Isabel: A Regency Romance (Families of Dorset Book 2)

by Martha Keyes

  The rector nodded impatiently.

  "He left not two minutes ago," Mr. Galbraith confirmed.

  Mr. Safford grabbed Mr. Galbraith's arm, looking at him with round, fearful eyes. "Was he holding anything in his hand?"

  Mr. Galbraith looked at the hand intently grasping his arm then at Isabel and back to the rector.

  Isabel had never seen him so unhinged.

  "I...I...couldn't say," Mr. Galbraith stuttered. "He left too quickly, and I didn't think to look at his hands. I am sorry."

  "But did he come into the churchyard?"

  Isabel placed a hand on the rector's shoulder, eager to allay his fears. "No. We would have seen him. He left from these same doors."

  The rector's hand squeezed Mr. Galbraith's arm even more tightly for a moment before dropping to his side. "Then it is safe," he said, breathing out a sigh of relief.

  "What is safe?" Isabel said, confused as ever.

  "Nothing," he said softly, shaking his head and then putting a hand to it. "Nothing I can discuss."

  "You're injured," said Isabel. A patch of blood stood out among his grey and white hair.

  "Surely Farrow’s presence has nothing to do with your injury," Mr. Galbraith said with the inflection of a question.

  Mr. Safford shook his head. “I must have tripped and fallen. I’m getting old, you know.”

  Mr. Galbraith looked at him through narrowed, considering eyes, but Mr. Safford excused himself to them, insisting he had matters to attend to.

  Mr. Galbraith made his excuses not long after, assuring Isabel that he would think on her suggestion. What could she do if his qualms at her plan remained?

  9

  The only sound at breakfast was the light clanking of silverware on china. Mr. Cosgrove preferred silence at the breakfast table. Unless, of course, he had something to say.

  Isabel’s conversation with him after her rendezvous with Mr. Galbraith at the churchyard had gone much better than she had expected. He seemed to accept their reasons for keeping the engagement a secret without much resistance, a development for which Isabel was exceedingly grateful.

  Of course, she had improvised slightly in conveying the details, insisting that, any effort on Mr. Galbraith’s part to cut short his period of mourning would result in him being written out of his widower uncle’s will. Isabel had made sure to underline that, because Aunt Gertrude’s husband was in town and on close terms with all the gossip-mongers, even a word to Cecilia or Mrs. Cosgrove about the engagement was unsafe.

  Her conscience had pricked her at the untruths she was telling, but she tried to ignore the discomfort, rationalizing that it was for the good of both Mr. Galbraith and herself.

  "Ah, Cecilia," her father said, taking a gulp of ale.

  Both daughters looked up at the unexpected interruption. Isabel found her muscles tensing, hoping desperately that her father would keep his promise not to speak of the engagement. She sipped her tea to distract herself.

  "I received a note from Lord Brockway requesting an audience with me." He raised his brows, looking at his favorite daughter with pride and approval.

  Isabel's hands paused briefly in the act of bringing her teacup to her mouth. She looked at her sister.

  Cecilia smiled and looked down at the roll she held, spreading the preserves in a slow, smooth motion. "Yes, I believed you might be hearing from him soon."

  "I think we can expect a very handsome settlement from him," Cosgrove said. "You have done very well, Cecilia. Brockway is every bit the sort of gentleman I hoped you should marry."

  "Well," Cecilia said, tugging lightly at the end of her sleeve to straighten it, "as to that, I don't see why we should jump at my very first offer of marriage. Do you?"

  Isabel stiffened. She had been hoping that Lord Brockway had been correct in his assumption that Cecilia would accept an offer of marriage from him.

  Clearly Cecilia had other plans.

  Mr. Cosgrove stared at Cecilia. It was clear that the thought of her refusing such a handsome match had never occurred to him.

  Isabel almost hoped that her father would treat Cecilia the same way he had treated her—demanding that she accept the offer. But the thought lasted only a moment. Cecilia was never accorded the same treatment as she was. And even had their father demanded such a thing, Cecilia's tantrums were the one thing which had proven a match for his hard-headedness.

  "I, well," he bumbled, "that is to say, do you think you may receive a more advantageous offer?" The warring doubt and hope in his eyes would have been comical to Isabel had she not been fighting the constriction she felt in her throat at hearing Cecilia's plans.

