He would not be throwing away thirty-seven years of bachelorhood for Honora Blake—or Jackson, whatever she wanted to be called now. Hadn’t Father taught him everything he needed to know about matrimony by his own disastrous example? More specifically the importance of avoiding it? He’d learned from his father’s mistakes, and anyway, the idea Honora might entertain the idea of marrying again was absurd. She’d as good as told him she never wanted to be bound to a man again, so fiercely independent she inspired both admiration and wariness. If she seemed to be starting to dislike him less that meant nothing, perhaps his own weakness making him see things that weren’t really there.
Shouldering that particular alarming thought aside, Isaac cleared his throat and finally stepped into the room.
‘What have I stumbled upon? Is there any holly left in the rest of Northamptonshire, Charlotte, or is it all here on my map table?’
Two heads turned in his direction, one piled high with ebony curls and the other topped with brunette ringlets. Unalike in every other respect the only tie between them were the smiles—Charlotte’s stronger than he would have dared dream and Honora’s suddenly a little shy, something Isaac’s disloyal heart noticed with keen interest.
‘I’m teaching Miss Honora to make a kissing ball.’ Charlotte gestured to the lumpen thing sitting on the table beside her own pristine creation, her lips twitching a little. ‘She’s...ah. It’s been...’
‘...a complete and utter failure?’ Honora supplied helpfully, now carefully avoiding Isaac’s eye. ‘A colossal waste of your time?’
‘Not at all! I think you’ve made some excellent progress, considering your first attempt...’
Isaac followed Charlotte’s glance to a sorry-looking heap of greenery sagging forlornly on the floor near his boots, for all the world as though it had been thrown there. ‘At the very least this one is a kind of sphere.’
‘I think you might be being a little too generous.’ Honora prodded her unfortunate handiwork with a doubtful finger. ‘This has no place hanging anywhere other than perhaps a pig sty.’
‘Oh, no! It will take pride of place somewhere in the house, won’t it?’ Charlotte peered up at Isaac, some tiny spark of life returned to her blue gaze. There were still shadows beneath her eyes, the work of nights spent crying rather than sleeping, but there was such enthusiasm in her look Isaac knew he couldn’t refuse her anything.
‘Of course. I’ll hang it up in here myself. It’ll brighten up that far window.’
Isaac approached the table and held out his hand for the offending article. Honora passed it to him reluctantly, the kissing ball hanging from her fingers by a red ribbon—and a flit of sensation glittered down his spine as her fingertip brushed his, the most minute of accidental touches and yet as welcome as a monsoon in a desert.
He flinched instinctively at the static jolt and saw Honora jump likewise, a lightning-fast reaction neither could fake nor control. His own start he could understand, but what did Honora’s mean, that unthinking shiver the skim of his hand on hers conjured from nowhere?
He turned away swiftly and crossed to the window, uncomfortably aware of his movements as he went. Knowing Honora watched him, he felt ungainly and the feeling didn’t abate when he stretched up to slip the ribbon loop over one end of the curtain pole. It hung there, pretty despite its clumsiness with its green leaves shining and red berries peeping out between the thorns.
‘Perfect!’ Charlotte nodded with satisfaction and even Honora looked grudgingly pleased. ‘Now it’s just as festive in here as the rest of the Manor.’
‘Ah.’ Isaac tapped his forehead as a thought resurfaced. ‘Festive. That reminds me. Mrs Strimpel was looking for you.’
‘Was she? Why?’
‘She wanted to consult you before she started on the Christmas pudding. She knows you like to choose the spices.’ Isaac allowed himself a quick glimpse in Honora’s direction. She was watching him and flushed slightly as his eye caught hers. ‘Mrs Strimpel is our cook. As Charlotte is the chief organiser of Christmas at Marlow Manor she’s usually the one the servants report to. It’s been this way since she was a child.’
He expected Charlotte to smile, but instead she stared down at her lap, the light vanishing abruptly from her face. Isaac saw it go with a start of dismay, about to go to her until Honora gently touched her arm.
