Read Online Beyond the Veil of Tears by Rita Bradshaw - Free Book Online

dutiful, meek wife was no bad thing. It would leave him free to conduct his life as he wished – and with whom. No, this chit of a girl would pose no problem. Even now he had her eating out of
his hand.
    And Hector? As Angeline’s uncle came hurrying across to them, Oswald’s shrewd gaze took in the other man’s flushed face and bright eyes, and the way he was almost drooling with
gratification at the quality of the company he was enjoying. Hector Stewart would offer no resistance to his advances towards Angeline, particularly when he offered the carrot of making it worth
Hector’s while. He would be tactful, of course. Hector was the girl’s uncle after all, and it wouldn’t do to offend him. Not until she had signed her name on the wedding
certificate. After that . . .

Chapter Four
    ‘Oh, Miss, it sounds lovely.’
    Angeline had just finished relating the details of the evening to an eager Myrtle. The maid had been waiting for her young mistress when the carriage arrived home after one o’clock.
Angeline had described the house, every course at dinner, the ladies’ sumptuous dresses and jewels and the wonderful ballroom, but she hadn’t mentioned Oswald Golding.
    Her heart fluttered madly at the thought of him. She’d had one or two dances with other partners, one of whom had been Lord Gray, but then Oswald had been at her side again, making it
clear that he had eyes only for her. And, in truth, she had only wanted to dance with him. Her feet had hardly seemed to touch the floor when she was in his arms; he danced divinely, and she had
felt she was floating around the ballroom.
    Myrtle’s fingers were busy releasing Angeline from the tight constraints of the corset and, when it fell away, Angeline stretched, rubbing her ribs. ‘That’s so much better
– I hate those things.’
    ‘But you looked beautiful tonight, Miss,’ Myrtle said reprovingly, as though only the corset had had anything to do with her mistress’s appearance. Fetching Angeline’s
nightgown, she helped her on with it. ‘What was he like, Miss? Mr Golding?’
    Angeline didn’t look at Myrtle. ‘He . . . he’s a fine gentleman.’ Sinking down on the dressing-table stool, she added, ‘I can manage now, Myrtle. You get off to
bed, you must be tired.’
    ‘Not as tired as you, Miss, I’ll be bound,’ said Myrtle cheerfully as she finished putting away the discarded items of clothing. ‘I’ll bring your tea later in the
morning, shall I? Let you sleep in for a bit.’ Bustling over to the door, she turned with her hand on the doorknob, ‘Sleep well, Miss. Goodnight.’
    ‘Goodnight, Myrtle.’
    Once she was alone, Angeline breathed a sigh of relief. Myrtle had said she must be tired, but she had never felt less like sleep in her life. The blood was singing through her veins, and every
pulse was throbbing with wild, exuberant life. Her eyes were starry as she gazed at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror, and she jumped up, twirling around the room until she collapsed on
the bed, giddy and out of breath.
    A sudden thought brought her sitting bolt upright, even as her head still whirled. Was it wrong to feel this way, with her darling mama and father so recently gone? She had left this house
earlier feeling full of hidden resentment at her uncle’s insistence that she come out of her black mourning clothes for the evening and accompany him to a dinner she had no wish to attend.
Her new evening dress, exquisite though it was, had brought her no pleasure – not until she had seen Oswald’s gaze on her, that was. Then she had been glad she was looking her best. Was
that the height of superficiality?
    Falling on her knees beside the bed, she put her hands together. Her voice choked with tears, she prayed, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you, Mama. I love you both, so much.
Forgive me.’
    She continued to berate herself for some little while, until the tiredness she had denied brought a kind of calm.