“No, darling. I swear it.” Mama took her hands. “I don’t trust Lady Redvers. I would never associate with her. I have told her nothing.”
Angeline didn’t believe her, and she was too angry and upset to forgive her.
Miss Taylor will marry him because he won’t allow a lady to be ruined. If he refused to marry her, he’d likely lose the seat in Parliament, and Georgiana would be marked as a trollop. He had no choice but to agree to marry her.
“I have nothing to do with this,” Mama said.
“I’ve had enough.” A sob escaped Angeline. “For the past years, I tried to convince you to stop, but I failed. Even worse, I covered your lies, and I shall take my responsibility. If I’d stopped you, Royston would be all right now. But no more. No more.”
Mama caressed Angeline’s head. “Darling.”
“Please leave. I want to be alone.”
“I really am sorry.” Mama kissed her cheek. “I’ll make amends. I promise.”
“Go.” She waited to be alone to hide her face.
Her betrothed had risked dying, and now he wasn’t her betrothed anymore.
She’d barely lived her dream before it was snatched out of her reach.
Mama might not have meant to hurt Royston, but thanks to her, Lady Redvers’s plan to force him to marry her daughter had been successful.
Royston must have hada case of brain fever because a massive headache battered his skull like a hammer, his throat wasswollen, a foul taste filled his mouth, and his muscles were aching and sore.
He opened his heavy eyes, which required a ridiculous amount of strength. The sunlight glared at him, filtering through the window of his bedroom. At least he was home.
He groaned when he propped himself up on his elbows. The last thing he remembered was having a glass of wine with Mrs. Haywood. Then… confusion and fragments of events.
Angeline had been in the parlour, and there had been someone else. He’d kissed Angeline, but he wasn’t sure of that. He wasn’t even sure why he felt so sick.
He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and, with a tilt of his head, polished it off.
The door swung open and Angeline swept into view. He inhaled deeply, ignoring the burning in his throat.
“Angeline.”
“Royston, you’re awake.” She turned towards the corridor. “He’s awake!”
She rushed to him. Her simple afternoon dress was wrinkled in places as if she’d been sitting for hours. A few of her black curls had escaped her bun and whipped her worryingly pale face.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“What happened to me?”
“You’re all right.” Her lovely face was too gaunt. “We were so worried.”
Enright walked over to him. His clothes were wrinkled, and his hair and beard were unkempt.
Mrs. Lawrence came in, as pale and tired looking like Angeline. “Your Lordship, finally. You’ve been mostly unconscious for three days.”
“Three days?” Royston rubbed his aching forehead. “What happened to me?” he asked again.
Enright exchanged a glance with Angeline. “My lord, I’ll have a light lunch prepared for you.”
His stomach lurched at the idea of food. “I don’t think I can eat anything.”
“The physician said it’s important that you eat something. I’ll bring a fresh pot of tea as well.” The butler bowed again and left the room with the housekeeper.
