by Sabrina York
“I always wondered what all the fuss was about.”
“Do you understand now?”
“I think I do.” She smiled at him, and he had to smile back. “So . . . When do you suppose we can try that again?”
And he laughed. How could he not?
* * *
They made love two more times that day in the little lean-to and each was as wonderful as the last.
Then they made plans to meet the next day and the next.
He couldn’t have been happier.
But then, after he’d dressed her and sent her on her way, he realized he’d forgotten to share the one thing he’d meant to tell her . . . before they made love.
Damn and blast.
He resolved that he would tell her tomorrow, for certain. And he would do so before he touched her, otherwise, once again, it would be too late.
Chapter Six
Isobel returned to the Willouby stables in something of a daze. Her body ached, but in the very best of ways, as Nick had said.
She was also floating on an emotional cloud, still wafting along on the bliss they had shared.
She’d had no idea making love could be like that, and she was very much looking forward to doing it again. In fact, she couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
If she thought he might still be there in the woods, she would have turned around and ridden back into his arms.
What a pity she did not do that.
Because as she turned the corner and set eyes on the Willouby mansion, the world closed in on her. She slowed her mount to a stop and stared, her mood suddenly as drenched as her hair.
There were five fully loaded coaches in the drive.
That could only mean one thing.
Her family had arrived.
It was time to go to London.
She could have wept.
Instead, she steeled her spine and rode through the rain into the stable yard, turned the stallion over to the groom, and headed into the house.
In addition to her parents and her four (thoroughly annoying) younger brothers, her aunts and uncles had come, too. She didn’t mind Uncle Lachlan—he’d always been one of her most stalwart supporters—but the rest of them were beyond annoying. Aunt Hannah and Uncle Alexander had brought along their four children, ranging from ten to three. With Uncle Lachlan and Aunt Lana’s two, that was a total of ten babies. Ten.
It was positively mind numbing.
She had the sense to sneak up the servants’ stairs to her room and change into dry clothes before she presented herself. Her family knew her well, but it wouldn’t do to horrify Lady Willouby.
“There she is,” Papa said warmly as she stepped into the parlor, where everyone was gathered. Everyone, that was, but the children. Isobel could hear them playing in the billiards room.
She rushed over to give her father a hug. “Papa.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “Ach, I’ve missed you, my wee darling,” he said with a smile.
While Mama also gave her a hug, she did not proffer a smile. “Your hair is wet,” she announced, though Isobel already knew.
“I was out riding.”
Mama didn’t ask, In the rain? in an outraged tone as some mothers might, because she knew Isobel and because, given a choice of that or a dull tea party, she would probably do the same.
Her aunts and uncles all stood to greet her as well. Aunt Lana and Uncle Lachlan, Aunt Hannah and Uncle Alexander.
“Did you have fun with Lord Willouby’s archery course?” the latter asked her. That was the reason she’d stayed with Lady Willouby. Lord Willouby, a good friend of Uncle Lachlan, had the foremost archery training course in England, which was lying fallow while he was in London.
That and her lack of desire to visit an ailing aunt—even one as entertaining as Aunt Esmeralda.
And the fact that she’d had her fill of traveling in a coach with a veritable herd of children.
Mostly that last bit.
Among the three families, there were ten infants under ten traveling with them, and no matter how she managed to arrange her seating, she always ended up in a coach with at least two of the annoying ones.
Then again, they were all annoying in their own way.
“Isobel!” A stentorian tone rumbled through the room, and Isobel peeked around her uncles to see who it could be.
Her eyes widened as she recognized Aunt Esmeralda herself.
She rushed to her side and kissed her leathery cheek. “I thought you were ill,” she said. And then, quickly, “I’m so glad you’re not dying.”
“As if,” the old woman snorted.
“She miraculously recovered when we mentioned we were going to London,” Mama said with hardly a hint of irony in her tone.
