Chapter 2

T urning to the door, Angelica snatched up the basket she’d left beside it and stepped into the wintry snowscape, ignoring Mr. Knight’s trunk, which remained in front of the house; the thing was designed to withstand the weather, and a little more time out of doors wouldn’t do any harm. Heaven knew she couldn’t lift the luggage alone, so it was better to wait until one of the boys was on hand to help heave it about.

Before Angelica made it to the front gate, Ophelia burst out of the cottage and swept up beside her sister. Barely pausing to catch her breath, the girl launched into a description of all the details of her life, giving them a polish that reflected little of reality.

Just listening to the girl was exhausting; with four and thirty years to Angelica’s name, there were two decades between her and the youngest two Callaghans, who had surprised the family with their arrival several years after they’d believed Mama to be done with such things, and Angelica hadn’t the strength for such torrents of youth. But like the grand actress she hoped to be, Ophelia was quite adept at monologuing—preferred it, in fact—leaving Angelica free to consider the list in her head.

Snow lay like a white blanket, making it clear that Christmas would soon arrive. There were some weeks left until those Twelve Days would set her world spinning into madness, yet for her, the chaos surfaced well before December 24th. Dates and names bounced about her head, teasing her with thoughts of how to organize the family’s schedule, to say nothing of her work with her nieces and nephews; Emily’s children may not require lessons during the holidays, but with Carl home after the end of the school term, the lad required some stimulation—else he would drive everyone mad.

“Don’t you think?” asked Ophelia.

Angelica snapped from her thoughts and scoured for any context to that question, though she hadn’t the slightest notion to what her sister was referring. Thankfully, Ophelia continued speaking as though she hadn’t placed a question mark at the end of her sentence.

“It is so terribly romantic,” she added with a sigh. “To love someone so much that you cannot wait another moment to spend your life with them. I fairly swooned when Anthony spirited Cassandra from her uncle’s clutches and rushed off into the night.”

“ The Crimson Masquerade is a novel, and though it makes for good reading, I doubt you would enjoy experiencing much of what happens within those pages,” said Angelica with a wry smile. “Being kidnapped and forced to marry a jackanapes is hardly a happy thing.”

“But it is when it throws you into the path of your one true love,” said Ophelia with a dreamy smile that faded into a slight scowl. “It is a dreadful oversight that none of my siblings have chosen to elope. Positively shocking.”

“Our parents’ elopement was enough excitement for this family. I, for one, am happy the rest have chosen a more traditional approach to securing a spouse.”

Ophelia lifted her chin. “You can be certain I shan’t choose such a pedestrian beginning to the grand romance of my life. If one isn’t going to begin it properly, one ought not to attempt it at all.”

“Your disappointment is noted, and I will discuss it with the rest of the siblings. As elopements are no longer viable for them, perhaps they might manage a kidnapping in the near future,” replied Angelica with amusement threaded through her tone, though her sister seemed not to notice.

“Not all of us are beyond hope. Emily may be determined to never remarry, but she is too young to spend her life as a widow, and Helen and I have yet to wed—and I refuse to have the banns read—and then there’s—” But Ophelia cut herself short as she attempted a nonchalant air whilst glancing at her elder sister from the corner of her eye, making it clear how she’d intended to finish that sentence.

Angelica Callaghan wasn’t married, after all. But there was no hope of such a thing happening to the eldest Callaghan daughter. Being firmly ensconced in spinsterhood placed her out of reach of such romantic notions, but Ophelia’s hesitation had less to do with Angelica’s age and more to do with her disposition (being neither silly nor romantic enough to think a hasty wedding was a wise course of action).

They drifted down the street, and Angelica led them toward the first shop, shifting her basket in her hands.

“I suppose since your older siblings are such an abject failure, the best we can do is to hope for the next generation,” said Angelica in a serious tone. “In my next lesson with the girls, I will instruct them on the proper techniques for screaming and fainting whilst in the clutches of a villain. And I can have you join us for a lesson on swooning, both when to use it and the best manner in which to achieve the desired effect. That would be especially helpful if their elopement is interrupted by their sweetheart’s family.”

