One Night of Surrender

by Darcy Burke

  “Come, girls, don’t whisper,” Isabelle said, though she couldn’t really fault Caroline’s grievance.

  Once they were inside the shop, any irritation the girls felt faded away as they gaped at the display of silks and muslins and velvets. Isabelle stayed close beside them, afraid Caroline wouldn’t be able to help caressing one of the sumptuous fabrics. She also kept an eye on the dowager, whom Lady Viola led to one of the counters. As soon as she situated her grandmother into a chair, she came to Isabelle and the girls.

  “Would you like to actually touch some fabric?” Lady Viola asked with a sparkle in her eye.

  “Her Grace said we couldn’t,” Caroline said dejectedly.

  “Her Grace doesn’t know about the special area.” Lady Viola waggled her pale brows. “Come with me.” She led them to a back corner of the shop.

  Curious, Isabelle followed, eager to see why the area was “special.” The answer was soon apparent.

  The corner held two boxes: one full of dolls and another of dresses made from fabrics as colorful and rich as those adorning the shop.

  Caroline immediately picked up a doll and a dress, then sat in a chair. Beatrice was far more reticent, but Isabelle could see she itched to follow her sister’s lead.

  Lady Viola seemed to realize this too. She moved to Beatrice’s side and spoke in a low tone, but loud enough that Isabelle could hear. “I know you’re too old for dolls, but these are for making sample dresses—very small ones. The shop owner puts the dolls and dresses they no longer use over here for their younger clientele. You’re welcome to study the gowns to your heart’s content.”

  Beatrice looked up at her, still hesitating, then she glanced toward Isabelle, who gave her a nod of encouragement. Finally, she abandoned her indecision and went to the box of miniature gowns. Withdrawing several, she sat down and sifted through them with care and admiration.

  Lady Viola moved to stand next to Isabelle, who thanked her. “How did you know this was here?”

  Val’s sister shrugged. “A few years ago, I convinced Mr. Broomall to set up this area for all the miserable children who are dragged along with their mothers. It alleviated many things, not the least of which was protecting his inventory from small hands.”

  “I’m sure he was most eager to adopt your idea.”

  “It took a bit of persuasion, but eventually, yes.” She gave Isabelle a sheepish look. “I can be rather persistent. Just ask my brother.”

  She didn’t have to. Val had told her that Viola was strong-willed and far too clever for her own good. It seemed age had only honed those characteristics. What Isabelle didn’t understand was why Lady Viola was unmarried. She was beautiful, smart, charming, and from one of England’s finest families.

  It suddenly occurred to Isabelle what Lady Viola had just said, Ask my brother. Did she think they were familiar? Worse, did she know they’d been familiar?

  Isabelle wanted to make it clear they were not. “I’m afraid I don’t really know His Grace. I don’t have much occasion to speak with him.”

  “I suppose you don’t. Pity, he’s rather amusing. When he’s not arrogant. Actually, sometimes he’s amusingly arrogant.”

  Isabelle laughed before she could stop herself. It was an absolutely apt description, or at least it had been ten years ago. It seemed Val hadn’t changed very much. Recovering, Isabelle said, “I didn’t mean to laugh. You’ve simply painted an…amusing picture.”

  “Do you have siblings, Mrs. Cortland?”

  Isabelle shook her head. “I do not. You make me regret that.”

  “If you were to spend time with me and Val—His Grace,” she said the latter with an exceedingly pompous air, “you may change your mind. We can be rather terrible to each other. But only because we find the other insufferable.” She said this with such cheer that Isabelle smiled.

  “I don’t believe you. It sounds as if you love each other very much.” Isabelle also knew that to be true because Val had told her. He’d taken special care to look after his younger sister, especially after their mother had died while he was at Oxford.

  “Perish that notion at once, if you please. If Val ever learned someone cared that deeply for him, his head would swell to five times its already gargantuan size.” She glanced toward the counter, where the dowager was seated just in time for the older woman to purse her lips in their direction.

