Page 31 of A Taste of Miss Honey

Strangely enough, the outburst had reassured her, showing her that perhaps he was not quite so frail as she had feared. There was still fire in the old goat. Perhaps they still had a little time, and she would treasure every moment he allowed her.

Della slipped her arm through Angel’s, her green eyes sparkling with relief. “Oh, then do come home with me. My cousin Vinnie has been staying, but she’s gone to town to prepare for the season and I’m climbing the walls. I’ll introduce you to Gee-Gee if you like. The Dowager Duchess, my grandmother,” she explained upon seeing Angel’s blank expression. “She’s a game old bird and I adore her. You will too.”

As there seemed to be no other answer but to accept the invitation, and Angel was quite delighted to do so, the two young women left the shop, much to the disgruntlement of Mr Brooks, who had probably been envisioning a hefty purchase from at least one of them.

They made it through the town with no difficulty, but the heavens opened as they reached the gates to Hatherley Hall, and they were obliged to pick up their skirts and run the length of the driveway.

They tumbled through the front door with their bonnet feathers drooping and their cheeks pink with cold, laughing like children. A butler, whose expression remained neutral but whose eyes twinkled merrily, hurried forward to take their sodden coats and gloves, promising to have them dried forthwith.

“Good heavens, you look like a drowned rat, Della, my dear.”

The deep, drawling voice came from above, and Angel looked up, her breath catching as she saw a man descending the staircase. Though she had never seen the duke, she instinctively surmised this was not he. Hawkney was said to be coldly aloof and a stickler for good manners. This man’s gaze was too wicked for that, an insolent curve to his cynical mouth as he made his way down the stairs with a lazy air she suspected was far from the truth. He moved with a catlike grace that was all coiled energy, like he might pounce if they gave him the slightest encouragement.

“Why are you still here?” Della replied, her tone remarkably chilly. She had stiffened when the man addressed her, and a strange crackling tension filled the air between them.

He ignored the question, moving towards Angel, his eyes glinting with interest. He was handsome, the kind of man who looked as if he ought to play a charming villain upon the stage. His hair gleamed black as a raven’s wing, his grey eyes assessing as they flicked from Angel to Della.

“Won’t you introduce me to your friend, Della?”

Della’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Angel thought she might refuse. Instead, she performed the ritual with cool indifference, her voice toneless. “Sheringham, this is Miss Angelica Everdene. Miss Everdene, the Earl of Sheringham.”

Angel, who had never met an earl before, stared at him with interest for a long moment until his eyes widened slightly. Remembering herself, she dipped a hurried curtsey. “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Sheringham.”

“Likewise, Miss Everdene. Shall I ring for tea?” he enquired sweetly, directing the question to Lady Della.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure you have far more interesting things to do than spend time with us in the nursery.”

The nursery? Angel’s eyebrows went up but, before she could say a word, Della took her hand and towed her towards the staircase. Chin up, her eyes glinting with a fiery light that promised someone trouble, she moved like a queen, and left Lord Sheringham standing in the entrance hall without a backwards glance.

Angel said nothing until Della had shown her into an elegant parlour and closed the door behind them.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, colouring a little as she met Angel’s gaze. “I hope you do not wish to run away in the light of my dreadful behaviour. It’s only that he vexes me beyond all bearing.”

“So I see,” Angel replied with a smile. “And no, actually, it made me even more eager to stay. I cannot stand young women who gaze upon men as higher beings, who laugh at all their jokes and think them infallible. I’d much rather see a performance like that one. You were magnificent.”

Della snorted, a rather unladylike sound that only made Angel like her more. When they had first met, Angel had been rather in awe of the beautiful duke’s daughter. She had been so self-assured, so very perfect, it had been daunting.

“Well, much as I would like to accept your praise, I fear I fell into the first category until recently. Then my eyes were opened.”

“Oh, dear.”

Angel moved to the seat Della indicated, looking about her. She thought this must be the dowager’s favourite room, for it had the feel of a well-loved space, still elegant but warm instead of the rather intimidating grandeur that she had seen on her way to it. The scent of fresh paint lingered in the air, faint but suggesting it had been recently decorated. The top half of the panelled walls had been papered with a pale green design of climbing roses, and delicate plasterwork adorned the ceilings and walls.

Two pretty damask sofas were arranged around the fire, with a trio of armchairs upholstered in a soft moss green. One was clearly the favourite: squashy, well-worn cushions were stacked up on it, and a small, embroidered footstool sat before it. An elegant walnut tea table stood close by, ready for use. It was a room for conversation with family and friends, not for strangers, and Angel felt rather privileged to see it.

Lady Della rang for tea and sat down beside Angel on the sofa.

“‘Oh dear’ is right,” she said with a sigh. She regarded Angel frankly, an expression Angel remembered from their first encounter. Lady Della was a forthright creature, and one Angel suspected made up her mind quickly and was hard to budge once she had done so. “Do you enjoy gossip?”

Angel considered the question. It needed an honest answer. What might have happened to her Pops if Izzy had gossiped about what she’d learned of him?

“No,” she said, holding Della’s gaze. “Oh, if I hear about Lord so–and-so doing something scandalous with Lady P., I might listen, I suppose. I’m not as angelic as my name might suggest. But I would not repeat it. I dislike tittle-tattle, and what might seem like an amusing anecdote to one person might be the last straw for another.”

Della let out a sigh and smiled, and the beauty of it struck Angel. She truly was a lovely young woman. “I knew I liked you,” she said, making Angel laugh with the fervour of her pronouncement.

“I should reserve judgement,” she said, seeing no point in being coy. “I’m not the most ladylike of ladies. I’m forever in some scrape or another or putting my foot in my mouth.”

Della only looked more delighted. “Is that supposed to put me off?”