‘We have an...unexpected guest. Would you ready a room for Mrs Blake—?’
The vehement shake of Honora’s head cut off the rest of his sentence.
‘Not Mrs Blake, if you don’t mind. I am Honora Jackson.’ At Isaac’s quizzical look she firmly set her jaw. ‘That man took everything and left me with nothing but his name. I don’t want it. I’d sever every tie if I could—starting with going back to who I was before I ever had the misfortune of meeting him. I don’t want to talk about him, don’t want to think about him, don’t want to do anything that might recall a single moment of our marriage. He doesn’t deserve it.’
Isaac nodded slowly as Clara whisked efficiently from the room. Perhaps Honora took his quiet for something else, for she looked down at her hands with her voice lowered likewise.
‘I know Frank was your friend and I’m sorry if my words offend you. Perhaps you were right after all. It was easier for Frank to be a good friend than a husband.’
It was all Isaac could do to prevent his lip from curling.
A good friend was the very last thing Frank was to me. I’m ashamed now we ever had anything in common, a link I’d do anything to sever.
But another thought occurred to him. If Honora wanted to be referred to as Miss Jackson and have no mention made of Frank...mightn’t it be possible to conceal her true identity? Frank’s name was forbidden beneath this roof anyway, those two syllables never now leaving the lips of Charlotte or himself. He hadn’t told his ward why he’d needed to visit Somerset, only mentioning it was on business, so she could have no suspicions that Honora was connected in any way to their nameless enemy. Honora would only be at Marlow Manor for a day or so while they found a way for her to proceed. If Charlotte’s previous behaviour was any guide, she might spend that whole time hidden away. It could be they would avoid each other entirely, surely the least complicated solution for the risky situation Isaac found he had strayed into...
But then the door to the study opened once again and, with the sound of light footsteps, all Isaac’s hopes of an easy way out were destroyed.
* * *
‘Oh!’
The dark-haired young girl in the doorway stared at Honora as though she’d seen a ghost. Her eyes flew wide and she took a step back as if wanting to turn and retreat the way she’d come, only hesitating when she caught sight of Isaac half-hidden beside Honora’s chair.
‘I didn’t know you had company... I was asleep when you arrived home and I only learned a moment ago of your return. I won’t—I’ll go back to my rooms.’
‘Please don’t leave on my account.’ Honora stood up, finding a smile from somewhere to paste on to her lips. In truth the girl’s interruption was a welcome one, a blessed distraction from the distress reigning over her innards that had taken hold at the reading of Frank’s will. She hardly knew when she had been more ashamed, having to sit before kindly Mr Drew and bear his discomfort at breaking the news of exactly how little Frank had cared...although turning up uninvited at Marlow Manor was a close second. Isaac had looked so surprised to see her, vivid alarm crossing his handsome face when she couldn’t control her cursed emotion. She hated that he had seen her so weak, witnessed her vulnerability with his own eyes, but there was nothing but kindness in his response, and the stirring in her stomach at seeing him again grew stronger with his genuine concern.
‘You must be Charlotte. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
Still with the smile stapled in place Honora made to offer a polite curtsy—until a glance down explained at once why the girl had wanted to run away.
The front of her pretty gown billowed to cover an unmistakable bump, the bulge a jarring contrast to her painfully thin arms and hollow cheeks. Her face was almost as pale as the snow outside and her eyes dulled with such misery and fear that a shard of ice lanced into Honora’s chest.
Lord Lovell’s sorrowful gazing into the fire that night at the inn, his forthright protection of her dignity against the blond stranger’s advances and determination to preserve her reputation... All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place as for one heartbeat Honora froze, caught up in the realisation of why Lord Lovell had behaved so strangely. His Charlotte was pregnant, her good name hanging in the balance and teetering on the brink of ruin. No wonder Lord Lovell had been so careful, no doubt agonisingly aware of the perils a woman could face at the hands of an uncaring man. Of course he had seemed so troubled and eager to get back to Marlow Manor and the ward he had come to love as a daughter, the poor child obviously wretched and fading to a skeletal wraith.
