THE FOLLOWING day, her brother found her in the quiet drawing room of his villa, one he purchased years ago to be far from their father's doting presence. And perhaps, in Angela's opinion, to gain more freedom to chase skirts, one thing he could not easily do in the country where one's secret was spread with much dedication.

Jonathan skidded to a stop and looked around. "Why is it dark in here?"

"The sun is too bright," she murmured, eyes on the book she had not been reading, but now was, as soon as he came in. Hidden between the book and her lap was the schedule of activities for the Season Fair.

Jonathan strode to the curtains and none-so-gently threw the drapes to the side. In less than a breath, light besieged the entire drawing room, highlighting the green and red damask walls. Angela sighed and looked at her brother who positioned himself across from her in a settee.

His grey eyes regarded her coolly. "You did not tell me last night why you disappeared into the garden," he pointed out.

"You did not ask."

He cocked his brows. He was asking now.

She returned her gaze on the page of her book. "I was sitting beside a woman with an empty dance card."

She could tell he was frowning. "I do not understand."

Careful to keep the small poster out of sight, she closed her book and sighed, squinting at the bright window to view the long driveway. "Whoever brought dance cards to Sutherland must have thought it a necessary additional flair to standards."

"I still do not understand what you mean, my dear. You are talking to the wrong brother."

She turned and met her brother's eyes. Lady Margaret was right to aspire to have Jonathan for her daughter. Four years older than her at the age of eight and twenty, Jonathan was at his prime. His grey eyes and black hair in combination with his wit and humor were indeed quite appealing. Perhaps his education in London was an added value. And of course, the current title and the one he was waiting to inherit.

On the other hand, Edward, merely a year younger than Jonathan, was different. He was not here for the same reason Angela did not want to be here: they both hated being around people they could not understand.

Angela was only here because she was on a mission. And Edward, in his missives, had given her his permission after she swore to him in writing that Jonathan shall never have to know.

If she were to judge her brothers in the eyes of the ladies of the polite society, she would most definitely choose Jonathan. Jonathan was endearing the way Angela and Edward could never be. He liked to dress extravagantly, befitting the Worthington name and his title.

But looking at Jonathan now, Angela wondered for a passing moment what he would do if he discovered the true reason of why she came to Coulway. He may be a tad less stiff than Edward, but he could effectively impose his authority at any given time. He was far from the arrogant and conceited aristocrat, but he could induce fear if need be. And he was truly wise if he found the need to use his brain.

Jonathan was not without his imperfections, of course. For one, despite being one of probably only five people who knew her too well, Jonathan still struggled to make sense of his siblings—most particularly Angela. And so, she tried her best to convey her logic in the simplest way she knew how.

"During the season, a woman is judged by two things," she began to explain. His brows rose higher, waiting. "Their social status and their dance cards. I have heard that Miss Shirley keeps hers as souvenirs. Millie also told me that the woman is having a display cabinet built for them."

Her brother's face crumpled in disbelief. "Surely you are jesting."

She shrugged. "Millie's gossips are rarely wrong."

"That still does not answer my question."

"I told you I went to the garden." She looked him straight in the eyes. "To avoid the woman with the empty dance cards."

Jonathan's eyebrows could have risen higher, but they had reached their threshold.

She groaned inwardly. Oh, how she missed Edward!

She clucked her tongue with impatience. "She was desperate to make acquaintances," she explained.

Jonathan blinked. "With you?"

"I was sitting right next to you."

He frowned. "And you feared that she may express an interest to receive a dance invitation from me through you?"

"No, of course not. I know you ask whomever you like and ignore those you do not."

"Get to the point, Angela," he wryly ordered.

"In her desire to get your attention, I feared she would start a conversation at all," she replied, baffled as to why her brother came to a different conclusion.

Jonathan swore under his breath as he shook his head. "You should have gone and joined Edward in Rutherford. Why did you even decide to join the season in the first place?"

Her hand absently traced the edges of her book, keeping the small poster in place and safely hidden.

She provided the best reason she could. "Father, of course."

"Now, now," a voice said from the direction of the door.

Both Worthington siblings turned to find Spencer Pembroke striding into the room, his face breaking into a wide, bright smile. He removed his bowler hat to reveal the mass of messy brown curls. Angela swiftly used Jonathan's momentary distraction to fold the poster and tuck it into the book before she rose to her feet and offered her hand to Spencer who approached her first.

"I was meaning to write you a missive," she said, breaking into a smile.