“Bah. Of course I did. Who wants to languish in Haltwhistle with a bilious sister-in-law when one could go to London for one last Season before I die?”
Isobel nodded, though she had no desire to go to London for the first Season.
“You’re not going to die,” Mama said sternly.
“Darling,” Esmeralda barked. “Everyone dies. The trick is to try to have some fun in the doing of it.” She turned to Isobel and glowered. “Do sit. Have some tea. You’re wet.”
“Did you have a nice ride, dear?” Lady Willouby asked, pouring her a cup.
Isobel flushed as she recalled how nice a ride it had been. “Lovely. Thank you.”
“I should thank you, I suppose. For exercising Willouby’s stallion. He gets pent up when he doesn’t get his run, and hardly any of our grooms can handle him.”
“He’s a lovely beastie,” Isobel said. “I’ve enjoyed him immensely.”
“I’m so glad.”
“I canna thank you enough for letting Isobel stay with you,” Mama said.
“I’ve loved having her company. Such a sweet girl.” Lady Willouby sighed. “I get so lonely sometimes when Willouby’s in town.”
Aunt Esmeralda made a rude noise, as old ladies are wont to do. “Why do you not join him there? London is exciting.”
Lady Willouby took a sip of tea. “I must admit, I don’t care for all the jostling.”
Esmeralda sniffed. “It is crowded.”
“I was referring to the social jostling,” Lady Willouby said, offering a plate of cakes. “It’s so much more peaceful here. Occasionally the neighbors descend, but most of the time they leave me be. You must be thrilled to leave the dull country life, though, Isobel.”
Without reflection, Isobel sighed. “I’m not quite ready to leave yet,” she said.
To which Lady Willouby’s cheeks pinkened. “What a lovely thing to say, my dear.”
Isobel didn’t have the heart to tell her the true reason she didn’t want to leave. Thankfully, there was no need to speak the truth.
But it hung heavy on her heart.
Regret.
What a shame she had to leave him now, when she’d just discovered how wonderful physical passion could be with a man a woman really wanted.
What a shame she wouldn’t have a chance to say good-bye.
What a shame she would never see him again.
Ever . . .
“Darling.” Her mother put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t cry.”
Isobel blinked. “I’m not crying.”
To prove her lie, Mama dabbed at her cheeks with a serviette.
“Oh, my,” Lady Willouby said in a warble. “I had no idea you’d come to love it here so much. I am deeply moved.” Indeed, tears appeared in her eyes as well, and she waved her lace handkerchief before her face. After a moment, she turned to Mama and said, “Maybe she should stay here with me, while you all go to London. We are so very fond of each other, after all.”
Oh! What an excellent idea.
Isobel turned to Mama with hope in her—
And no. No. No.
Isobel knew that expression.
The answer was and always would be, no.
“My dearest Abigail. I
do appreciate that offer, and how sweet of you to make it. But Isobel is the reason we’re going to London, my dear. She must have a Season, you know.”
Lady Willouby—who was, apparently, Abigail—deflated. “Oh, yes. Of course. I understand. A girl does need her Season.”
“But I doona want a Season.”
“Of course you do,” Aunt Esmeralda crowed. “Don’t be a fool, gel. It’s parties and punting and handsome men all around—”
“She prefers archery,” Lady Willouby, her new best friend, averred.
Esmeralda glowered. “We can always find something for you to shoot at,” she said.
“This conversation is pointless,” Mama said. “Isobel, you are coming with us. It has always been the plan to introduce you and Catriona to society, and that is that.”
Isobel knew well enough to let it go. When her mother took that tone, a thing was written in stone. So a turn of the topic was advised.
“And where is Cat?” Catriona Bower, Isobel’s best friend and daughter of the Baron of Bowermadden, had come along on this journey to have her Season as well.
“She’s with the children,” Aunt Lana said.
