“Ah, now, Master Edmund, I think you’ve bothered Major Whitley enough,” Keating interposed.
Whitley hid his annoyance, knowing very well what Keating was about. The innkeeper obviously thought that Edmund had said enough and was trying to divert him and, while it irritated him, Whitley was quite satisfied with the results of this little conversation. It was going to be even more satisfying when he dropped his last bit of news.
Astonishment crossing his face, Whitley said, “I’m sure that I don’t quite understand. There was no sign of your mother wishing to avoid Mr. Sherbrook’s company this morning. Quite the contrary: Mr. Sherbrook announced that they were betrothed.”
A stunned silence descended. Enjoying himself immensely, Whitley stared from one shocked face to the other.
“You must have misunderstood him,” said Keating, frowning. “There’s been no hint of an engagement between them.”
“Mother and Mr. Sherbrook? Oh, that can’t be right,” blurted out Edmund, his eyes nearly starting from his face.
“Mr. Sherbrook was bamming you,” Sam Keating said bluntly. “Everyone knows that they can’t abide each other.”
Whitley shrugged. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but Mr. Sherbrook plainly stated that he and Mrs. Manning were engaged.”
“And Mother didn’t toss the words back in his teeth?” demanded Edmund.
“No. In fact, as I recall, she most becomingly allowed him to kiss her hand and looked at him as if he had hung the moon.” Whitley cleared his throat. “It was quite touching really.”
The other three looked at each other, then back at Whitley.
“Gammon!” said Keating forcefully. “I’ve never heard such nonsense!”
“What nonsense?” asked his wife as she bustled into the room, carrying a tray of clean glasses and mugs.
Keating, Edmund, and Sam all began to speak at once and, after a moment of listening to their babble, Mrs. Keating put down the tray on the counter and, raising a hand, said, “One at a time, if you please.”
Sending Whitley a dour look, Keating said, “Let him tell you. He’s the one who said it.”
Fixing a friendly gaze on the major, Mrs. Keating said, “Well, Major? What is it that has these three loobys in a fret?”
“Why, only the news that Mrs. Manning and Mr. Sherbrook are engaged to be married,” he murmured. “Mr. Sherbrook told me so himself just this morning. Mrs. Manning was right by his side when he told me of their betrothal.”
Mrs. Keating looked startled. Her round, plump face perplexed, she muttered, “Never say so! There’s been never a hint of such a thing.” Thoughtfully, she added, “Although Mr. Sherbrook would play his cards close to his vest and Mrs. Manning ain’t one to wash her linen in public... .” A smile curved her lips. “I always did think that the pair of them went to an awful lot of trouble to avoid each other. Mayhap, they only wanted to do their courting in private.”
She glanced at Edmund, who was standing and staring at her open-mouthed. “Well, my young man, what do you think about having Sherbrook for a stepfather?”
Edmund’s mouth shut with a snap. He swallowed. Took a deep breath. An expression of awed delight on his young face, he breathed, “I would like it above anything! And Grandfather will be over the moon. He has said to me time and again that Sherbrook would make Mother an excellent husband—if she wasn’t too stubborn to see it.”
Keating laughed. “Yes, I can hear the old baron saying just such a thing.”
Immensely pleased with the results of his meddling, Whitley said, “I suspect that your mother will tell you all about it when you arrive home.”
“Indeed, she will!” Edmund said with a laugh. Putting his empty glass on the counter, Edmund bid the others good-bye and flew from the room.
Isabel was enjoying a cup of tea with her father-in-law in the small green salon that the family used when not entertaining. It was a pleasant room: gold-patterned pale green silk covered the walls; cream-colored drapes adorned the long windows; and a thick, wool rug in shades of green, cream, and rose hid most of the gleaming walnut parquet floor. Comfortable sofas and chairs done in the same three shades as the rug were scattered about; elegant satinwood tables flanked several pieces of the furniture.
Despite the fine spring weather, as the day waned there was a trifle chill in the air and a small blaze burned in the dark green marble fireplace. Taking advantage of the warmth of the fire, Isabel and Lord Manning were seated nearby.