She felt Lord Lovell’s eyes on her, but didn’t turn around. Without even looking in his direction she sensed precisely what she’d find—apprehension and the wary distrust of a parent ready to leap to the defence of their child—and she knew at once she would give him no cause for alarm.
‘My name is Honora Jackson. As I said, please don’t leave because of me. I’m sure I’d be delighted if you didn’t.’
Charlotte cast her a sideways look, uncertain and skittish as a wild fawn. The temptation to flee must have been strong, but reluctantly she stepped inside, hunching slightly as if trying to hide her tell-tale silhouette.
‘Hello, my little wren.’
Lord Lovell stood and gathered the girl into his arms, her head barely reaching his shoulder. Honora watched as he held Charlotte close, so gently reassuring it raised a lump in her already tight throat.
I was right. There really is more goodness in him than I first thought.
Something stirred in the pit of her stomach and she found she couldn’t tear herself away from the sight of Lord Lovell cradling his adoptive daughter as though she was made of fine china. Her own problems would be resolved in time, somehow. Wasn’t she the Honora Jackson who had climbed mountains, scaled trees and learned to hunt at her father’s side, even if Frank had eventually come between them? She wasn’t some genteel, retiring lady—she was a strong woman and she would find a way out of the hole Frank had flung her into, come hell or high water.
Charlotte, on the other hand... Usually an expectant mother raised a tide of longing in Honora that faded into bitterness and regret, a stark reminder of something she would never possess for herself. In the case of Lord Lovell’s ward, however, there was nothing to envy and instead pity so strong it almost choked her rose in Honora like bile. What kind of monster had got such a young girl with child with clearly no intention of marrying her? It was every woman’s worst nightmare, and every parent’s, too, and as Lord Lovell finally released Charlotte from his hold Honora determined to temporarily set her own predicament aside.
The last thing he needs are my problems heaped on top of his own. I shall stay here tonight and after a goodnight’s sleep I shall no doubt think more clearly in the morning.
Lord Lovell helped Charlotte down into his chair. With only two in the room and the other claimed by Honora he leaned against the nearby wall, steadfastly avoiding her eye and keeping his attention trained on his ward’s wan face. There was a moment of tense silence as nobody spoke, until Honora leaned forward, Charlotte drawing back with a slight flinch.
‘So, Miss Charlotte. Lord Lovell tells me Christmas is your favourite time of the year. Can you credit it’s only just less than two weeks away? I don’t know where the time has gone.’
The girl blinked, casting a fleeting glance at Lord Lovell as the faintest hint of pink stole into her pale cheek.
‘It’s rather crept up on me this year,’ she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. Honora wondered if she had always been timid or if it was self-consciousness of her condition that made her so shy, the elephant in the room nobody had yet acknowledged.
‘It has a habit of doing that, I find.’ Honora nodded encouragingly, determined to put poor Charlotte at ease. ‘The wreaths I saw out in the hall were beautiful. Were they your doing?’
‘Yes. The holly is from our own
grounds.’
‘They look wonderful. You clearly have a talent.’
‘Oh.’ The colour in Charlotte’s cheeks deepened. ‘Thank you.’
‘Not at all. I’m quite jealous. My own attempts at that sort of thing tend to look like I made them in the dark while wearing a blindfold.’
Charlotte hesitated—and then to Honora’s delight her bloodless lips hitched a fraction, curving as though she hardly dared let them.
‘I’m sure that’s not true.’
‘It most certainly is. I tried to make a kissing ball once—I still have nightmares about it.’
Out of the corner of her eye Honora saw Lord Lovell’s head turn in her direction. The sensation of his gaze resting on her scattered sparks through her veins and her heart began to skip, warmth pooling in her core. It felt so good to see him again, so strangely right to be in his presence, and she couldn’t help a blush rising to mirror Charlotte’s.
