She let out a mortified groan. ‘He is leaving.’
Lord Lutts thought her practical and congenial. Isabelle’s eyes fell closed. Without effort, she heard Constantine’s throaty whisper beside her ear as he labeled her passionate and fiery, delicious beyond words. She released a long uneven breath and opened her lids. Meredith stood over her, a few envelopes clutched in her left hand.
‘Are you all right?’
She did not answer at first. She would never be all right again.
‘Yes, I will be fine. I did not mean to startle you.’
‘What happened in the garden with Lord Lutts? Was it not his ordinary visit?’
Ordinary. The word described Lord Lutts perfectly. Isabelle shook her head as if to chase away the situation. Ordinary was exactly what she needed to restore her pragmatic nature. Stability. Lord Lutts represented an agreeable, predictable life. She twisted her fingers together in her lap. Was that what she truly wanted? Predictability and practicality? At one time she revered the two qualities, but now they seemed altogether unlike her. Unlike who she’d become.
Constantine. Why couldn’t she stop her foolish hoping that an explanation existed to forgive why he never came to Wiltshire? She must force herself to believe he proved as shallow as Meredith predicted. Were she to read those detestable scandal sheets, she suspected his name would be equally as popular as before her trip to London. Still the itchy little question as to why Constantine hadn’t inquired of Lily’s health would not remain quiet. She exhaled, exasperated, her heart at war with her sensibility.
‘I do not wish to worsen your discomfort.’ Meredith stepped closer, her expression serious. ‘But as I sorted the mail, I discovered these envelopes addressed to you. They bear the Highborough crest.’
She rushed to her feet, a deep exhale escaping as if she’d held her breath for ever. Her hand trembled as she took the letters, and then she fell back into the same chair, the envelopes atop the skirt of her gown as if fragile and otherworldly. She ran her fingertip over the garnet wax seal in a tentative caress and traced the embossed horse head with care. What would these letters contain, an explanation for his absence or a message of regret and farewell?
She knew not how long she contemplated the matter. It wasn’t until Meredith’s sharp gasp dragged her attention across the room that she broke free from the hold of the envelopes on her lap. Meredith stood near the fireplace, her fingers pressed against her lips as she held The Morning Post.
‘What is it?’ Isabelle shot up, the letters clutched to her heart. ‘What does it say?’
Meredith paled, her eyes filled with sadness. ‘You should read it yourself. It concerns Constantine and another woman. It is not good.’
Isabelle snatched the newspaper and scanned the column as a mortified gasp escaped. She ordered herself not to weep, but the tears came anyway. Having no free hand to wipe them away, she rushed to the fire grate and tossed the newspaper into the flames, before she raised the letters and moved to do the same.
‘Stop!’ Meredith’s command rang across the otherwise silent room. ‘You will regret that choice.’ Her voice was softer now, but Isabelle returned her eyes to the flames, her own despair overshadowing her stepmother’s words.
‘Some day you will wish to know what he said and there will be no undoing once you have burned his words.’
Isabelle glanced over her shoulder. Tears wet her cheeks and a newfound strength unfurled in her belly. What a fool she had been to believe his honeyed promises. How pathetic had she appeared to bask in his attention when so fickly it was given.
‘It is for the best.’ She moved the letters nearer the fire as she spoke. ‘I cannot suffer his apology. And what else could he possibly have to say?’ Then she dropped the letters into the flames and rushed from the room on a broken sob.
***
Adelaide’s Stamford Street apartment was situated on the corner of a bustling city square. Constantine accomplished excellent time and aligned his gig beside two others. With a wry twist of the lips he considered who else besides the physician, waited inside. His well-practised glare at the servant who answered the door gained him admittance, and Con was shown to the sitting room with haste. Lord Norton stood near the bookcase, a full glass of brandy in hand, although the hour had not reached ten in the morning. The gentleman appeared considerably agitated.
‘Norton.’ Constantine greeted him with a short nod.
‘Highborough.’