  "I don't see why not!" exclaimed Cecilia. "And besides, even if a better offer does not come along, I am confident that I can persuade Lord Brockway to, shall we say, try again?" She gave an upbeat shrug to her shoulders and beamed at her father.

  Isabel clenched her teeth, and her cheeks grew warm. Cecilia's arrogance was always maddening, but to hear her claim an ability and willingness to manipulate Lord Brockway was a new low. She felt a strong desire for Lord Brockway to teach Cecilia a lesson until realizing that she depended upon the match for her own situation's resolution.

  Cecilia's confidence that she could elicit an offer from someone even more well-positioned than Lord Brockway was as smug as it was questionable. She had many admirers, to be sure, but none that Isabel had seen could be thought to eclipse Lord Brockway—not in wealth, position, or character. Most definitely not in care and concern.

  Beauty Cecilia had in spades. But the Cosgroves could not compete with the ancient or titled families with marriageable daughters. If Cecilia didn't take care, she would alienate all her suitors with her overconfidence.

  "Well," said Mr. Cosgrove with newfound optimism, "if you are quite sure, then I shall try to put Brockway off awhile."

  Cecilia smiled widely at her father, nodding her agreement.

  Mr. Cosgrove took a final sip of ale, planted a pleased kiss on Cecilia's golden head, and retreated to his study where, Isabel had no doubt, he hoped to avoid further familial interaction.

  Isabel restrained the impulse to speak her mind to Cecilia. If she put up her sister's back, it would only confirm Cecilia in her determination.

  If Isabel had not been certain that her sister had kindness concealed under her arrogance, she would likely have tried to dissuade Lord Brockway from pursuing the association with Cecilia. But she knew Cecilia to be confused, overwhelmed, and unsure of herself underneath the picture she presented to the world. Where Isabel usually sought the counsel of Mr. Safford to sort through her own confusion, Cecilia had looked to society to tell her who she was.

  Isabel wondered how it must feel to be valued primarily for her appearance. How long had it been since someone complimented any of Cecilia’s other traits?

  "I saw your kindness the other day," Isabel remarked. "To the Grenard girl, I mean."

  Cecilia's brows scrunched as though she had no idea what Isabel was speaking of.

  "The green gloves," Isabel continued. "They were your favorite, weren't they?"

  "Oh," Cecilia said dismissively, not even looking at Isabel. "Those old things? They were quite ragged. And besides, they matched her eyes so perfectly."

  Isabel watched her with a small smile. It was almost as if Cecilia was embarrassed at anyone having observed her kindness.

  "Well, it was very sweet of you. Mrs. Grenard remarked to me the other day how Lydia has mentioned your goodness on three separate occasions since."

  Pink tinged Cecilia's cheeks, and she added sugar to her tea, determinedly avoiding Isabel's eyes. "Well, you can't deny she is a silly girl."

  "Perhaps," said Isabel. She took a deep breath. "Cecy?"

  Cecilia raised her brows to indicate her attention, but she didn't look up. It was rare that Isabel used Cecilia's nickname, and she hoped it would show her sister the benevolent spirit in which she spoke.

  "Lord Brockway is as good a man as you'll
find. And because of that, he sees you for all your good qualities—many qualities which others overlook in favor of your beauty."

  Cecilia still didn't look at her.

  "I suppose I just want to say—" Isabel sighed "—do try not to take his regard for granted. He is kind and generous, but he is not a fool."

  Cecilia's cheeks went pink again, but whether from embarrassment, anger, or a combination, Isabel didn't know.

  "You are very complimentary of him," Cecilia said with an edge to her voice. "Perhaps he should offer for you."

  "Cecy." Isabel grimaced, shaking her head. "I consider Lord Brockway a dear friend, nothing more. And you...you are my sister. I want both of you to be happy. Because I hold you both in affection, I would be elated for you to marry. But just as Lord Brockway realizes how much you have to offer beyond a pretty face, I hope you realize what he has to offer beyond fortune and title. That is all I wanted to say."

  Cecilia stayed silent, her expression impassive. But Isabel thought she saw the cogs turning in her sister's head, and that was as much as she could hope for.

