The Angel and the Aristocrat (Second Chance Manor) by Merry Farmer

Author:Merry Farmer [Farmer, Merry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Rafe was fairly certain that he’d fallen through the looking glass. Lady Fangfoss’s house party wasn’t supposed to be such a diversion for him. He was supposed to have been able to keep a clear head and go about the business of choosing a replacement for Lady Farrah to fill the role of Marchioness of Rothbury. He was supposed to enjoy rest and the company of his fellow gentlemen for a few weeks and then, hopefully, return home early, his purpose for being there accomplished.

Instead, he’d ended up spending most of his time being led around by the nose by Angeline. She had him playing games, participating in dances, dressing up in ridiculous costumes so that he could be sketched, and even—perish the thought—singing a duet with her during one of Lady Fangfoss’s required evening concerts. What in God’s name was wrong with him? He would have to make an appointment with his physician the moment he returned to London.

But no, that wasn’t his problem, and he knew it. When Angeline left the aftermath of the concert early, claiming her head ached from all the singing and she would like to go to bed early, Rafe felt strangely bereft. He’d spent more than enough time with her in the last few weeks to determine that she was lovely, genuine, and most likely the perfect marchioness, so bidding her goodnight and watching her hurry out of the room—and sending him a mischievous grin over her shoulder before she turned the corner, which was odd—shouldn’t have left quite such a gaping hole in his heart. It did though, so much so that he found himself rubbing his chest.

“Is something the matter, old chap?” Lord Fangfoss asked, sidling up to Rafe as though he already knew the answer to the question.

“Er…no,” Rafe said. “I am perfectly well, my lord.” He tried an overly formal bow to see if that would get the man to go away.

It didn’t.

“It’s only that I saw the way you glanced after Lady Angeline just now,” Fangfoss went on. “And I observed the perfect harmony between the two of you as you sang earlier.” He raised an eyebrow significantly.

“Lady Angeline is by far the more accomplished singer,” Rafe mumbled, searching for the line between too big of a compliment—which would give away his affections for certain—and too small of one—which would have the same effect, paradoxically. “If I sounded at all competent, it was only because she made me seem so.”

“I think it’s more than that,” Fangfoss chuckled. “I do believe my bride will have another feather in her cap as far as matches at this party of hers goes.”

“Quite,” Rafe said, but only because it seemed like the most banal thing he could say.

“But what is this about another letter I hear you received this morning?” Fangfoss went on.

Rafe drew in a breath, trying in vain to gather the last of his patience. The staff at Fangfoss Manor had proven themselves to be accomplished gossips. “It is nothing,” Rafe said through a clenched jaw.

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