Lord Norton came forward and they shook hands, although a palpable unease hung in the air. Con watched as the young man placed his drink on the table with care and turned towards the window in an effort to obliterate any chance at conversation. He wondered at the tale Adelaide spun to fill Norton’s waiting ear.
‘Found yourself in a bit of a spot at The National Gallery, eh?’
It appeared another topic, one Norton was more comfortable with, would serve as congenial conversation. Con would much prefer to discuss Adelaide and her suspected scheme to snare him into marriage. He leveled Norton an indulgent stare.
‘Yes, it is always the choicest news that travels the fastest, is it not?’
Norton appeared strained, though the rejoinder was intended in jest.
‘Good of you to joke of it, but then as peers, we are fortunate not to pay too heavily for our transgressions.’
‘Interesting choice of words.’ Norton had to be aware of Adelaide’s claim he’d got her with child. The man’s guarded apprehension presented his condition even if his words feigned indifference. Brooks and his information network were rarely proven incorrect.
If Norton thought to make light of Adelaide’s suggestion she carried his child or worse, to challenge him over the issue, Con would have difficulty keeping a reign on his temper. He sought to speak to the physician occupied upstairs. Nothing more, nothing less.
Then, as if he had located his backbone, Norton’s demeanour transformed. ‘Adelaide holds an unhealthy fascination for you and the stir you create among the ton. I believe she is enamoured with your lifestyle.’ He lifted his glass from the table and finished the liquid. ‘I cannot compete with such a high degree of popularity. While I am established and well liked among society, I rarely capture the ton’s attention, and worse, I enjoy it that way.’ Norton’s jaw was tight set, as if it pained him to make the admittance.
Con turned to him with a stern expression and the man paled.
‘I have a few questions for the physician.’ Con motioned towards Norton’s glass. ‘Where did you find that?’ His eyes scanned the room taking in the purely feminine decor of floral pillows and fashion magazines; not a liquor bottle in sight.
‘Poor manners of me.’ Norton started across the room, dipped to a lower cabinet and produced another glass and the brandy decanter. His actions demonstrated an innate familiarity within the apartment. He poured the amber liquid and offered it forward.
‘Not to worry, Highborough.’ Norton paused for a breath. ‘The child Adelaide carries is mine.’
Constantine almost missed Norton’s cautious confession as he thanked him for the brandy.
‘Adelaide and I have been together for some time now. She became angered when I refused to introduce her to my family. She accused me of being ashamed of her.’ He paused again, visibly agitated with whatever was forthcoming and measuring Con’s reaction. ‘If she intimated a different version of the truth to you, it is her way of retaliating and pressing me into action. I behaved in the worst way when handling our relationship. I care for Adelaide deeply, no matter her mercurial moods. She is my responsibility, not yours.’
A wave of relief swept over Con with the realisation Norton, unlike Adelaide, functioned with a clear mind. He had no time to respond as the physician entered the room.
‘Gentlemen.’ The doctor wore a grim expression. ‘Someone will need to console the lady upstairs.’
Norton stepped forward, but did not leave the drawing room.
‘Console her? Whatever for?�
�� Constantine asked, his heartbeat hard in his chest.
‘She is not with child and is not taking the news well. It is expected, when one embraces the possibility of motherhood, to feel disappointment when told the outcome is not to be. I explained to her that there can be many causes for her body’s irregularities each month and that she should not jump to conclusions in the future.’ The physician removed his hat and topcoat from the hook near the door. ‘In the meantime, I believe she would benefit from companionship until she recovers her emotions.’
Constantine thanked the physician and the man took his leave. He thumped Norton on the shoulder to bid him goodbye. He held no doubt Norton would console Adelaide. By the man’s admission, he cared for her. He leapt from the porch, unable to erase the smile from his face, determined to return home and order Merlot saddled. Finally, he would hold Isabelle again.
