Devall's Angel Read Online Free Page B

ad in the Times announcing that you are unmarriageable.”
    “Hardly.” Angela had still been insisting that all would be well. Admitting her own fears would make it impossible to survive the evening. “Sylvia and I will be sisters in only two months. Cassie sees nothing wrong with it.”
    “How would she know? She’s hardly older than you, with no experience in entertaining. She shouldn’t even be here. Appearing in public when she is increasing is outside enough!” The ubiquitous vinaigrette waved beneath her nose.
    Angela bit back a sigh at the memory and smiled at the latest arrival. It was too late to rectify any mistakes. If only her mother had kept quiet just this once! That diatribe had done little to settle nerves already stretched to the breaking point.
    For six years Angela had listened to tales about the magic of the London Season – the parties, the people, the clothes and jewels, the sparkling conversation. All exaggerated.
    London intimidated her in ways she had never experienced at home. There, she entertained the neighbors with confidence. Whatever duties she had faced – and they were many, for Lady Forley refused to run the house or see after the tenants, devoting her time to endless complaints over her absence from London – she had handled with calm confidence.
    Yet here she could never relax, especially around the Almack’s patronesses and gossips like Lady Beatrice. The sparkling conversation was only endless repetition of the latest scandals interspersed with acid condemnation of anyone not present. The other girls were giddy, giggling pea-brains interested only in clothes and flirtation. Angela had nothing in common with them. How could she relate to people who accepted social facades as reality, dreamt only of jewels and gowns, and uttered nothing but regurgitated on-dits? They ignored her, content with the friendships they had formed at schools she had never attended.
    The gentlemen were worse. Corinthians. Dandies. Fops. All were alien beings in their formal clothes and impeccable manners, intimidating her with their self-possession while flustering her with insincere compliments and meaningless flirtation. Framing a reply that did not sound hopelessly conceited was impossible.
    “Lord Atwater,” she murmured as that gentleman was introduced. “So nice of you to come.” She had discovered that if she avoided looking into people’s faces, she could utter greetings without stammering.
    “At last, a beauty worthy of notice,” he said warmly, touching his lips to her gloved hand. “Your face is a blazing light shining into the darkest corners. Such exquisite loveliness casts all others into shadow.” His words were so pat on her thoughts that she nearly choked. Tongue-tied, she ignored him and turned to the next arrival.
    London was not her milieu . She hated its shallowness and the way intelligent people changed when they entered its portals. Even Hart and Andrew sounded brainless here, though both were reasonable men. And that disturbed her. If everyone donned masks in public, how was she to see past the surface? Unlike most girls, she did not view marriage as either a duty or a business arrangement. She wanted a partnership with her husband. And friendship. Love was unlikely, of course – she banished a spurt of envy for the love Andrew and Sylvia shared – but she could not compromise beyond friendship. Yet discovering a kindred spirit meant she had to know the real character of any suitors.
    Her mother’s jostling reminded her that she was supposed to greet all arrivals. “Mr. Garwood.”
    If only she could set aside her fears and doubts – at least for tonight. She had been wrong to think that anyone attending Hart’s illustrious gathering would be interested in her. Yet even that realization failed to relax her, for new fears now joined the old. She had not previously grasped the size of the ton . Hundreds of people already thronged the ballroom, with more arriving every