Page 70 of The Lady’s No Angel

“Marvellous,” Cilly agreed sadly. “Imagine if you met a young man who didn’t know your father was a duke, and you had an enormous dowry, and he still wanted to know you. What a gift indeed.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Hart told them sternly. “I will not be impressed if I have to hare off about the countryside looking for you two because you’ve run away to become governesses, or some such foolishness.”

“A governess!” Hetty replied indignantly. “Surely, we can think of something more shocking than that? Far too respectable.”

At that moment Norbury appeared, looking as always as if he smelled something rank. “Miss Everdene, your grace.”

Grandmama sat up straighter as Hart’s chest grew tight with anticipation. “Ah, come in, my dear, come in,” she said, gesturing warmly for Angel to join them.

Though he had known that Angel was a beautiful woman, he’d never yet seen her dressed in anything other than the serviceable gowns she’d brought for her adventure, her hair arranged in a simple knot. Now she came into the room, head held high, her black hair elegantly arranged and swept up to highlight the pale beauty of her slender neck. Her pearly skin was almost flawless—give or take the odd bruise—and a touch of rose bloomed at her cheeks which deepened a degree as she drew closer. The gown was a glorious shade of pink that suited her wonderfully well, and as he met her eyes, he saw an echo of the relief he felt at seeing her again. Lord, but he had missed her, which seemed daft when they’d only been apart a few hours, but there it was. Her lovely mouth curved into a smile as he got up and hurried to greet her.

“Heavens,” he said, his greedy gaze travelling over her. “What a lucky fellow I am. I had almost forgotten what lay beneath all that mud and travel grime.”

She laughed, but he saw a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes and took her hands in his. Raising first one and then the other to his lips, he kissed her fingers. Her breath caught, and he grinned in satisfaction.

“Now, then. Stop being anxious and come and meet my sisters. They are beside themselves with eagerness to meet you.”

Nodding, she took his arm, and he guided her across the room to where his sisters sat with barely disguised impatience. As he’d suspected, the anticipation was too much for Hetty, who sprang to her feet.

“Oh, Miss Everdene, I am so glad you chose the pink—didn’t I tell you she’d choose the pink, Cilly? —and it looks splendid on you. Far better than it did on me. Oh, what beautiful hair you have. I wish my hair was black instead of this… this dreadful brown.”

“Hey!” Hart protested, for Hetty was the most like him in colouring. “It is not a dreadful brown, it is an interesting mix of chestnut and gold and—”

“Pffft!” Hetty replied. “You may flatter yourself all you like, Hart, but I’m afraid it’s mousy brown.”

“Oh, n-no indeed, it is not,” Angel said, struggling not to laugh. “Hart is quite right. It’s quite beautiful and there are many different shades, unlike mine which is all the same.”

“For heaven’s sake, Hetty!” Cilly scolded. “Stop blethering on about your hair and let Miss Everdene come and sit with us!”

Blushing, Hetty sent Angel a rueful grin and returned to her place as Hart made the introductions.

He watched Angel carefully, his pride in her growing ever deeper as she spoke warmly to his sisters, who took to her at once. Relief surged through him, though he had never really doubted they would like her. Had they not, whilst it would not have changed his opinion of Angel one jot, he would have been deeply dismayed. Their sparkling eyes and eager chatter was all the confirmation he needed, however. The three of them would be thick as thieves in no time at all. It was a slightly daunting prospect, to be sure.

Hart managed to drag Angel’s attention away from his siblings in order to introduce her to the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney, only for the dowager to startle him by speaking first.

“Well met, Miss Everdene. You’ve been busy since last we spoke,” the old lady said, her shrewd blue eyes alight with interest.

“Your grace!” Angel exclaimed, so astonished she almost forgot to curtsey and then performed a somewhat haphazard bob. “I-I beg your pardon. It’s just such a surprise to see you here. Is Lady Della with you?”

“No, my dear. She’s still in town. I will be returning to London with Augusta and the girls for the season, but I hadn’t seen my old friend in an age, so when Augusta invited me to stay for a brief respite before facing any more of the madness, I took her up on the invitation.”

“Please send her my best regards,” Angel said, which seemed to please the dowager, who regarded her with an approving smile.

“Indeed, I shall. Along with your adventures, you may be sure. I congratulate you, my dear. I thought you had a bright future ahead of you when we met, but I will admit even I did not predict a future duchess. Most foolish of me, for I can see it plainly enough now.”

Angel looked somewhat taken aback by this so Hart guided her to a seat, ensuring to sit himself close beside her. She glanced up at him and smiled, but her lively dark gaze was shadowed with worry, he assumed for Milly and Toby. If they were not found soon, he would need to go after them.

“Will there be a grand wedding, or shall you return to Little Valentine?” the Dowager Duchess of Hawkney continued with interest.

“Oh, I—” Angel glanced at Hart, clearly uncertain how to answer.

“We’ve only just become engaged, ma’am,” Hart protested, interested to note the mention of Little Valentine, but the dowager waved this away with an impatient hand.

“A big wedding or a small one? It’s easy enough to decide, ain’t it?”

Hart looked back at Angel. “Small,” they said in unison, and then grinned at each other.

“I should like to marry in Little Valentine,” Angel admitted, glancing uncertainly at Hart. “Reverend Honeywell is such a darling, and I should like to marry in the place I grew up. If Leo doesn’t mind it?”