‘What’s the matter? Are choosing cake flavours so difficult?’
Charlotte sighed. Her brow creased and she looked up at Honora with the unhappy, trusting eyes of a child needing direction. In that moment she could have been a girl of nine again, the years reeling backwards in Isaac’s memory to when she’d first arrived at the Manor, a sad, motherless scrap who had clung to him and wetted the shoulder of his shirt with a river of tears. He’d vowed to take care of her from that day onwards, determined to protect her from life’s dark underbelly even as he himself had once enjoyed its delights—how horribly ironic, then, that the one other person she seemed to find comfort in was the widow of the man who had inflicted the worst upon her, Honora apparently already filling some gap in Charlotte’s affections even after so brief an acquaintance. Not for the first time he wondered if Honora’s feminine kindness struck the same chord for Charlotte as a mother’s would. No wonder his ward looked to her for answers, such unjudgemental warmth doubtless a soothing balm for Charlotte’s shattered soul.
‘The kitchen servants will see me if I go down to the kitchen. What if they stare?’
Charlotte twisted her slender fingers together like willow boughs bending in a storm. It seemed to border on painful, how tightly she twined and tangled them, and Isaac watched Honora take both hands firmly in her own.
‘Is that what bothers you?’
A small nod was the only reply.
‘I understand. I know what it is to be stared at and remarked upon, truly I do.’ Honora ducked her head a little to look into Charlotte’s downcast eyes and Isaac felt his throat tighten at her tender concern. ‘Ever since I can remember people have watched me and wondered about my life. My parents were an unusual match and there have always been people who thought those like me, a bridge between two worlds, should not exist. It used to upset me until one day I realised I could stare right back. So can you. Marlow Manor is your home. You shouldn’t creep around it as though you had no right to be here.’
She was still holding Charlotte’s hands and the girl managed a tiny smile like the fragile light of a match.
‘I’m not as brave as you, though, Miss Honora. I don’t think I could do that.’
‘How do you know? You haven’t yet tried. I think you might surprise yourself.’
Charlotte hesitated. She shot Isaac a swift glance and at his decided nod she gave a slow one of her own.
‘Very well. I’ll go down now. I hope... I very much hope you’re right.’
‘She probably is,’ Isaac murmured wryly. He caught the answering flicker of Honora’s eyebrow, but moved to help Charlotte from her chair, lightly squeezing her fingers reassuringly as she took his hand. She seemed to take some strength from him as she straightened up a little more, straightened her shoulders and left the library with quiet steps—leaving Isaac alone with Honora and unsure whether to enjoy the experience or flee.
* * *
Honora toyed with a stray holly leaf, acutely aware of Isaac’s tall shape at the edge of her line of sight. Even without looking directly at him she could make out the distinctive pattern of his waistcoat over a broad chest and shoulders that filled his coat very nicely indeed, crowned with his thatch of chestnut hair, always so pleasingly haphazard. The silver threads shot through it made him look distinguished, a scattering of salt and pepper Honora had to admit she’d admired more than once since he’d come barrelling into her life...
‘Thank you.’
She started guiltily. For a split-second she feared she’d spoken aloud, somehow
revealing her most secret thoughts and mortified Isaac had heard—until he continued obliviously.
‘That was very well done. You’ve been so kind to Charlotte. After only a few hours in your company she seems so much happier. How is it you knew just what to say? I’ve tried to reach her since this mess began, but nothing I did made much difference.’
Honora bit her tongue on a bitter reply. Because I know how it feels to know all eyes are on you as though you’ve committed a crime, when all you’re guilty of is stepping outside their narrow expectations.
What she’d told Charlotte was true, she had learned to stare back, but not without enduring such unhappiness she’d run crying to Ma more times than she could count, and still might now, had the gulf between them not been more than mere distance. Charlotte had no mother to dry her tears and something in the orphaned girl called to Honora, all her wasted maternal instincts rushing forth in a desire to protect and comfort little more than a child.