Coincidentally, at that moment a crash resounded from the back of the house. Mama sent the look at Papa, who nodded and headed off to see what unmitigated disaster had transpired.
“So when will you leave?” Lady Willouby asked. “Do tell me you’ll stay a day or two?”
Though Isobel’s heart lifted, she knew her mother. She knew that now everyone had been collected, she would be impatient to get to London and settle in.
And of course, she said, “As soon as we can get Isobel packed.”
How dreary.
Isobel had one trunk and she’d only worn her habit and a couple of morning dresses. Almost everything was still in place.
“Don’t be silly. You can’t leave so soon.”
“We must, Lady Willouby,” Uncle Lachlan, who had been silent until now, stepped forward to insist. “I have meetings in London, and with the rain, we will no doubt be delayed. It’s best that we push through.”
No one, not even dear Lady Willouby, could deny the duke. She nodded and dabbed at her eyes again, which made Isobel really sad. She was a sweet lady and she had enjoyed this visit.
Uncle Lachlan seemed discomfited. He fidgeted from foot to foot. “Is there any message I can give Willouby for you?”
But before Lady Willouby could answer, the parlor was invaded by a horde of Mongols.
Though Papa was attempting to corral them, he was failing miserably.
They headed for the tea table and, like locusts, consumed everything in a heartbeat.
“Oh, dear,” said Lady Willouby, as there had been a lot of food there. She headed for the bell pull and rang for more.
Mama laughed. “Are you sure you still want us to stay for a few days?” she asked. “This lot will eat you out of house and home.”
Papa frowned. “I thought we were leaving directly.”
“We are, dear. As soon as our firstborn finishes packing.”
“She doesna appear to be packing.”
“She doesna want to leave.”
Before Isobel could respond, Papa turned to her with his fists on his hips and glowered. “You’re having your Season.”
“I—”
“If she doesna want her Season, I’ll take it.” This from Lileas, Aunt Lana’s youngest child. She smiled up at Papa and fluttered her lashes. Of all the Dounreay offspring, she was the only girl who was in the least interested in feminine things.
“You’re far too young,” her mother reminded her.
Lileas put out a lip. “I’m nearly six.”
“As your mother says,” Uncle Lachlan said, whipping her up into his arms and twirling around. “Far too young.”
Alexia, the third and final female of the brood—and Hannah’s eldest—crossed her arms and snorted. “I hope you’re no’ going to force me to go to London to find a husband when I’m old,” she said.
“I’m hardly old,” Isobel reminded her. “And I’m not going to find a husband.”
“What are we going all this way for, then?” Hannah’s Alexander—and Alexia’s twin—asked in a huff. There were two Alexanders, not counting Uncle Alexander. Isobel’s brother was named that as well. For some reason, Mama and her sister Hannah had both seen the need to name three of their boys Alexander, Andrew, and Lachlan, which was thoroughly confusing, but made things easy when one needed to yell a name in a hurry. One was likely to get it right one out of three times.
“This trip is not just for Isobel and Catriona,” Mama said. “We intend to expose all of you to the culture of England. Think of it as an educational opportunity.”
All of the Alexanders, Andrews, and Lachlans, as well as one Alexia and one William, groaned. For his part, Magnus, Isobel’s baby brother, who was just learning to walk, pounded the coffee table and cooed. Then he leaned over and drooled on the new cakes the maid had brought.
Mama sighed, scowled at Papa and scooped Magnus up. And then, of course, he drooled on her. “Isobel, dear. Please go pack.”
Indeed. Mama was ready to get to London.
And hire a governess, no doubt. Maybe more than one.
“Of course.” Isobel stood and glanced at Catriona, who nodded.
They had been birds of a feather since childhood, and barely needed to speak to be understood. Thank God Catriona had come along. Catriona never lectured or looked sour when Isobel had a brilliant idea. And vice versa.
“I’ll help,” Catriona said.