  She raised herself from her chair and moved to pass behind Cecilia toward the door. As she reached Cecilia's chair, she hesitated for an instant before leaning over, placing her hands on the chair back, and dropping a light kiss on her sister's coiffed hair.

  "Love you, Cecy," she said softly, pausing another moment before leaving the room.

  10

  Isabel took a deep breath as she looked herself over in the mirror. Anaïs had gone to attend to a last-minute demand of Cecilia's, leaving Hetty and Isabel alone.

  "You look marvelous," breathed Hetty, standing behind Isabel and adjusting a hair pin.

  Isabel smiled at Hetty through the mirror, but her brows were drawn. The note she had received from Mr. Galbraith, agreeing to her suggestion, had been equally welcome and dispiriting. It was no use, though, wasting time or energy wishing that he didn’t want to regain Miss Darling’s affections. And, since he did, Isabel believed her plan to be the best way forward and the one most sure to achieve the happiness of Mr. Galbraith as well as preventing her own misery.

  She had been struggling against her vanity ever since preparations for the ball had begun, though. She wanted to present herself in the best possible light for Mr. Galbraith's sake. If she didn't, she doubted whether the thought of her as competition would even cross Miss Darling's mind.

  Even if Isabel did look her best, she couldn't help but feel eclipsed by the woman.

  When such thoughts came upon her, she had to ask herself whether it was really Mr. Galbraith's interests which motivated her to look her best. Or was it perhaps a pesky desire to compete in earnest with Julia Darling for the affections of Mr. Galbraith?

  She looked determinedly away from the mirror, turning toward Hetty to redirect such thoughts.

  As Mrs. Holledge was indisposed, Mary accompanied the Cosgroves to the ball. The carriage was dark when she climbed in from her family's lodgings, so it wasn't until the party stepped into the light of the ball that she was able to see Isabel.

  "Gracious me, Izzy," she exclaimed. "You're a vision! I believe you should always wear that shade of green."

  Isabel bit the inside of her lip. "Hetty insisted that I wear it. She and Anaïs very nearly came to blows over the matter. Anaïs believes I should stick to more muted colors."

  Mary looked her over again, shaking her head slowly. "Hetty was right, and it bodes well for her desire to become an lady’s maid. She clearly has the eye for it. Did she also do your hair? I don't believe I've ever seen you wear it like that. Or anyone, for that matter."

  "Yes, it's one of Hetty's creations." Isabel said, bringing a distracted hand to touch the base of her coiffure. "Anaïs was nearly done with my hair when Cecilia called for her again. Hetty was less than admiring of her work and decided to try her own hand at it."

  Mary's brows went up. "Well done, Hetty," she said softly, putting a hand on each of Isabel's arms to turn her so that she could admire the coiffure. "But I hope Anaïs doesn't eat her for it."

  Isabel laughed, feeling grateful for Mary's lighthearted conversation. She needed a break from her own thoughts and nerves.

  Given Cecilia's evident desire to set her sights higher than Lord Brockway, Isabel was having a difficult time remaining optimistic about the rest of her plans. When she conveyed to Mary that her hope for the evening was to help Miss Darling remember her regard for Mr. Galbraith, Mary groaned.

  "You are throwing away a perfectly good marriage offer." But before Isabel could answer her, she held up a hand to silence her. "But," she said with a sigh, "I know just how we can assist Miss Darling's memory."

  Isabel looked at Mary with misgiving but was prevented from inquiring what sort of methods she planned to use by the arrival of Mr. Galbraith himself.

  "Ah, there you are," said Mary with a civil curtsy.

  Mr. Galbraith bowed with a smile that faltered for the briefest moment as his eyes came upon Isabel. His eyes flitted up to her hair, and Isabel's cheeks grew warm. Did he think she looked ridiculous? Had Hetty been wrong about the coiffure?

  She swallowed, brushing aside her vain thoughts and reminding herself of her objective: help Miss Darling remember her love for Mr. Galbraith.

  "I give you fair warning," Isabel said, directing a significant look at him, "that Mary has just informed me that she has ideas—" she drew out the word "—for how to handle things this evening."

  Mr. Galbraith's brows went up, and he looked at Mary. "Ideas?"

