Impulse

“Pack of weaklings.” Margaret dismissed them contemptuously. “Thank God the Stanhopes don’t suffer from such nonsense. I did not have so much as a chill all winter.”

Laura gave her mother-in-law a rather pitying look. She had known the dowager countess for almost thirty-five years now, and she still was unable to understand why the woman took so much pride in her robust condition. In her own opinion, a woman ought to be suffering from something most of the time; otherwise, she would never get enough attention from the male members of her family.

However, Laura knew it was useless to try to make Lady Bridbury understand any point of view other than her own, so she turned back to her daughter. “Have you been out walking, my dear? You should wrap up. You might catch a chill. I know it is April, but the wind, you know, can be so dangerous. You should wear a muffler.”

Angela’s grandmother rolled her eyes, but Angela merely smiled at her mother and replied, “Doubtless you are right, Mama.”

She kissed her on the cheek as well, and nodded toward Miss Monkbury, her grandmother’s self-effacing companion, who sat away from the fire, knitting. Miss Monkbury gave an odd ducking nod in reply and continued to knit. Angela sat down between her mother and grandmother, saying, “Did Jeremy come home? I saw the carriage outside.”

“Yes. And he brought a decidedly peculiar young man with him,” Margaret answered. “An American.”

“An American? I wasn’t aware that Jeremy even knew anyone from America.”

“One doesn’t, normally,” Laura agreed.

“That is one of the things that is so odd about his coming here. A Mr. Pettigrew, Jeremy said he was. Jason Pettigrew. I ask you, what sort of name is that? Sounds like a commoner, but then, I suppose all Americans are, aren’t they? He looks like a solicitor, but when I told him so, he denied it.” Her frown seemed to indicate that she suspected he had lied to her.

“I found him rather shy,” Laura put in. It was rare that her opinion on any matter agreed with her mother-in-law, though she never disagreed directly. “Of course, he does speak in that American way, but other than that, he seemed quite gentlemanly.”

“Yes, but what is he doing here? That is the question, Laura,” Margaret put in impatiently. “Not whether he is polite.”

“But what is Jeremy doing here, either?” Angela asked. She, of course, lived at Bridbury year-round, and had for four years now, ever since the divorce and its attendant scandal. But Jeremy and his wife spent most of their time in London.

“That is what I asked him,” Margaret assured her. “But he would not tell me. He said he had to talk it over with you first.” She looked affronted.

“With me?” Angela was astonished. She loved her brother, and owed him a great deal for what he had done for her over the past few years. They had a pleasant relationship. But she could not imagine anything that he would want to discuss with her before he would discuss it with their grandmother. Angela was well aware that her position in the family was the least important of anyone’s, except perhaps Miss Monkbury’s.

“Yes. Apparently this Mr. Pettigrew is to be a part of the discussion, also. He and Jeremy retired to the library. I have rarely been quite so astonished. However, I find that the present generation is so often graceless.” She sighed.

Angela stared at her. “Mr. Pettigrew? But why?”

“I just told you, I haven’t the slightest notion,” her grandmother replied acidly. “I was not taken into your brother’s confidence. You had best go to the library and ask him yourself. However, do, please, go up to your room and change into something a trifle more presentable first.”

“Yes, Grandmama, of course.” It was useless to point out that if Jeremy was waiting for her, her grandmother might have told her so when she first came into the room. She stood up, saying, “If you will excuse me, Grandmama. Mama.”

“Of course, dear child,” her mother responded, sniffing her lavender-scented handkerchief, obviously suffering another of her weak spells. Her grandmother gave Angela a peremptory nod.

“And, Angela!” Margaret called out as she neared the door. “For goodness’ sake, leave those animals behind. You cannot meet this American person looking like a zookeeper.”

“Yes, Grandmama. Perhaps I should leave the dogs here.”

Her grandmother raised a single icy brow at this sally and waved her out of the room.

Angela walked down the long gallery that stretched across the front of the house and into the west wing, where the bedrooms lay. She found her maid, Kate, waiting for her in her room. Kate already had one of Angela’s better dresses, a dark green velvet, spread out on the bed, and a pair of slippers to match it waiting at the foot of the bed.

It did not surprise Angela that her personal maid was well aware that Angela was to join her brother and their surprise guest. In fact, she would not have been astonished if Kate knew why Jeremy had come to Bridbury. There was nothing as swift or as efficient as the servants’ grapevine.

Kate, a woman much the same age as Angela, with laughing brown eyes, a wealth of chestnut hair and a buxom figure, jumped up from the chair when Angela entered and hurried over to her, clicking her tongue admonishingly. “Where in the world have you been? You look like half the county is clinging to your skirts. Out drawing them pictures again, eh?”

“Yes, I have to confess that I was.” Angela glanced down at her skirts, a little surprised to find that several burrs and a few sticks, as well as dust and pieces of dried grass, were clinging to the hem of her dress. “I was hoping to find some flowers out already, but I could find nothing but lichen on the rocks.”

“Well, if it isn’t flowers, it’s birds, or some kind of berry bush or something.” Kate shook her head. “I’ll tell you the truth, my lady, I can’t fathom what you see in them little flowers, growing in cracks and such, looking more like a weed than anything else.”

“They intrigue me—so secret and hidden. It’s like finding a prize when you do spot something unique. And they’re lovely. Simple and delicate. Besides, it gives me something to do.”