“I’ll help, too,” Mama said, handing Magnus off to Papa. She probably wanted to help just so she could hand Magnus off to Papa. Now that the little beastie was teething, he’d developed a proclivity to bite.
But damn.
Isobel and Catriona exchanged another speaking glance. They would have to wait to share the stories of their adventures, because it wouldn’t do to have Mama hear.
Even so, Isobel wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about Nick yet.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready to share her feelings about him.
It was all too sad for words.
Especially now that she’d never see him again.
* * *
Nick waited for Isobel the next day. He sat in the rain and waited, but she never came.
And she didn’t show up the next day, or the next.
By the time he pried the truth out of Lady Swofford—that the Sinclairs and the Lochlannachs had returned and the entire party had gone—she had probably already arrived in London.
He left the very next day in a dismal mood.
Chapter Seven
It was torture.
Absolute torture.
She had to get away.
Even though the Mayfair mansion they were staying in was large, well, simply put, it wasn’t large enough.
When Isobel suggested they go for an early-morning ride in Hyde Park, which was only a few blocks from their humble abode, Catriona was more than willing to abet her escape.
Mornings were the worst.
Though Uncle Lachlan had secured several nannies for the clamoring brood, Isobel and Cat, as the eldest, were often tasked with helping out.
And frankly, they’d both had enough.
Another annoyance was the fact that they were in London.
Oh, it was exciting, despite her dread of the coming Season. Isobel loved to explore, and this was an exciting adventure. She couldn’t wait to visit Vauxhall, Covent Garden, and Astley’s. And of course, the museums. The Elgin Marbles in particular, which were reportedly exceedingly scandalous.
But every time she brought these things up, her mother would say, “Let’s settle in first, dear.”
They’d been here a week. How long did they need to settle in?
So Isobel and Cat were reduced to stealing away to ride in Hyde Park.
Then there was the other annoyance of being in town.
It was, well, i
n town.
Isobel found she didn’t care for the closed-in feeling of all the buildings, though in their neighborhood the buildings were, indeed, grand. She didn’t like the soot in the air from all the coal stoves, and mostly, she didn’t like the fact that there were people everywhere.
Not to mention the smells. Or the mysterious puddles on the ground (though it had decidedly not rained). There was hustle and bustle and nowhere to just be.
Riding was as close as she could come to feeling free.
“I love this,” Cat said, pointing her nose to the sky and drawing in a deep breath.
Indeed, the trees did seem to make the air fresher in the park.
“I do as well. Much better than sitting in the nursery.”
Cat pulled a face. “Your family is . . .”
“What?”
“Prolific.”
“What can I say? They’re all in love.” This she said in a certain tone, one Cat understood. They both felt their parents would benefit from a good dose of decorum. But whenever the couples got close to each other, there was cooing and kissing. And, eventually, babies.
More babies.
Isobel had never really understood the attraction.
Not until Nick.
Her heart stuttered as he crossed her mind again, as he had every day since she’d left the Willoubys. She wished she’d been able to say good-bye, but there had been no time. Her parents had packed her up and taken her straightaway.
She’d been devastated.
She wasn’t sure why.
Well, hell. She was.
She had enjoyed her time with Nick. All of it. But she’d especially enjoyed their tanglings.
And now? Now that she was here and he was there? There was a dark void in her heart, one she couldn’t seem to fill. No doubt she’d forget him, in time.
She hoped.
“Honestly. I don’t know why you asked me to come with you,” Cat said.
“Huh? What?” Isobel blinked at her friend.
“I’ve been talking to you and you’ve been ignoring me.”
“I was no’!”
“Really? What did I just say?”
“You were talking about . . . dresses.”
“I most certainly was no’. Really, Isobel. What is going on with you?”
“Nothing.” Nothing she could talk about. How could she tell Cat—the lifelong friend, with whom she had made a vow to avoid the coils of marriage—that she’d met a man who made her question everything? Not that it mattered. She was never going to see him again.
