Page 69 of The Lady’s No Angel

The undergarments were all the finest quality, embellished with delicate lace, and the gowns laid out before her were so exquisite Angel hardly knew how to choose between them.

“The pink would look wonderful with your black hair, miss,” Jenkins offered with an encouraging smile.

Angel reached out a finger and touched the silken fabric. “And you are quite sure Lady Cecilia and Lady Henrietta don’t mind lending me their things?”

Jenkins shook her head, her expression grave. “Oh, no, indeed. They are the dearest creatures, I promise you. I’m Lady Henrietta’s maid, miss, and I’ve been with her since she was a little girl. A kinder soul you’ll never meet, nor Lady Cecelia neither. Both ladies are beside themselves with delight to hear their brother has found someone special, for they dote on him, you know, and they said to tell you they cannot wait to meet you.”

Angel let out a shaky breath. “Well, in that case, I should love to wear the pink.”

Hart made his way down the stairs, not a little relieved to have escaped Blake’s clutches. His valet—who had arrived on time but without his master—was sulking and giving every indication that he would punish Hart for his recent escapade for days to come. Possibly weeks.

Hart considered the idea of parting company with the man, who would try the patience of a saint. He was an exceptional valet, though. Hart was hardly the easiest gentleman to dress; he cared little for fashion and preferred comfort over style, so he knew Blake considered him the trial, and with good reason. Besides, finding someone to replace him was far too much bother when there were many more enticing things to consider, such as his upcoming nuptials. He wondered how long a courtship Angel would wish for, though regretfully he supposed they’d best not marry too quickly if they wanted to get through this with no hint of scandal. Either way, he’d just have to grit his teeth and endure Blake’s sulking.

On reaching the ground floor, he was greeted by the butler, a cold fish by the name of Norbury.

“Where are my sisters?” he asked, not bothering with a greeting. Norbury, a tall, rangy man with thinning black hair, was his father’s creature and disliked Hart on principle. The feeling was mutual.

“In the blue parlour with the Dowager Duchess, my lord,” he said, as if giving such information was far beneath him.

Hart stalked in that direction without another word and tugged open the door to the blue parlour. Almost at once he was engulfed in a flurry of femininity as his sisters rushed at him.

“Hart!” they cried, running across the room to throw their arms about his neck, just as they had when they were children.

Hart laughed as they hugged him and kissed his cheek. “All right, let a fellow breathe, can’t you!” he complained, though he was secretly delighted. It had been too long since he’d seen them and he’d missed them. Despite his not coming home often—for obvious reasons—they were very close, and he spoiled them dreadfully whenever he got the chance.

“Oh, you wicked boy!” Cecilia scolded him, taking him by the hand and dragging him over to a cosy arrangement of chairs around the fire. “It’s at least six months since we last saw you and now you come home with a bride we knew nothing about. Tell us everything at once, and don’t leave out a thing!”

“Well, maybe some things,” Hetty added with a dry smile, for his sisters were well aware he was a man who embraced life and took every opportunity to enjoy it.

Hart sent her a warning look but allowed them to tow him along into the room. His grandmother had already taken her favourite chair, and he saw now that she had company.

“Leave off, Cilly,” he told her with a laugh, disengaging himself so he could greet the old lady whose blue eyes were darker than his grandmother’s but shone with the same kind of irreverent delight. “Your grace, how do you do? I am pleased to see you again.”

The Dowager Duchess of Hawkney, a long-time crony of his grandmama’s, inclined her head regally. “You are looking disreputable, Hartwell. But I always had a soft spot for a rogue, and you certainly appear to have been living up to your reputation. Now, what’s this I hear about you marrying Black Jack Baxter’s granddaughter?”

“Nothing but the truth,” he admitted, and gave in then to Cecelia’s and Henrietta’s demands that he tell them everything.

So he sat down, allowed them to ply him with tea and biscuits, and told them all—nearly—of his and Angel’s adventures.

“—and then we were thrown into the back of a cart and hauled off here,” Hart said, enjoying his audience’s expressions of rapt astonishment.

“Heavens. But what about the treasure?” Hetty demanded, her pale blue eyes wide with alarm. “What if someone else has taken it?”

Hart considered this, for it had been playing on his mind too. “I think not. Now that Mercy and her thugs have been taken care of, no one else knows about it. Save for Milly and Toby.”

“Oh, poor Mrs Pettigrew,” Cecilia exclaimed, looking anguished on her behalf. “She does not know where her mistress is, other than having been taken up by the law. The poor woman must be beside herself.”

“Milly is made of stern stuff,” he said, though in truth he was more than a little anxious about them. “She’s got a level head on her shoulders. We’ll find her and Toby safe and sound, of that I have no doubt.”

“But your Miss Everdene must be so disappointed. To have gone through so much, and travelled so far, only to be thwarted at the eleventh hour,” Cilly said, pressing her hands to her bosom with a sigh of frustration on Angel’s behalf.

“Ah, yes, setting out for pirate treasure and coming home with only the heir to a dukedom must be a grave disappointment,” the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney said with a snort of amusement.

“Maria, don’t tease,” Grandmama said with a laugh. “But I can see why you snapped her up so quickly. In the first place, she’s a beautiful girl with spirit and she’s unlikely to bore you. In the second, she fell in love with Leo Cleaver, and that I know is something that means more to you than all else.”

Leo sent his grandmama a fond smile, for she knew him well and understood him, too. “It was a gift, to set the title aside and be someone else for a while.”

“It sounds like a wonderful idea,” Hetty said with a wistful sigh.