Isabel had just lifted her cup of tea to her mouth, when the double doors to the room swung open and Edmund catapulted into the salon. As always, her heart swelled with joy when she saw her son. He was, she thought with justified maternal pride, a fine boy.
There was little of Isabel to be seen in Edmund’s young face. He was clearly his father’s son, having inherited Hugh’s wheat-fair hair, bright blue eyes, winning smile, and rugged build. The old baron often said that Edmund could have been Hugh’s twin at the same age.
Those same bright blue eyes full of feverish excitement, Edmund rushed up to stand in front of his mother. “Is it true?” he demanded eagerly. “Are you going to marry Mr. Sherbrook? Your friend, Major Whitley, said that Mr. Sherbrook told him so this morning and that you did not deny it. Oh, Mother, it is wonderful!” Turning to glance at his grandfather, Edmund said, “It is just what you wanted. Mother is to marry Mr. Sherbrook!”
Recovering quickly from his astonishment, his lined features reflecting the same excited delight as Edmund’s, Lord Manning leaned forward in his chair and exclaimed, “Oh, my dear! This is the best news an old man could hear. You, married to Sherbrook! I could not have asked for anything more wonderful.” Springing to his feet with a youthful vigor that belied his age, he crossed the room and pulled on the bell rope. “We must have champagne to celebrate this marvelous news!”
As if turned to stone, her welcoming smile frozen on her lips, Isabel still held her cup of tea halfway up to her mouth. Blindsided, she barely managed to keep the panic that threatened to choke her from showing. Plain, brutal desperation broke her free from the icy paralysis Edmund’s announcement had caused and with shaking fingers she carefully set down her cup, grateful she didn’t spill a drop. Whitley! May his black soul rot in hell! Sick fury burned through her and she cursed Major Whitley with a fluency and an inventiveness that would have scorched polite society’s raised eyebrows.
She’d known the risk of Marcus’s reckless announcement becoming public had been great; she just hadn’t been prepared for it to happen so soon, or to come home to roost in her lap so swiftly. Staring at the ecstatic faces of her son and father-in-law, like a rat escaping a sinking ship she scrambled for a way out of her predicament.
Seeing their open pleasure, their sheer joy, she realized immediately that denying the engagement was out of the question. She could no more have destroyed those delighted expressions than she could have danced on a knife blade. For the time being, the engagement would stand.
In that instant, she felt a prison door snap shut. Looking from one happy face to the other, she doubted even an emphatic denial would bring them to their senses. They wanted this marriage and she had not, until this moment, understood how very much. Fighting back panic, she searched for another way out of this predicament, but no matter how frantically she searched, thanks to Whitley, there was no escape. She would have to marry Sherbrook. Not to escape being labeled a jilt, she thought sickly; that name she would have gladly borne. No, she would have to marry Sherbrook because of all the innocent people she loved and that were now part of this damnable situation, and who would be devastated if she cried off.
Looking into her son’s excited face, with a hollow feeling in her chest, she knew that she would never allow him to believe in a fantasy world in which she was going to marry Marcus and then shatter it in a few weeks by ending the engagement. Her gaze slid to her father-in-law, finding an identical expression of joy on his face. Her stalwart, kind, generous father-in-law. How could she lead
him in such a cruel dance? To let him think his dearest wish was to come true and then rip it away from him? And what of Mrs. Appleton? Before the day ended, she didn’t doubt that Lord Manning would have sent the widow news of the engagement, and that in a few days, weeks at the most, another engagement would be announced. How could she let them believe she would marry Marcus, allow them to build hopes and dreams, make plans of their own, and then with a few careless words lay waste to everything? She could not.
Wanting to bury her head in her hands and howl, Isabel flashed a blinding smile to the men of her family. “La! You have found us out,” she said with hardly a tremor in her voice. “Marcus and I had thought to keep it to ourselves for a few weeks, but he was so gratified by my acceptance that he blurted out the news to the first person he met.”
The butler’s entrance into the room saved her from further speech.
“Champagne!” ordered Lord Manning joyfully. “The best in the cellar. And tell Cook to prepare a feast for dinner tonight: Mrs. Manning is to marry Mr. Sherbrook.”