***
Isabelle kneeled by the garden and examined her immaculate flowerbeds. How lovely it would be if life proved as easy to maintain. She sighed and collected a few vibrant bluebells to add to her overflowing basket of roses and daffodils. It neared late afternoon and she meant to finish before Lord Lutt’s arrival at four-thirty. She’d spent the entire week, most daylight hours and night, deliberating his suggestion they begin a formal courtship. Meanwhile her heart ached whenever she considered Constantine and the various reports in the scandal sheets. She could not stop thinking about him, no matter how harshly she chastised herself for lamenting the loss of his affection. No matter how often Lily insisted he would arrive.
A fleeting smile attempted to lift her spirits at the thought of her sister, but the burn of fresh tears chased it away. If she did not stop her foolish crying she would look a sight when Lord Lutts arrived. She wiped at her cheeks and did not pause to remove her gloves.
The wind shifted. A few loose curls tangled with her trembling fingers and she pushed them away. Someone approached on the slate path behind her. Their boots marked a rhythm, too heavy a footfall for Lily, and too quickly made for Lord Lutts. A little voice warned her not to look over her shoulder, but her errant heart skipped as she pulled at her gloves, struggling in haste to remove the left one before she thrust them both to the ground. She gathered her skirts and froze within the action.
Black Hessian boots entered her line of vision near the slate at her knees. Lord Lutts wore brown boots, well used and comfortable. These boots were covered with dust, as if from a hard ride, but the dirt did not detract from the quality, and the shine prevailed despite the coating of earth.
She eased her eyes upward and willed herself to breathe as her mind raced with questions and contradictions. Tight-fitted camel breeches led to a navy blue waistcoat over a fawn cambric shirt. The visitor wore no neck cloth. Isabelle took in Constantine’s face and her eyes watered again.
He wore an easy grin and she offered a wobbly smile, despite every plan, promise, and vow she’d made earlier. He stood before her looking wonderfully handsome, his hair tousled from the wind or the ride, she did not know. His eyes searched her face, his expression touched her heart, and every part of her quaked. She could not trust herself to stand.
He viewed her a breath longer, then he swept down onto one knee and grasped her bare hands in his to smooth over the palms and quiet their nervous trembling. She could not speak. She hardly knew what he was about before he reached forward. The warmth of his wrist caressed her cheek.
‘Don’t,’ she objected in a whisper.
Isabelle heard him draw a roughened breath and she fought against the rioting emotions that tumbled her heart head over heels. She could no more withhold her response to his touch than she could keep her heart from beating.
‘How I’ve missed the sight of you, your magnificent hair flowing freely around your shoulders.’
He should have been wearing gloves, but Constantine followed few rules. When his bare palm cupped her cheek and his thumb stroked the track of her tears, she shuddered, unable to stop herself from nestling closer to his caress. Emotion consumed her throat and her mind whirled with the shock of seeing him. Surely he did not expect to simply reappear and all would be forgiven.
He must have noticed the change or seen doubt in her eyes because he answered the question she had no courage to ask.
‘I thought you did not read the scandal sheets, love. It was all a lie, not a shred of it truth. Do not believe it.’ A hint of desperation coloured the words.
They both rose, the magic of their reunion shattered as reality intruded. Finally, she calmed enough to formulate words.
‘I expected you some time ago.’ Her murmur was a faint shadow compared to the depth of emotion welled within.
‘But you’ve read my letters. You knew why I could not come.’
He shook his head as if he were the one to misunderstand. Did he believe he could walk into her garden after a month spent in wait and self doubt, after two magical days, and nights, to pick up where they had left off before Lily became ill?
Perhaps her silence confused him. When he spoke again, his voice possessed a distinct brusqueness that forced her eyes to his.
‘I love you, Isabelle.’
Her heart squeezed, and she held her breath in anticipation.
‘And I know you love me. I have never been so sure of anything in my life.’
‘Those are smooth, honeyed words.’ Her whisper was barely audible.
‘No, they are rare and untried, never before given.’