  "I'm full of ideas," said Mary, stretching her neck and wagging her eyebrows.

  "Heaven help us," said Isabel, sharing an amused glance with Mr. Galbraith.

  "We may well require divine help," Mary said with a bite to her voice, "if the two of you intend to stand like that."

  Isabel and Mr. Galbraith both looked down at their feet and then at each other, exchanging nonplussed glances.

  Mary breathed in slowly and deeply, closing her eyes to summon patience with her pupils. "I mean," she said, "standing as if you're afraid of catching the plague from one another."

  She bumped into Isabel who moved to avoid falling. The shift brought her up against Mr. Galbraith, who steadied her with a firm grasp around the arm.

  "Pardon!" said Mary with false contrition. "So clumsy of me." She looked at Isabel and Mr. Galbraith with an approving smile. "Much better."

  Isabel sent a glance at Mary full of promised future chastisement. "I don't hesitate to tell you that I find your tactics barbaric, Mary."

  "And yet very effective," Mary countered.

  "Quite," said Mr. Galbraith.

  Isabel's head turned, and she looked at him with mock betrayal. "You take her side?"

  Mr. Galbraith's eyes twinkled. He leaned closer to Isabel as if to whisper, but when he spoke it was loud enough for Mary to hear. "Only because I am terrified of what she might do to me if I don't."

  Mary looked on this exchange with great approval, ignoring the jab at her tactics.

  "Traitor," Isabel said without rancor.

  "You are already doing much better, you know," said Mary. "But I believe I must still instruct you a bit if we are to carry this off convincingly. Do as I say, and I believe we will live to celebrate this night's work. Stray from what I say, and we will all regret it."

  Mr. Galbraith and Isabel looked at one another, controlling with difficulty their mirth at Mary's exaggerated gravity and authority.

  "Mr. Galbraith," Mary said in the tone of a commanding officer, and he wiped the smile from his face, replacing it with one of full attention. "On no account must you allow your eyes to wander over to Miss Darling during the evening. She is but an afterthought to you. Izzy is your primary concern."

  Isabel's jaw clenched. How long would she be able to keep up the charade? To hear Mary instruct Mr. Galbraith to pay her attention was difficult enough, but she also hadn't missed the small, determined breath Mr. Galbraith had taken before nodding his agr
eement.

  "Very good," Mary said. "You will move as if to pass by Miss Darling without even noticing her. By a chance glance you will suddenly remark her presence. Only then will you speak to her. Briefly." She emphasized the word. "Cheerfully, even. But you will be obliged to cut off the very civil and superficial exchange because you are promised to Izzy for a dance. You must look over toward Izzy when you say this, with all the eagerness of a man in love. Do you understand?"

  Isabel swallowed, and Mr. Galbraith nodded again with an appreciative smile at Mary.

  "It is all very exact," he said.

  "It is." Mary offered no apology. "Lastly, Mr. Galbraith, you must be sure that you ask Izzy to dance more than once. Two sets should be sufficient."

  "Surely that's not necessary," Isabel interjected. The thought of spending so much time near Mr. Galbraith was one she was simultaneously intrigued by and anxious to avoid. "Is not one set enough?"

  Mary looked at her for a moment before responding. "Decidedly not. The effect it will have on Miss Darling is essential to the plan."

  Isabel opened her mouth to protest. She was more worried about the effect on herself than on Miss Darling.

  "Izzy, are you dedicated to seeing this through or not?" Mary sounded severe, but Isabel thought she saw a glint of understanding in her friend's eyes.

  Mr. Galbraith turned to her, and their eyes met. His were searching and sincere. "Miss Cosgrove, if you are having any hesitations at all, please don't conceal them. I would not have you feel uncomfortable. Despite what Miss Holledge is saying—" he shot Mary a teasing glance "—we don't need to dance. Nor do we need to continue any of this if you are of a different mind. You know I have my own concerns."

  His sensitivity made it harder to refuse him what he wanted. Despite her hesitations, she knew she would go through with the plan. She wished to help him achieve what he wanted, so why not make use of their strange situation? It would please her father, too, to see them on the ballroom floor.

  And if she was going to do it, she might as well do her very best.