His face wreathed in smiles, the butler, Deering, bowed low and murmured, “Allow me to congratulate you, madame, and to say that the staff will be very happy at the news.”
“Enough of that,” interrupted Lord Manning. “I want that champagne. Oh, and bring me some writing materials. I must invite Sherbrook to dinner tonight.” His smile widened. “And Mrs. Appleton.”
“I’ll do that,” Isabel said hastily. Rising to her feet, she said, “Let me but dash off a note to M-M-Marcus and Mrs. Appleton and I shall return and enjoy a glass of champagne with you.”
Shortly, Marcus was reading his betrothed’s scribbled note. There was nothing loverlike about it.
Marcus, she wrote, Edmund brought home the news of our engagement this afternoon. His path crossed Whitley’s and Whitley wasted no time in telling him. My father-in-law is beside himself with joy. He would like you to come to dine this evening.
I would appreciate a word with you first. I will be waiting for you in the east garden.
Isabel
Chapter 4
Assuming Isabel didn’t want anyone to know of their meeting, Marcus did not, as was his wont, ride up to the massive front entrance of Manning Court that evening. Nearly as familiar with the layout of the grounds of Lord Manning’s estate as he was with his own, he approached the house from the rear and discreetly tied his horse to a large lime tree that grew near the edge of the extensive gardens that surrounded the house.
Entering through a delicate iron-worked gate set in the stone walls that surrounded the gardens, Marcus leisurely walked down one of the crushed rock pathways that meandered through the meticulously maintained shrubs and perennials. The scent of roses and lilacs hung heavy in the air and, following a bend in the path, he came upon a charming bower covered with pink roses, flanked by several purple lilac bushes. A stone bench was in the middle of the bower and, at his approach, the small figure seated there leaped upright.
“Oh, thank goodness, you are here!” cried Isabel, looking charming in a high-waisted confection of white India muslin embroidered with gold thread. Her vivid red hair was caught up in a pair of braids arranged in bandeaux across the top of her head and several curls had been coaxed to frame her face. A pair of beige cameo earrings graced her ears and a small matching cameo locket hanging from a gold chain around her neck was her only jewelry.
Marcus’s breath caught at the sight of her, and his heart, usually a most reliable organ, leaped like a gigged frog in his chest. He’d been hoping that his unexpected awareness of Isabel as a desirable female earlier in the day had been a not-ever-to-be-repeated aberration. He’d convinced himself that when next he faced her he would be able to view her only as his former troublesome ward and Hugh Manning’s widow and nothing more. Certainly he did not want to see her as a woman he’d enjoy in his bed. Unfortunately, before him stood a woman who made his pulse pound and caused the most indecent thoughts to dance in his head.
A certain part of his anatomy swelled in readiness and, cursing it and himself, he desperately sought to regain his composure. But composure seemed to have entirely deserted him and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her dainty form and face. Rocked back on his heels by his reaction to her, he wondered bewilderedly why he had never before noticed the sweet curve of her bottom lip or the gentle swell of her breasts revealed by the low neckline of her gown. His fingers twitched and it was all he could do to stop them from cupping her head and bringing that impossibly tempting mouth next to his. It would be so easy... .
His hand actually lifted, his body already anticipating the taste and texture of her mouth when Isabel brought him back to his senses by saying sharply, “What is wrong with you? Why are you staring at me so?”
Marcus’s eyes dropped to his half-lifted hand and he stared at it in horror. Good God! A moment more and she would have been in his arms and he would have been kissing her. Kissing her in a manner that would have shocked her right down to her pretty little gold slippers. Struggling with the sensation that his world had tilted on its axis, he shook his head. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he said testily, “Nothing is wrong with me.” His gaze fell on the riot of roses behind her and, seeking a distraction, he muttered, “I wasn’t staring at you, I was, uh, admiring the roses.”
Her eyes narrowed. Hands on her hips, she demanded, “Are you foxed?”
Marcus shook his head, not blaming her in the least for thinking him drunk. He felt drunk, but not from any spirits concocted by man. Regaining some control over his brain, he said quickly, “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
She studied him a moment longer then shrugged. “No, I haven’t been here long.”