‘Just as I said. In a different kind of way I’m used to the judgement of others—I can speak to her from my heart. I suppose Charlotte knows you love her so much you’d say anything to make her feel better, whether it was true or not. That isn’t always helpful.’
‘You’re right. Again.’ Isaac huffed a dry laugh, the sound stoking the embers in Honora’s innards. He still stood near the window, lit from behind by the cold light filtering through white clouds that caught on his hair and made it gleam like burnished bronze. He was too handsome by half and it made it difficult for Honora to think, distracted at every turn by his dangerous allure.
She looked away. Isaac’s love for his ward grew more touching with every moment and she marvelled now how she ever could have thought Isaac and Frank to be alike in any way aside from their disconcerting good looks. Her late husband had never cared for anyone but himself. It wouldn’t surprise her if he’d sold his own grandmother for more money to gamble with. How had the two become friends with apparently so little in common? Perhaps Frank had fooled Isaac as he had her, pretending to be a better man to further his own ends. No doubt claiming friendship with a lord would have boosted Frank’s ego up to the sky, allowing him to move in the circles he had once hoped Honora’s blood-soaked inheritance would buy his entrance to.
With a grimace she dragged her thoughts from the one who’d ruined her life and returned them to poor Charlotte. Who was the man who had taken an axe to her dreams for the future? The question had niggled at Honora ever since she’d first seen the bump half-hidden by a modest gown and she wondered now if she had the courage to ask Isaac for an answer.
‘Isaac...’
He raised his eyes from the window where he peered down at the unseen lawn below. ‘Yes?’
‘Would it be too much for me to ask...what happened? How did Charlotte come to be in this sorry predicament?’
She watched his face set, the muscles there tightening into some expression she couldn’t quite read and obliterating the openness of only moments before. Something flitted across his countenance like a hare fleeing from hunters, disappearing as soon as it snapped into life, but was it a hot flare of guilt? Or more specifically guilt he tried at once to conceal? Surely she was mistaken, yet all of a sudden Honora felt her intuition stir.
Is he hiding something?
Isaac didn’t speak, instead only gazing back at her for a long moment as the air of the library cooled suddenly beneath the weight of his complex stare.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked. Honora felt the short hairs on her arms raise in discomfort as Isaac’s lips pressed into a tight line. Doubtless that’s the very last thing he wants to talk about, the humiliation of his beloved ward and the damage done to her reputation as a result...and yet, why would that make him seem so suddenly on his guard?
‘It happened as you might expect.’ Isaac finally spoke, his voice low and disquietingly measured as if to keep himself in check. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary, I’m afraid. A most undeserving man seduced her—she didn’t know what he wanted until it was too late, so innocent she didn’t see the direction he was leading her in under my very nose. He ran when I confronted him and we won’t have his name spoken in this house ever again. That’s...that’s really all I want to say on the matter.’
Honora nodded slowly. As I suspected. A tale as old as time. A man taking advantage of a naive young girl was so depressingly common there was little to surprise her in Isaac’s answer, although one thing was out of the usual order.
‘You didn’t insist he marry her?’
‘No,’ Isaac stated flatly, eyes sliding away from hers—with another touch of that evasiveness that blew kindling air on the embers of her nameless suspicion. ‘I would not have her tied for life to a man who used her for what he wanted and then gave her up without a thought. She’s sixteen years old—and only just. Her birthday was October. I’m sure you can work out the sums involved from that.’ A flicker of disgust crossed his face and he turned to the window, resting his knuckles on the sill. With his back to her Honora couldn’t see his expression, but his hands had balled into fists and she cast about at once for some way to change the subject, his tangible revulsion enough to make her set aside her natural curiosity, or at least for now, that strange look that flickered in his eye something she knew she couldn’t so easily dismiss.
‘Have you never married?’
As soon as the question slipped past her lips Honora wished she hadn’t uttered it. Of all the things to ask... Her cheeks grew hot, but Isaac’s backward glance was only surprise, perhaps relieved she’d left the topic of Charlotte behind.
‘Me? No. Absolutely not. In truth, my father’s example wasn’t one I wanted to copy.’
