Хелен Диксон – Heiress in Regency Society: The Defiant Debutante (страница 16)

‘I hope I’m not late. I went to look in on Aunt Patience.’

‘How is she?’ Alex handed her a glass of wine. Having lost all desire to quarrel with her tonight, he was relieved to hear she sounded more calm than aggressive.

‘Sleeping—but she really does look quite poorly.’

‘Then you will be relieved to know the doctor has seen her and has left some medication that should help relieve her discomfort. Is your room to your liking?’ he asked, pulling out her chair at the damask-covered table decorated with orchids.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Angelina replied, slipping into it and taking a sip of wine, hoping the meal would be over quickly so she could escape.

‘I’m glad you decided to join me for dinner,’ Alex said, seating himself across from her. ‘I hoped you would.’

‘I could hardly ignore a royal command, could I?’ Angelina replied, unable to resist taking a gentle stab at him, the impish curve to her lips softening the tartness of her reply.

His glance darted across the table. ‘It was not a royal command.’

‘No? That’s how it sounded.’

Reining in his mounting irritation, Alex stirred impatiently. ‘Angelina, don’t be aggressive,’ he told her quietly. ‘I am in no mood for a quarrel.’

Angelina laughed shortly, a mischievous light twinkling in her eyes. ‘Why, what kind of miracle is this! To what do we owe it?’ When he shot her an annoying look she sighed in capitulation, though in the light of his previous animosity towards her during their brief acquaintance, she remained suspicious of this softening to his attitude. ‘No. Neither am I,’ she answered, smiling at an aloof-looking footman who was standing to attention like a soldier close to a large dresser containing platters of food.

‘Good. Now that is settled, perhaps we can enjoy our dinner in peace.’

‘I shall endeavour to do so.’

‘As long as you don’t upset my cook by not eating. Mrs Hall is very efficient—and, being a woman, she is extremely temperamental and takes it as a personal criticism if anyone refuses to eat.’

‘What! Even you?’ Her eyes sparked with laughter.

‘Even me.’ He smiled in response, spreading a napkin over his knees.

It was a simple, lovely meal, excellently cooked and served by the aloof footman who came and went. Alex talked amiably about Arlington Hall and the surrounding countryside, giving Angelina a brief insight of the people who lived and worked in and around the village of Arlington, just one mile from the hall.

‘Do you often go to London?’ she asked, wondering how he could bear to leave such a lovely place for the hurly-burly of London.

‘I have to take my seat in the House of Lords occasionally—more so at this present time with Europe in a state of turmoil and the war with the United States.’ A faint smile touched his lips when he observed Angelina’s expression of bewilderment, and realised that, coming from America, she would know very little about English politics.

‘You are a politician?’

‘No—at least not in the professional sense. It is simply that I, and all peers of the realm, have been trained to regard it as our right and duty to participate in governing the country. We enter Parliament as we do university and gentlemen’s clubs—such as White’s or Brooks’s.’

Angelina was impressed. ‘It all sounds very grand to me. And what do you debate in the House of Lords?’

‘The issues at this time are many and varied—and of an extremely serious nature. Fortunately we have managed to stand against Napoleon, despite his attempts to throttle our trade. The present economic crisis is foremost in the debates, and the textile trade, which is getting worse. Following two bad harvests, there is general unrest in this country—especially in the north and the Midlands. And on top of all this comes the need to pay out gold to support the war in Portugal and Spain and our naval battle with America.’

‘Dear me. What a muddle it all is. I wonder at you having time to leave London and come to Arlington.’

‘I’m not required to spend all my time in the House of Lords, and much of my business can be taken care of here.’ He went on to explain the basics of British politics and the English Court, telling her that King George III had lapsed into incurable madness and his son, the Prince of Wales, had been made Regent the previous year. ‘There are times when I have to go to Carlton House and other haunts of the Prince Regent and the beau monde. But I must point out that political exigencies take me there, rather than personal tastes.’

‘Uncle Henry told me that George III and his Queen set a standard of decorum and domestic virtue, but that their court was a very dull place to be—much different to that of their son.’