He forced a smile and asked, “What did you want to discuss? We knew there was the possibility that Whitley would mention the engagement to someone and we discussed our options thoroughly this morning.” He frowned. “It was unfortunate that it had to be Edmund who heard the news first, but now that the news is public—perhaps sooner than we liked—we won’t have to skulk around waiting for the ax to fall. We shall accept the congratulations of our friends with a pleasant smile . . . and in a few weeks or a month or so, we can stage a very loud, very public argument and you can cry off.” More certain of his ground, he grinned at her. “I shall act a perfect beast; everyone will feel sorry for you and congratulate you on your near escape.” When Isabel remained silent, he added, “You can even throw your betrothal ring in my face—that should resolve our problem.”
“I don’t have a ring,” she said dryly.
“That is easily rectified,” he replied with a smile.
Marcus fumbled in his vest pocket and brought out a dazzling sapphire and diamond ring. Almost shyly for such a usually confident man, he murmured, “I know it’s not a new ring, but it is a family heirloom: my grandfather gave it to my grandmother upon the occasion of the birth of my father. She wore it until the day she died. Mother never wore it, she never cared for it overmuch.” When Isabel remained silent and just stared at the ring, he added hastily, “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to and if you positively loathe it, I can buy something different that you will like.” Her frozen stance and deafening silence was unnerving and awkwardly, he explained, “After I, uh, received your message this afternoon, I realized that, er, we would probably need a ring. Before riding over here this evening, I looked at the family jewels hoping to find something suitable. This ring caught my attention. It, uh, made me think of you.”
Wondering why she suddenly felt like bursting into tears, Isabel stared mutely at the glowing sapphire ring. The ring was just the sort of jewelry that appealed to her, and the knowledge that Marcus’s grandmother had treasured the ring that Marcus was offering to her made the tears even harder to blink back. A lump lodged in her throat.
Avoiding precisely this kind of situation had been one of the reasons she had been against a sham engagement in the first place. How could she accept his grandmother’s
ring knowing it was only pretend? How could she accept all the congratulations of friends and family knowing that it was a lie?
Her heart aching, Isabel bit her lip and looked away. The falsehoods were only beginning, she thought painfully. The announcement had been only the first of many to come and the expressions of wild delight on the faces on her son and father-in-law flashed through her mind and her misery deepened.
For the past several hours, Edmund had gamboled at her heels like a puppy, prattling on and on about how happy he was that she was going to marry Mr. Sherbrook. “I like Mr. Sherbrook,” Edmund had said numerous times, a sunny smile creasing his face. “I’ll miss living at Manning Court to be sure, but Sherbrook Hall is very nice and I can come and stay with Grandfather whenever I want. It isn’t like we’ll be living miles and miles away.” He’d hugged her tightly and exclaimed, “Oh, Mother! This is grand! I know that Mr. Sherbrook will not be my real father, but if I had to have a stepfather, I’d lief it be him more than anyone else in the whole world.”
Every word her son spoke had been a dagger in her heart. Unable to listen to his delighted prattle any longer, she had fled to her rooms. Feeling more in command of herself, she had bathed and dressed for dinner, lingering at her dressing table as long as she dared, hoping to avoid further discussion about the engagement. But hurrying through the house this evening on her way to the east garden, she had been waylaid by her father-in-law. Clasping her hand in his, he looked her up and down, a twinkle in his eye. “You look very grand tonight,” Lord Manning complimented her. “I think being engaged is good for you; I’ve never seen you in such looks.” Pinching her cheek affectionately, he scolded, “Naughty puss, keeping such an important event a secret from me.” His face softened and he said, “I cannot tell you how happy this makes me—and not just because of Mrs. Appleton. You are too young and too lovely to spend the rest of your days a widow. Sherbrook is a fine man and I cannot think of anyone I’d rather see you marry.” For a moment a shadow crossed his features, then he shook himself and added huskily, “Hugh would have wanted for you to marry again. It would have made him unhappy to know that you have buried yourself away from the world and I’m certain that he would have approved of Sherbrook. Edmund needs a younger man’s hand to guide him and it is past time for you to have a husband. Sherbrook will do very well for you.”
Surrender Becomes Her Page 7