"Please forgive me, I was not at Averly last night," he said after planting a quick kiss on her hand. He turned to Jonathan and asked, "What did I miss?"

"Not much, to be honest," droned Jonathan, crossing one leg over the other as Spencer sat on the settee beside Angela.

Spencer turned to her, light brown eyes glinting with familiarity. "I gather you enjoyed the dancing?" He teased.

She rolled her eyes.

"What?" Spencer asked in mock horror. "Dare not tell me no one asked Angela Worthington for a dance!"

"She escaped to the gardens without a chaperone," Jonathan provided, "for God knows how long."

"My head was throbbing. The music was a total sore in my ears," she explained to Spencer.

"But Averly is famous for its great music scores!" Spencer cried out.

"I found it chaotic. And my eyesight can hardly keep up with the movements and dancing; and that horrible yellow wall!"

Her friend turned to Jonathan who rolled his eyes. Spencer chuckled.

She stood to her feet. "Now that you are here to entertain my brother, I must change for tea."

"You are dressed fine—"

"I planned for an afternoon walk with Millie."

"When did she start to enjoy afternoon walks?" she heard Spencer ask Jonathan who only grumbled a reply that sounded like, "My sister can be human, too, Spencer."

While in her room, Angela lay sprawled on her bed, blinking absently at the ceiling. Her afternoon dress was ready, but it could wait while she took a moment of quiet.

The events of the night prior came back to her and she scoffed.

That silly, dashing man.

She wondered who he was. Now that she could not name the face that frequented her recent waking hours, she regretted not asking for it.

She sighed, rolling her eyes at her thoughts. She was woolgathering again.

That man must have countless lovers—or a wife!

She should focus on her mission. Once she had fulfilled it, she could go home as though she had not committed a crime.

It was nearly twenty minutes later when she was alone in her room that she realized she had left her book—and the poster—in the drawing room. Scrambling off her bed, Angela ran down the stairs. As she reached for the door handle, she heard Spencer mention her name and she stopped.

"And do you believe that her reason for joining the season is because she is looking for a husband?"

"No, of course not," replied her brother.

Angela moved to lean against the wall. Nibbling on her nail, she smiled as images of last night's little adventure came back to her.

"She is here because the old man wants her here," continued her brother.

Oh, if I can only trust you, Jonathan, you will make a good accomplice.

"Then your father still hopes that she will find a man?"

"Well, of course!"

Angela softly scoffed. Then she shook her head when the face of the dashing man flashed before her eyes. Pulling away from the wall, she decided to interrupt the two men.

"My affections for Angela are true, Jonathan."

Angela's hand froze around the handle. "You mean as her friend?" Jonathan asked, sounding confused.

"No, of course not. As a man who wishes her for a wife."

Angela blinked, arrested in the spot.

There was a very long silence before Jonathan finally broke it, his words sounding careful and considerate. "I may not know her at the same level Edward does, but I know her. She will oppose the idea for many incredulous reasons that would be valid only to her. And mayhap Edward as well for they do think alike."

"Or she may welcome it," Spencer quickly retorted. "She is very comfortable with me. I can talk to Edward and your father, of course. Bloody hell, I will even visit your mother's grave if you want me to."

"A proposal of marriage may highly be different from courtship in Angela's mind, Spencer. Perhaps you should consider taking matters slowly. You know how she can be—"

"We have been friends for years, Hargrave, since my father procured the estate across Bromstone nineteen years ago and we became neighbors. We all practically grew up together since then. I would consider that a very long courtship. All I need to do is just propose to her."

Jonathan's laughter filled the room at the other side of the door. "Good Lord, I want to see you try."

"I shall, with your blessing."

"Any man who can make my sister say yes to being his wife has my blessing."

At her brother's words, Angela jumped away from the door as if the handle was burning hot.

Stiffly, she turned and briskly walked to the stairs.

Her hands were beginning to shake and she steadied herself at the top of the second landing, swallowing hard as she grasped for the wooden balustrade.

Spencer Pembroke, her true and oldest friend, wanted to marry her.

She pushed away from the balustrade and followed the path back to her bedchamber.

Did she hear it correctly?

Her heart seemed to have stopped beating before it hammered fast and strong against her chest again, resounding with her footsteps against the carpeted corridor.

She burst into her room, closed the door, and leaned against it, her breathing heavy.

Her eyes were wide with panic, her body stiff with dread.

This was not good.

Her promising life as a spinster was in danger!