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disapprove of that man. Why do you insist on defying our
wishes?"
    "I wasn't
defying you, Mama," Angel protested. "He asked me to dance."
    "You
should have declined."
    "But once
Simon and I are married, he will be my cousin. I can't—"
    "You and
Mr. Talbott will not be married for nine months. Once you are safely wed, then
you may converse with the Marquis of Abbonley—as long as there is someone else
present at all times. Even a married woman would find her reputation sullied
in the presence of such a rake."
    Despite her
annoyance at' him and the rumors he had informed her of, that didn't seem
entirely fair. "But he told me he's trying to refor—"
    "Angel,
don't argue with me," Camellia returned. "For heaven's sake."
    Fortunately,
Simon approached Angel with a glass of punch in time to save her from the
remainder of the tirade, and with a stiff nod the countess went to find her
husband.
    "Thank
you," Angel said gratefully as she accepted the glass.
    "You're
welcome," he returned with a smile. "You looked as though you needed
to be rescued."
    She sent an
exasperated look in her mother's direction. "She dislikes my even speaking
with your cousin, as though he spits venom, or something."
    "Some say
he does." Simon grimaced and looked out toward the floor. "What in
the world is he doing with Pearl Wainwright?"
    "Dancing,
I believe." She stifled another grin. "He requested an
introduction."
    "But Miss
Wainwright is . . . " He trailed off, obviously unable to find a
diplomatic way to say what he was thinking.
    "Rather
vacant?" she supplied. "And perhaps prone to the vapors?"
    "Angel,
" Simon chided, glancing at the couple again. "Why didn't you tell
him?" he whispered.
    She shrugged,
pursing her lips. "He didn't ask."
     
    Other than
Simon, Angel's visits to Naffley House were her favorite part of being engaged.
She'd been taking tea with Simon's grandmother every Wednesday afternoon for
the past three months, with the exception of the fortnight she'd been away in
Paris. With Lady Elizabeth, as the dowager viscountess and daughter of the
Duke of Newberry insisted on being called, she could speak her mind. Their
conversations were often amusing and insightful, and now that she had met them
both, Angelique was surprised at how much the older woman reminded her of the Marquis
of Abbonley.
    "Has Simon
spoken to you about the estate in Warwickshire?" Lady Elizabeth asked,
adding a spoonful of sugar to her tea.
    Angelique
nodded. "He mentioned that he thought he could persuade his father to let
us set up a household there," she answered.
    The viscountess
pursed her lips. "Seems to me that stubborn son of mine should have
offered it outright. Not as though he's set foot in it for the past five
years."
    Angelique was
well aware that Lady Elizabeth was frequently frustrated by the stuffiness of
her only son, Simon's father, the Viscount Wansglen. It was apparently her late
daughter, James Faring's mother, who had been the more spirited of the two
siblings. "Simon told me it's a lovely place," she offered with a smile.
    The viscountess
harumphed. "It's been in the Talbott family for generations," she
noted. "An old stone and oak fortress that's stood against the
Lancasters, floods, and the plague. It's something of a shrine. We all speak
with bated breath about Turbin Hall."
    That
description varied somewhat from what Simon had told her. Living in an old
fortress where every stick of furniture had its place and history sounded a
bit . . . stitling. "It sounds enchanting," she responded firmly.
Simon would certainly have no objection to her making some improvements on the
manor once they were married.
    Lady Elizabeth
gave a cackle. "It sounds mouldy," she responded, "but you'll
manage."
    "Thank
you, my lady."
    Downstairs the
door opened, followed by footsteps coming up the stairs. "Grandmama?"
    "In here,
Jamie," Lady Elizabeth called, giving a delighted smile.
    James Faring
pushed open the drawing room door.
    "Grandmama,
I would appreciate