At Honora’s quizzical look he gave a bleak smile, her eyes instantly drawn to that slightly quirked mouth.
‘Tragic, really. After my mother died in childbed he married again, for reasons I never could fathom. They fought endlessly. Nothing she did was ever good enough and nothing he did could ever please her. It didn’t leave me with a very high opinion of marriage and I determined from a young age not to try it myself—why would I, if the only outcomes I’ve seen are grief or bitter loathing? Neither is a future I’d willingly risk, when the alternative is far more appealing.’
Honora inclined her head. ‘I can’t argue with that wisdom. Matrimony didn’t work well for me, either, as I think you’re well aware.’
Isaac’s smile took on a wry edge as if he thought that something of an understatement. ‘I confess I had noticed. But would you marry again? It might be second time lucky.’
She couldn’t help an undignified snort. Marry again? He must know that’s impossible. ‘Even if I were so inclined—which I assure you I am not—I doubt I’d have the chance. After Frank left there were some...impudent remarks. I’m sure you can imagine. That, combined with my lack of wealth and family background, make finding another husband unlikely.’
Isaac turned away from the window and regarded her with interest that caused little flutters in her stomach. ‘Your family background?’
‘Yes.’ Honora picked up her stray sprig of holly again and frowned down at the spiky leaf, the thought of her distant parents as always making her unsure whether to smile or cry. ‘My father was born a slave in Virginia. He was freed after serving in the Revolutionary War and soon after that he met my mother at a Pennsylvania church—the daughter of a wealthy tobacco plantation owner. The Baptist churches back home were more welcoming than some others and their congregations often had many different kinds of people mixing together. Not everybody is so accepting of these differences, however, or would be willing to overlook my heritage and the origins of my father. I’m a walking embodiment of something some people are opposed to and that hasn’t always been easy to bear.’
Isaac nodded thoughtfully, clearly considering her words. ‘That would be their loss, then...’ he glanced out of the window, suddenly avoiding he
r eye ‘...if they allowed their prejudices to deprive them of your acquaintance. The only people who would be disadvantaged are themselves.’
A curious warmth flooded Honora’s innards as she stared at the back of Isaac’s firmly turned head. He thought the forfeit of her friendship would be a loss to those who spurned her? Implying he himself thought it a benefit? Her heart skipped over an incredulous beat, her already flushed cheeks growing rosier still.
‘That’s kind. I’m sure I’ll remember you said that even after I leave here today.’
‘You intend to go back to Somerset so soon? Have you thought up a plan, then, for how you’ll manage now?’
‘Not yet.’ She began to shred the leaf between her fingers, glad of an excuse not to look up. In truth, she was no closer to knowing how to proceed than she’d been the previous night, but she couldn’t impose on Isaac’s hospitality for long without feeling as though she’d worn out her welcome. He must want to return to normality as soon as possible and he couldn’t do that with Honora under his roof, a grim figure in a black gown who bad luck stalked like a malevolent ghost.
‘Well, I think you’ve a while yet to think about it. Have you seen outside this morning?’
She glanced up to see Isaac nodding towards the window. ‘Not properly. It was still dark when I woke up and then we were so busy with our making I didn’t think to look.’
‘Aha. Come now, then, and see for yourself if you fancy leaving here today.’
Frowning, Honora got up from the table and crossed to the window, Isaac moving aside to let her see out. The moment she came close to him her every nerve stood to attention and her body longed to curve towards him, but she roughly reined in her unconscious desires and forced herself to peer through the cold glass.
Now that the sun was fully up and the Marlow estate was bathed in chilly daylight Honora could see what Isaac meant. Snow covered every inch of the lawns leading down to hedges set about an impressive fountain, the surface of the water spread with unblemished ice and the stonework barely visible above its white blanket. The drifts were so deep it was impossible to see the paths and the world below looked bleached, sparkling and perfect while yet more flakes drifted down to add to the wonderland already stretching out beneath heavy clouds.
A Mistletoe Vow to Lord Lovell Page 11