  With an apologetic sigh, Lady Viola begged Isabelle to excuse her for a moment, then took herself to the other side of the shop, where her grandmother sat perusing fabric. Isabelle watched Beatrice and Caroline as they investigated every single garment in the box. They’d utterly abandoned their restraint and now chattered about the fabrics and the trimmings and how they longed to have such finery.

  “Someday we will,” Beatrice said firmly. “Mother says I may marry a duke.”

  “The only duke we’ve met is His Grace, and he’s old.” Caroline made a face.

  “I haven’t met my duke yet, silly. I haven’t even come out. Anyway, His Grace isn’t that old, and he’s rather handsome, don’t you agree?” At Caroline’s look of horror, Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. You’re only ten and you haven’t yet realized…never mind.”

  Caroline sent her a saucy glance. “That boys—and that includes dukes—are boors? I’ve known that forever. It’s you who haven’t worked it out.”

  Isabelle was torn between laughing at Caroline’s combination of naïveté and insight and recoiling at Beatrice’s description of Val as handsome. She was far too young to think that, and regardless of what she said, he was too old for her.

  Nonsense, your father was fourteen years older than your mother, and Val is only sixteen older than Beatrice.

  Nevertheless, the thought of such a union made Isabelle ill.

  Is that because of the age difference or because he’s Val and you’ve always wanted him for yourself?

  There she went asking herself questions again! Isabelle looked toward the counter and saw that the dowager and Lady Viola had finished. The younger woman was helping the older to her feet, then took her arm and guided her toward the door. Lady Viola then exchanged a look with Isabelle, who nodded in response.

  “Time to go, girls,” Isabelle said.

  “Will we get to do any actual shopping?” Beatrice asked with a touch of whine to her tone. “Or did we just come to watch them shop?” She sent a disgruntled look toward the dowager’s and Lady Viola’s backs as they exited the shop.

  “You will get to shop.” Isabelle had no idea if that were true, but she was going to do her best to ensure they did. The purse Lord Barkley had given her weighted the pocket of her cloak.

  Thankfully, the next stop was a shop where the girls picked out ribbons, and the dowager surprised them all by having it added to her account. “You girls are very well behaved. That is a testament to your governess.” The dowager gave Isabelle an approving look.

  When they were back in the coach, the dowager asked the girls what they liked to study.

  “I like history,” Beatrice said.

  “I like languages,” Caroline said eagerly. “And mathematics. And science.”

  The dowager looked at Isabelle, a slender gray brow arching. “You teach them science?”

  “A bit. Some geology, biology, and astronomy.”

  Beatrice smiled. “I do love astronomy.”

  “You are exceedingly well educated,” the dowager said to Isabelle. “It’s no wonder you’re a governess. And yet you are a missus, so I must assume you were wed?”

  “I was. My husband passed away six years ago, and I was fortunate to find this position with Lord Barkley’s family.”

  “We’re the ones who are fortunate,” Beatrice said softly. Isabelle’s heart warmed.

  “Do you girls have umbrellas?” the dowager asked, abruptly changing the topic. “It’s going to rain by the time we stop again.”

  “We do not,” Isabelle said.

  Lady Viola waved her hand. “No m
atter. Shall we take them to Dalwiddy’s, Grandmama?”

  “Of course.”

  A few minutes later, they stopped in front of a shop with an array of parasols and umbrellas. There, the dowager once again purchased umbrellas for the girls, as well as one for Isabelle, who felt odd about accepting such a gift. She’d done so anyway because Lady Viola had silently pleaded with her not to refuse.

  Afterward, the rain began in earnest, and they decided to make their way directly to Gunter’s. Inside the sweet shop, Lady Viola situated her grandmother at a table, then joined Isabelle and the girls at the counter. Beatrice and Caroline gaped at the array of confections.

  “I can’t decide what to have,” Beatrice said, sounding worried.

  Caroline’s eyes were wide. “I want one of everything.”

  “Take your time choosing,” Lady Viola said.

  The man behind the counter handed Lady Viola a plate of sugar icing drops. She smiled gratefully. “Thank you.” Turning to Isabelle, she said, “This is Grandmama’s peppermint diavolini. He knows to dish it up as soon as we arrive. I’ll be right back.”