Alex smiled broadly. ‘Uncle Henry was right. As soon as the old King was struck down with madness and fastened into his strait-waistcoat, the Prince of Wales took to wearing corsets and the ladies to shedding their petticoats. There are those who say the country is falling into a decline in moral standards—if not the onset of national decadence.’

‘I was of the opinion that the English aristocracy has always been a profligate lot, who has indulged in loose living and has never ceased to do what it likes and cares only for its own whims. Why—I know you enjoy a certain reputation yourself, my lord,’ she said softly, glancing across at him obliquely.

Alex looked at her sharply. ‘Correction,’ he defended curtly. ‘I may have acquired a certain reputation, but I did not look for it and certainly do not enjoy it.’

Angelina shrugged, swallowing a juicy baby carrot. ‘Whatever the case, it is no secret that you are something of a womaniser and that you keep a mistress—a notorious beauty by all accounts.’

Alex’s gaze narrowed and slid to her seemingly innocent face. ‘Really,’ he said drily. ‘You are well informed, Angelina. Did Uncle Henry tell you that too?’

Her eyes opened wide. ‘Of course not. Uncle Henry is too much of a gentleman to indulge in tittle-tattle. But I do have ears—and servants talk. What’s she like?’ Angelina asked, popping another baby carrot into her mouth whilst lowering her eyes to hide their mischievous intent, secretly delighting in his discomfort.

Alex’s jaw tensed and a flash of annoyance darkened his eyes. ‘Who?’

Calmly Angelina met his gaze. ‘Your mistress.’ As he arrogantly raised one brow a dangerous glitter entered his eyes, which warned her that his temper was not far from surfacing.

‘She’s very sweet, as a matter of fact,’ he drawled.

‘Then instead of marrying Miss Howard, why not marry your mistress?’

‘Gentlemen do not marry their mistresses, Angelina.’

‘Why—I cannot for the life of me see why not. If a man considers a woman suitable to take to his bed, why not marry her?’

Alex’s grey eyes observed her with ill-concealed displeasure from beneath dark brows. ‘I think we will drop this particular subject. It is pointless and leading nowhere.’

Restraining the urge to giggle, Angelina shrugged flippantly. ‘As you like.’

When he turned the conversation back round to his home, she listened with a good deal of interest, and mostly in silence when she realised just how much Arlington and its people meant to him. It brought to mind her own home and all she had left behind. Memory clouded her eyes and Alex seemed to sense her despondency.

‘Tell me, are you homesick for America?’ he asked suddenly, correctly guessing the cause of her dejected attitude.

Angelina raised her eyes and looked at him sharply. His question was unexpected. ‘Very much,’ she admitted, unsure whether she wanted his sympathy, but comforted by it nevertheless.

‘And you miss Mr Boone and your friend Will, I suppose.’

‘Yes, I do miss Will. He was a part of my life for a long time.’

‘And now? What do you think he is doing?’

‘Trapping beaver somewhere among the Great Lakes of North America, I suppose,’ she murmured, unable to conceal the yearning she still felt for her homeland.

‘What made your father go out west?’

‘He was bitten by the bug that bit everyone else. The lure of the west changed him and eventually he became hungry to see it for himself.’

‘He wasn’t the only man lured by the Promised Land.’

‘It was a dream shared by many. Thousands of men all seeking a better life, a different life, to raise their children—all the time pushing further west in a valiant attempt to tame the land and carve themselves a niche. Hundreds perished in the migration, becoming victims of the elements or at the hands of the many tribes of hostile Indians.’

‘And your mother? Did the lure of the west attract her also?’

‘No, not really. She tried telling my father that homesteading was best left to those who know how to work the land, but Father was determined to go west.’

‘And how did your father fare as a farmer?’

‘Being unskilled in agriculture, he did not fare well. The weather became his mortal enemy—and then there were the Indian raids, when livestock would disappear overnight. Lack of money was a constant problem. The prosperity he’d dreamed of always eluded him. He possessed a grim determination to survive despite the odds stacked against him—but in the end he was defeated,’ she finished quietly. ‘The Shawnee saw to that.’