He reached forward and clasped her hand. In a desperate attempt not to be swayed by his admission, she snatched it away.
‘You should go. I no longer know what I want. What was once clear in my heart is now clouded in my head.’ She paused, to let her words become real, because she knew much later she would hate what she had to say. ‘We are from different worlds.’ She ignored the pang of sadness her admission wrought, and forced herself to look at him, her heart consumed with love and regret.
‘You are my world.’
Tears stung her eyes upon hearing his honest admission. Still the disappointment and pain of suspecting he fathered a child with another woman held fast. And of not knowing his true feelings. And the torment of considering every possibility for his absence for over a month. A curious tension stretched the air between them.
He spoke, his voice determined. ‘I will leave you then.’
Her eyes darted to his. Did he see the flicker of panic?
‘I will return soon to call. I have purchased a gift for Lily and would very much like to deliver it. Until then.’ He offered her a short nod and with a brisk turn, left.
It was for the best. She knew that well. Still she promptly collapsed on the marble bench, and gave way to her tears.
***
Constantine wanted to throw something. Of course, the thought of throwing Isabelle over his shoulder and taking her back to the inn where he held rooms tempted him like the devil, but now was not the time.
There was no denying the lady’s emotion. For once, he could read every glimmer of doubt, relief, and affection in the lovely grey depths of her eyes. She had pushed him away, but also begged him for comfort. He vowed to erase her doubts no matter that disappointment edged through him at the finality of her reply.
He reached the back of the estate and Meredith met him at the doorway. At her indication, they returned to the drawing room where he’d entered. Rossmore House was tastefully decorated, scrupulously tidy, and bespoke Isabelle’s influence.
When he declined Meredith’s invitation for tea, she stalled him with her next sentence. ‘Give her a little time. She has been heartsick over Lily and heartbroken over you for more than a month. Be patient. Isabelle is a most sensible woman. Right now she does not know whether to follow her heart or her head.’
‘But I explained in my letters.’ If his impatience with the situation penetrated his reply, he could not avoid it.
Meredith shook her head. ‘She never read your letters. We just discovered them in a pile of mai
l that accumulated while we cared for Lily.’ She paused and glanced across the room to where a fire burned in the grate. ‘She was so angered by the scandal sheets, when I gave her your letters she tossed them into the flames unread.’
Con exhaled a long breath. ‘That does explain things more fully.’ The silence lingered until he inquired of Lily. ‘And where is the little sprite? Completely recovered, I assume.’
‘Here I am.’
Lily bounced down the last few stairs as if she waited for the perfect time to make an entrance and launched herself towards him with a tight embrace.
‘I see you are no worse for wear.’ He lifted her small hand upward and twirled her in a circle to examine her person. Lily answered with a giggle.
‘She gave us all a fright.’ Meredith moved beside her daughter and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.
‘Would you like to meet my mouse? Her name is Theodora. I can fetch her and bring her downstairs.’ Lily looked towards the staircase and then back again. ‘I knew you would come to Rossmore House.’
Her bright eyes bore into him with a worshipful satisfaction he did not deserve.
‘I think you should save Theodora for the next time I visit. I really must go. I needed to talk to Isabelle…’
‘I know. I watched from my window.’ Lily smiled, unashamed by her admittance.
‘Lily. Manners.’ Meredith took hold of her daughter’s hand and pulled her close. ‘What a little busybody you are.’
Said with such affection, the words held no true admonishment, and Constantine suspected he knew exactly where Lily inherited the trait.
The wall clock chimed and all three individuals glanced in its direction.
‘Tuesday, four-thirty in the afternoon,’ Con murmured as he retrieved his gloves from the entry table and strode towards the door. ‘I suspect another visitor is due. I will return. I have a present to deliver. Lutts or no Lutts, expect me.’
He winked at Lily as he reached the hall, and paused when he heard Meredith call after him.
‘Lord Lutts is courting Isabelle. He is intent on making her his wife. You should know.’
To Love a Wicked Scoundrel Page 23