  Isabelle helped Beatrice choose a dish of elderflower ice cream, while Caroline selected an elaborate swan made of spun sugar. Holding her plate with the swan, she looked up at Isabelle. “It’s almost too pretty to eat.”

  “Almost?” Isabelle asked with a smile.

  “Oh, I shall eat it.” Caroline pressed her lips together with youthful determination and followed her sister to the dowager’s table.

  Lady Viola returned to Isabelle. “Have you decided what you’re going to get?”

  “I don’t need anything,” Isabelle said.

  “Oh, come now. You must have something. Even if it’s just a bit of diavolini. Grandmama prefers the peppermint, but the chocolate is the best. Don’t tell her I said that. You must try some.” Lady Viola ordered several pieces, and Isabelle decided there was no point in arguing.

  “Papa!” Caroline’s excited squeal filled the shop, and Isabelle turned her head to see Lord Barkley enter. He was not alone.

  On his heels was the man she’d so desperately needed to avoid.

  Chapter 5

  Val took in the image of his sister standing with his former lover, the two looking quite friendly. For a moment, he simply stared at them, wondering what they might be discussing. Isabelle knew all about Viola, but his sister didn’t know a thing about Isabelle. And things would likely stay that way.

  Barkley went to join his daughters, who sat with Val’s grandmother. She appeared to be managing the girls quite well. They sat straight and still and, after Miss Caroline’s outburst upon their arrival, spoke quietly.

  Walking to the counter just as the man behind it handed a plate of diavolini to his sister, Val plucked up one of the sugary confections and popped it into his mouth. “Delicious.” He looked at Isabelle. “Have you ever tried it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You must.” He just barely stopped himself from picking up another and feeding it to her himself. What the hell was he thinking? The answer was simple: that he was ten years younger, back at Oxford the day he’d brought Isabelle a box of confections. Then he’d kissed her, and she’d tasted even sweeter than the spun sugar flower he’d given her.

  That was an exceedingly treacherous line of thought, so he abandoned it at once. “How was shopping?” he asked.

  “You know Grandmama,” Viola answered, “she bought everyone umbrellas and ribbons for the girls.”

  A small group of people came into the shop, prompting Val to suggest they sit. He guided them to the table next to his grandmother’s, which was already full. He held Isabelle’s chair as she sat down, and immediately received a curious glance from Viola. Because propriety said he should have held her chair first. Just as ten years ago, Isabelle quite made him forget common sense.

  Before he could help Viola, she’d deposited herself into a chair. “I didn’t realize you were meeting us here.”

  “I decided to accompany Barkley.”

  The baron, seated at the adjoining table, angled himself toward them. “I told the girls there would be a surprise, but I’m afraid it isn’t quite ready, so I brought His Grace instead.” He flashed a broad smile at his daughters, as if bringing Val would somehow impress them.

  Val could see it did not. Did it, however, impress Isabelle? He sent a surreptitious glance in her direction. She was finally trying one of the diavolini. Lifting a piece, she parted her lips and set it in her mouth, giving him just the briefest glimpse of her tongue.

  Grandmama straightened in her chair, as if her ramrod-stiff spine could get any more vertical, while she addressed Barkley. “I was just speaking with the girls in Greek before you arrived, Lord Barkley. They have been well schooled.” She sent a staunch look of approval toward Isabelle before returning her hawklike gaze to the girls. “Now tell me, what are your favorite dances and what instruments do you play?”

  Miss Caroline pulled a face that made Val’s grandmother suck in her breath. “We haven’t learned any of that yet.”

  Isabelle reached over and gently touched the girl’s hand, then leaned to her ear and whispered something. Miss Caroline nodded, then relaxed her features and murmured, “Pardon me.”

  Grandmama snapped her gaze to Isabelle. “Don’t you instruct them on such things? It’s past time Miss Spelman began to master a musical instrument.”

  “I don’t teach music or dancing,” Isabelle said, folding her hands in her lap.