‘They can be difficult. Getting the right shape without pricking your fingers isn’t easy.’
‘I agree. I end up feeling like a pincushion every time.’
The tentative smile strengthened a little more. Charlotte still sat curved over as if to conceal her shape, but some of the tension had left her shoulders and behind her Honora caught the movement of Lord Lovell’s relaxing likewise.
Poor child—and poor Lord Lovell, too, I suppose. Both seeming to dread my judgement, as if after Frank I had any room to condemn others for making bad choices.
She leaned forward again and this time Charlotte didn’t recoil. Her periwinkle eyes were still unsure, but some of the fright there had ebbed away. Apparently simple kindness was the way to win her confidence and that shy smile was painfully touching to Honora’s maternal heart.
‘And Lord Lovell? Was he of much help with the decorations or did he do nothing but get under your feet?’
‘He did his best...but Isaac’s true talents lie in other areas, I think.’
This time it was Honora’s lips that twitched upwards, even as she savoured the novelty of Lord Lovell’s newly-discovered Christian name. Beneath Charlotte’s reserve she was sure she sensed an innocent sweetness, crushed by humiliation and tangible regret, yet still so wanting to shine through. The atmosphere of the room certainly seemed to have changed since that first unexpected smile. Nothing Honora could put her finger on, yet surely something had shifted none the less.
Am I imagining things now? Did that trek through the snow damage my wits as well as my dress?
She’d been too distracted to notice how her skirts were soaked through to the skin, but now the unpleasant sensation of wet linen against her legs returned with a vengeance. The snow had been ankle deep by the time she arrived at Marlow Manor and doubtless there was more to come judging by the brooding clouds and taste of ice in the air. A clean, dry gown was just what she wanted from the bag she’d abandoned in the doorway, as well as to tidy her hair, uncomfortably aware Lord Lovell—no, Isaac—had seen her in such an unflattering state of disarray.
She turned to him to ask if she might be shown her room, but the words died on her tongue and the ability to speak fled her grasp as she saw the look on his face.
Their eyes met and it was as though the air had disappeared from the room, Honora’s lungs suddenly burning. Isaac watched her so intently, his mouth set and yet no censure in his warm brown gaze as he searched for something in her face—something that with a burst of heat beneath her gown Honora hoped he wouldn’t find wanting. Was it her compassion to Charlotte that prompted him to stare so, some appreciation for her helping the girl to conjure a smile? Whatever Isaac was thinking was hidden behind those dark eyes, now softer than she had ever seen them before and their scrutiny stirring flames in her stomach to leap to new heights.
She looked back, the comfortable room around her blurring at the edges until everything except Isaac’s magnetic presence faded away. It was the same feeling that had gripped her that night at the inn, when all good sense had fled and to taste Isaac’s lips was all she could think about. That desire flared again now and she couldn’t help her eyes dropping to survey his mouth, still firmly closed, but its contours no less enticing than they had been in that flame-lit bedroom. The moment between them stretched out as fragile and beautiful as a spiderweb—until Charlotte gave a hesitant murmur, unwittingly breaking the spell Honora couldn’t quite understand.
‘Miss Jackson, forgive me... I couldn’t help but notice your skirts are wet through. I think you must be staying for the night? If so, would you like to see your room and perhaps change before supper? I wouldn’t want you to catch cold...’
With a momentous effort Honora turned to her, fighting the sensation of surfacing from some uncanny dream.
‘Thank you. In truth I’d be very glad of the chance to swap my gown for a dry one.’
Charlotte nodded and made as if to stand, reaching in the direction of the bell pull beside the fireplace, but stopped when Honora waved her back.
‘Please don’t exert yourself. I’m sure I can find my own way upstairs.’
‘Are you sure? It would be no trouble...’
Honora shook her head, all too aware of Isaac’s indistinct figure standing off to one side. Her heart had picked up into a rhythm more suited to a racehorse than a woman and the urge to escape before he became aware of her secret desires was strong. Whatever had just passed between them had felt like lightning, some phantom of it still lingering in the room, and she had no hope of understanding what it meant while he stood close enough for her to reach out and touch.