“Well, selling your pictures to them journals and magazines and such, that makes sense, to make a little money.”

“Yes.” Angela loved the flowers and shrubs and birds, and loved just as much to draw her pencil sketches and watercolors of them, but it was nice to be able to sell a few from time to time to periodicals and books. It gave her pin money, which saved her from having to depend on Jeremy for absolutely everything. She had lost her inheritance, of course, when she left Dunstan; the dowry she had taken with her into the marriage had stayed with him. She did not regret losing it; she never would. But it was hard, having to live on another’s kindness, even her brother’s.

Kate had been undoing the row of tiny buttons down Angela’s back and helping her out of her dress as she talked. Now she held out the green dress for Angela, still chattering away merrily. Kate was allowed far more liberties than the typical maid. She had taken on the job of Angela’s personal maid when both of them were in their teens, and the two of them had been close from the start. Kate had gone with Angela when she married Lord Dunstan years ago, and their bond had been forged into hardened steel during the ordeal of those years. It had been Kate who helped Angela find the courage to leave Dunstan and then accompanied her when she stole out of the house in the dead of night. For that brave loyalty, Angela loved Kate almost like a sister. Since the divorce, her other friends, even close ones like her cousin Cee-Cee, had absented themselves from her life. Kate was now Angela’s only confidante, her most valued friend, and it was only at Kate’s insistence that she continued to serve as Angela’s personal maid. Angela had asked her to remain at Bridbury as her companion.

Kate had turned down the offer. “A companion, miss? Nay, that’s only for a gentlewoman. I couldn’t be content with that, now could I? I need something to do, and not stitching little embroidery, neither. ‘Sides, I like making my own money and not living off someone else’s charity. It’s like slavery, I think, like selling yourself, just for the sake of being able to be genteel-like. But I ain’t genteel, and never will be. I’d sooner sweat and have my independence.”

“Have you seen the Yank that’s with His Lordship?” Kate was asking now, as she knelt and began to unbutton Angela’s shoes.

“No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“Aye, I did. I carried some of his bags up. Just to see what he looked like, you know, and maybe get an idea who he was.” She giggled. “When I carried them into the room, he was already there and had taken off his shirt. He looked that surprised to see me. I knocked, and he said to come in, but I guess he was expecting one of the footmen. Ned and Samuel were carrying the trunks. His jaw dropped open, and he blushed bright red. Then he started scrambling to put his shirt back on. He’d dropped it on the floor, and he had to pick it up, but then he put his arm in the wrong sleeve, and he couldn’t get it on. He kept jerking it and twisting, that loose arm flapping around like some crazed bird. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. I guess I got a better look at him than I would ever have expected.”

Angela couldn’t help but smile. “Poor man. I am sure you did nothing to ease him.”

“Of course I did. I curtsied and asked if he wanted me to unpack his bags, trying to act like there was nothing wrong. But he kept apologizing to me.” She shook her head in amazement.

“Well, he is American. Perhaps he’s not used to castles and servants and such.”

“More like he’s not used to girls,” Kate retorted. “He’s got a prim-and-proper look to him, so stiff you think he might break if he tried to bend over. And plain dressed. Not badly dressed, just … so very severe. All the other girls think he’s dead handsome. I thought him only all right, if you like that sort of pasty look of a man who spends his life indoors. Me, I like a man with a little meat and muscle.” She grinned. “Gives you something to hold on to, you know.”

Angela shook her head in mock despair. Kate was an inveterate flirt, and Angela was sure that she had broken more than one poor man’s heart. But she liked to talk as if she were a wilder sort than she was, primarily, Angela thought, to entertain her.

“Did you find out why he’s here?” she asked as Kate finished with her shoes and rose to take a critical look at the overall effect.

“No. Dead mum about it, His Lordship’s man is, which I’m thinking means he doesn’t know. All I know is, Ned said later that he caught a glimpse into one of the bags, and it had a powerful lot of important-looking papers in it.”

“A solicitor, perhaps. Or a man of business. I wonder what he has to do with Jeremy,” Angela murmured. “Even more, what could it have to do with me? Well, I suppose the only way I shall find out is to go down there.”

But Kate would not let her leave until she had fussed with her hair a bit, pinning in the strands that had come loose during Angela’s walk. “There, now you look beautiful.”

Angela barely glanced at her image in the mirror. It had been many years since she fussed over her looks. All she cared about was appearing neat and ordinary. The latter was a difficult task for a woman with hair the color of burnished copper, she had found, but over the years she had made blending in an art form. She wore subdued colors and plain styles, and her hair was always done in a simple bun worn low upon her neck. She never wore any jewelry, except perhaps for a cameo brooch at her throat. Even her hands were without adornment, the nails clipped short and no rings upon her fingers.

She walked down to the library and knocked softly on the door. Jeremy answered, bidding her enter. When she stepped inside, Jeremy rose to his feet, as did the man who was sitting in the wingback chair across from him. Angela cast a quick, curious glance at the other man, noting that he was, as Kate had told her, not bad-looking, but perhaps a trifle rigid.

“Angela.” Jeremy smiled and went over to her to kiss her lightly on the cheek. “You look in health.”

“As do you. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Not so pleasant for Grandmama, I believe.” He smiled. “I thought she might eat me for arriving unannounced.”

“Is Rosemary with you?” Angela asked as her brother led her toward the chairs.