  “I see.” Grandmama’s disapproval was evident, and Val studied Isabelle for any sign of reaction, but there was none. She was good. Very good. Or perhaps she didn’t care what his grandmother thought. Why should she?

  Val didn’t want Isabelle to feel slighted. “Grandmama, Mrs. Cortland is one of the most highly educated women in England. Her father was well regarded at Oxford.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “He wasn’t warden of my college, but I attended a few of his lectures. He was a renowned scholar of Greek literature.” It was at one of those lectures that he’d met Isabelle, who’d been seated in the rear dressed as a lad. She’d escaped everyone’s notice but Val’s. He’d been the last to leave and had seen Isabelle stand. She’d dropped her book and when she’d bent to retrieve it, her hat had fallen off, and he’d seen what she’d attempted to disguise: that she wasn’t a young scholar, but a beautiful girl.

  “We didn’t hire Mrs. Cortland to teach the girls music and embroidery and all of that lady…stuff,” Barkley said. “That will be handled by someone else.” He picked up a piece of Grandmama’s diavolini. Val heard Viola’s intake of breath and exchanged a look with her. Grandmama didn’t share her peppermints with anyone.

  Barkley brushed his hands together, oblivious to the icy stare Grandmama had directed at him. “Time to leave, girls. I do have that surprise for you at home. Rather, at His Grace’s residence. Soon, we will be home. Our town house may be ready more quickly than anticipated.”

  Val rushed to speak before his grandmother called Barkley out about the peppermint. “Because you harass the workers there multiple times a day. One might think my hospitality is lacking.”

  “Of course not!” Barkley laughed jovially, still unaware of Grandmama’s agitation. He looked around at everyone, not just his daughters. “Are we ready, then?”

  “I am not,” Grandmama said coolly. “But don’t let me stop you from leaving.” She looked over at Val. “Don’t you go, however. My coach will deliver you home.”

  Barkley stood and ushered his girls to follow suit. “Thank you for your generosity today, Your Grace.” He bowed to Val’s grandmother, then turned expectantly to Mrs. Cortland, who was rising from her chair. Lord Barkley moved to help her, grazing his hand against her back as she stood.

  Val was disappointed to see Isabelle go—this was the only time they’d spent together since that first night. Not that it was the kind of time he wanted to spend with her. He wanted to be alone with her,
to discover all the things about her that were different and all the things that were the same. He realized he wanted to go back in time, as if that were possible.

  They couldn’t, and he’d do best to remember that. She was a temptation he couldn’t indulge, a memory he had to leave behind.

  Isabelle stood and dipped a curtsey, despite the closeness of the seating arrangement, toward the dowager. “Thank you, Your Grace.” Then she looked toward Viola. “Lady Viola.”

  Viola smiled broadly at her. “I hope to see you again, Mrs. Cortland.”

  Barkley and Isabelle departed with the girls, and Grandmama immediately narrowed her eyes at Viola. “Why would you see Mrs. Cortland?”

  With a shrug, Viola picked up the last remaining chocolate diavolini. “Perhaps we’ll take them shopping again. We should go to Hatchards. I daresay she’d love that. As would the girls.”

  Yes, Isabelle should go to Hatchards. Why hadn’t Val thought of that?

  “I don’t think we need to take them shopping again,” Grandmama said as she reached for her last peppermint. “I’ve done my favor to Eastleigh, and that is enough.”

  “You seemed to like them,” Viola said with a hint of exasperation.

  “That doesn’t mean I need to dote upon them. I’m a busy woman, Viola. Besides, their father is a boor.” Grandmama pursed her lips in distaste before placing the peppermint in her mouth.

  Val turned toward Viola. “How did you find them?”

  “Delightful. The girls are curious and charming, and Mrs. Cortland is terribly clever. I should like to welcome her into my circle of friends.”

  Grandmama let out a soft, nearly inelegant sound. “Your friends are strange.”

  Viola wasn’t the least bit offended by their grandmother’s statement. If she and Val took umbrage every time the dowager spoke her mind, they’d spend their lives in a perpetual state of irritation. “One would argue that I’m strange, but I know you don’t want to hear that.”