther in silence, it seemed to Angela as if the distant hill cast an invisible shadow over the vibrant garden.

At last the earl spoke again. “My grandson has never told me what happened to him at Waterloo, either. That is how it’s always been between us. We are both very fond of each other in our ways, I believe, but so much left unsaid.”

Angela understood, perhaps better than the earl might have realized. Lord Daventry had an air about him that firmly discouraged anyone from trespassing on his privacy. Even when the man had something important he wanted to convey, like his proposal to her, he had gone about it in such a riddling, roundabout manner that she’d almost given up listening.

Surely the earl wasn’t hoping his grandson would take her into his confidence? The very notion set Angela’s heart in a rapid, shallow beat. Like the earl, she wasn’t certain she could bear to hear what Lord Daventry might tell her.

“This is no fit talk for such a fine day,” the earl scolded himself. “We have a ball to plan—remember?”

Those words were as sweet to Angela’s ears as a cup of warm chocolate in Tibby’s kitchen at the end of a hard day.

“So we do.” She glanced around her. “Is it feasible to hold one out of doors, do you think? When I proposed the idea last night, I had rather a lot of champagne in me.”

“Tipsy or sober, it was a brilliant suggestion, my dear.”

They had come to a fork in the path. The earl tugged Angela toward the south lawn.

“What ballroom in the kingdom can compare to this?” He raised his walking stick in a sweeping gesture.

Angela had passed this way many times. A few years ago, when the earl had been stronger, the two of them had often played pall-mall here on summer evenings. Now, looking at the south lawn in a new light, she had to agree it was perfectly suited to what she’d imagined.

The broad, tiled terrace would make an ideal area for dancing, while the lawn itself was so smooth and flat it could easily be set with clusters of small tables and chairs. As for the ornamental trees that ringed the lawn…

The earl pointed toward them. “What would you think of hanging small tin lanterns from the branches?”

“Like fairy lights—marvellous!”

They enjoyed a leisurely walk, planning where the musicians should set up and where the supper buffet should go. They discussed the guest list at length, though most names the earl mentioned Angela only knew by reputation. Suddenly she was pleased on her own account that she’d suggested a masquerade.

All these illustrious guests might be less intimidating dressed up in fanciful costumes. In her own disguise, she might be able to pretend she was someone else. Not some countrified spinster living on the charity of wealthy relations, but a fine lady worthy to be the bride of a baron. If that didn’t work, she could at least hope her mask might hide the worst of her alarm.