Ophelia’s brows rose as she considered that, seeming to not recognize the sardonic hint in Angelica’s voice. “I suppose that might be of some use. I would positively die of disappointment if I do not witness a proper elopement.”

“You wouldn’t be there to witness anything if it were a ‘proper’ one. The very definition of an elopement requires that the couple run off alone. Otherwise, it is simply an intimate ceremony.”

With a sigh as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders, Ophelia nodded. “I suppose the only one I can attend is my own.”

Stepping into the shop, Angelica forced her expression to remain placid, though her insides roiled at the thought. With all the might of her soul, she sent a prayer heavenward that such a thing wouldn’t happen. Scandal wasn’t entertainment, and marriage shouldn’t be treated so cavalierly.

Passing to the counter, Angelica gave her order to the clerk, sending him to fetch her the quill, ink, and paper she required.

“I know precisely how it will be,” said Ophelia. “I will make my grand debut on the London stage, and a gentleman in the audience will spy me and insist we hie ourselves to Scotland that very minute.”

“And interrupt your performance?” asked Angelica in a monotone as she examined the pamphlets and magazines on display.

Ophelia frowned. “That wouldn’t do. I suppose he will simply have to wait until the final curtain. Though he will be in alt the entire time, so desperate to speak to me that he will nearly expire.”

“You dream of marrying a man with such a weak constitution?”

With a scowl that had her expressive brows pinching together, Ophelia glared at her sister. “Don’t be ridiculous, Angelica! He will be strong and powerful, but love turns us on our heads, steals the breath from our lungs, forever changing our hearts, and making even the mightiest of men tremble at its touch.”

“Like scarlet fever,” said Angelica as she snuck a peek in one of the ladies’ magazines.

As though sensing the intrusion, the clerk spoke without turning to face her. “That’ll be a shilling.”

“My apologies, Mr. Spencer,” she said, pulling her hand away from the magazines.

The fellow gave a vague grunt in return as he set her order on the counter and tabulated the costs. “Nine pence.”

Angelica refused to wince or comment about the amount, as neither would do any good: the clerk did not set the prices. As she cast her gaze to the greatest offender in the pile, a glance told her that Mr. Spencer had chosen wisely and selected the cheapest of paper, so there was no good in asking for a less costly variety.

Reaching into her reticule, Angelica handed over the coins before lifting the portfolio from her basket; flipping open the cover, she slid the sheets of paper inside and tucked it back into place. The pair vacated the shop as Ophelia continued to regale her with plans for the future, each more ridiculous than the last. And every time, Angelica couldn’t help responding in ways guaranteed to cause her sister to bluster as they wandered through the village.

In truth, they didn’t require anything from the haberdashery, but Ophelia’s pleadings were too great to ignore, as she desperately required some ribbons and accoutrements to bedeck her favorite frock. However, the girl complained just as loudly that since she wasn’t allowed in company, no one would be allowed to see it.

“Patience,” said Angelica with a sigh as they stepped out once more into the wintry world. “You know Mama will allow it the moment you turn fifteen.”

Saying that fully soured her stomach. At sixteen years of age, Helen was making enough of a stir with her determination to flirt with every unattached man in the village, and Angelica shuddered to think of how that frenzy would grow once Ophelia dove in alongside her. With Viviane and Aloysius married off over the last year, Angelica had prayed for a respite, but that was too much to hope for. She supposed there was nothing to do about it. The family had survived the rest of her siblings’ courtships, and they would manage the youngest pairs’ as well.

The inn door opened as Angelica passed, and a lady burst through, bumping straight into her. The basket on her arm swung wide, and Angelica fought to keep it upright, but the handle twisted from her grasp—and she could only watch as her new purchases scattered in the snow.