Chapter Seven
At first when Isaac heard the sounds coming from his library he thought he must still be dreaming.
He’d barely slept—yet again—his mind too full of Honora to find any relief in sleep. Her distress when she’d appeared before him in his study, as though summoned by his relentless thoughts of her. How her vulnerability had commanded his protective instinct like a call to arms. And then, the most agonising part, her kindness to Charlotte, dragging a smile to reluctant lips he’d hardly seen move ever since she had discovered Frank’s child grew inside her. If Honora only knew the truth... Surely then that complex, heart-pounding look that had passed between them before she fled to change her gown would never have happened, an instant of unfeigned connection he scarcely dared believe. The memory of it had left him staring up at the darkened ceiling until the first fingers of dawn light crept beneath his shutters, trying his hardest to understand what—if anything—the new emotion in Honora’s eyes had meant...
Isaac pushed open the library door and stood for a moment, taking in the scene in front of him with brows raised in wordless surprise.
Charlotte and Honora sat side by side at the long table that usually held his many maps, now neatly rolled up and set to one side to make way for the great swathe of greenery scattered in their place. Boughs of bright holly, ivy and sprigs of mistletoe gleamed in the light of a cheerful fire crackling in the grate, the dancing flames chasing away the morning chill that had followed Isaac from his rooms. In all it was a picturesque sight—but the thing that most caught his attention were the faces of the two who hadn’t yet noticed his presence.
Charlotte was laughing. Actually laughing, her cheeks pink and looking more alive than she had in weeks. It was quite possibly the most beautiful sound Isaac had ever heard and his heart leapt in amazement. He’d thought he had caught that wonderful chime as he had descended the stairs, but dismissed it at once. Charlotte hadn’t laughed for so long it seemed a forlorn hope to think it was her, although nothing could mistake what now came from her pale lips.
What miracle is this? He could do nothing but stare at the transformation that had overtaken his ward. Her skin still had its unhealthy pallor aside from the high colour in her cheeks and her frame was as fragile as it had been the night before, but a hint of the old Charlotte, the girl who had bee
n so happy before Frank blighted her life, peeped through now and Isaac could hardly credit the change. Was this what she’d needed all along? A companion who hadn’t yet shown any sign of judgement, only compassion for a damaged soul and determination to make her smile?
‘Like this? Now do I have it right?’
Still unaware he watched them, Honora held up whatever she was cradling in careful hands, a woefully misshapen lump of holly studded with mistletoe and slices of orange, the rich scent of it unfortunately its only redeeming feature.
‘Oh, Miss Honora...no!’
Charlotte’s giggle redoubled and Honora joined in, the sound sending a flood beneath Isaac’s breastbone.
I’ve never seen Honora laugh. Just when I thought she couldn’t get any more beautiful.
It was a thought he knew he shouldn’t allow and yet there it was, the absolute truth. With her eyes creased and her full lips drawn up at the corners her face took on new animation he hadn’t seen there before, the strain usually present in every contour falling away to give a glimpse of how she must have looked before she came to England and embarked on the path that would ruin her life. She was a mature woman, surely closer to forty than thirty now, and confident in her skin in a way younger women had to learn, but in this unguarded moment she looked half a girl again and Isaac couldn’t drag his eyes away from her radiant face.
How could Frank have spent all those years with Honora and never come to love her? He must have been mad as well as stupid. A wife like that might tempt any man to marry—even the most reluctant...
Isaac froze on the threshold, one hand still flat against the door.
No. Oh, no. I see where this is going and let me state now: absolutely not. He gritted his teeth as a wave of horror washed over him like a cascade of cold water. One strange look, one laugh and you’re having thoughts like this? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re just grateful she’s been so good to Charlotte. That’s all. Nothing else comes into it.
A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell Page 10
