Isabella's Secret Summer

by Tabetha Waite

  With most of the work done in the stables, Ridge returned to the castle where he took a bath and changed.

  He left his chamber to seek out Isabella, but when he didn’t find her in her chambers, or the kitchens, the hair on the back of his neck began to prickle. When she wasn’t in the gardens, he returned to the castle and found Claudia heading up the stairs. “Where is your mistress?”

  She drew a startled gasp, and he regretted his rather harsh tone, but he was growing desperate to find his errant charge. “The last time I saw her, she was in the master’s quarters.”

  Ridge gave a curt nod and took the stairs two at a time until he reached the upper level. After a quick search of the main rooms, it didn’t take him long to find her lying on her side on one of the settees in the salon.

  Another section of his heart thawed, for she was fast asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Isabella’s eyes fluttered open. She wasn’t sure what had woken her, but she covered her mouth on a yawn. She couldn’t remember when she’d slept so soundly. She hadn’t even meant to take a nap, but her eyes had grown heavy while she’d been playing a solitary round of cards so she had decided to rest them for a moment.

  She sat up and jumped when she saw movement by the door. Once she realized who it was, she put a hand to her pounding heart. “You gave me a fright, Mr. Claymoore.”

  He must have taken her statement as an invitation to join her, for he moved farther into the room. “I regret doing so, my lady. Although I assure you, it wasn’t intentional.”

  Isabella wasn’t sure whether to leave or stay, his crass words from that morning still a fresh wound to her self-confidence. For the moment, she remained where she was, watching as he drew closer and looked at the set of cards that were still laid out on the table nearby. “I knew Lord Liverpool kept a set of cards around here somewhere.” He glanced at her. “What were you playing?”

  “It’s called Patience.”

  He nodded. “I’ve heard of it. Is it difficult?”

  “Not really,” she returned with a single shrug. “But it’s a one player game,” she was also quick to point out.

  “I see.” His lips turned up at the corners. “I don’t suppose you’d like to take me on in a game of Speculation?”

  While Isabella was aware it wasn’t in her best interests to entertain him any longer than it took to excuse herself from the room, she was tempted by his offer. It had been years since she’d played that particular game. In truth, she hadn’t played any sort of card games in years, as those were generally reserved for men at the gaming halls and smoky ballrooms, courting couples, and the occasional house party to pass the time.

  Since Isabella was generally fading into the wallpaper at any such event, she’d never had much of an opportunity to indulge herself. Patience was one of the few games she’d continued, for it could be played on her own, and it was an activity that her mother didn’t disapprove of.

  She rose to her feet and moved toward the table. “What do you suggest we use to place our bids?”

  He reached into his pocket, withdrew several shillings, and tossed them on the surface. “We can split those up evenly.”

  She tilted her head. “You’d be willing to share your coins with me?”

  “Why not?” He shrugged. “I’ll undoubtedly get them back eventually.”

  Isabella couldn’t help but laugh as she sat down. “In that case, I will do my best to beat you at your own game.”

  “Spoken like a true gambler,” he murmured. But when she would have gathered up the cards to reshuffle the pack, he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew another set. “We can put those away. I prefer to use my own deck.”

  Isabella returned the cards to the cabinet where she’d found them and returned to the table where he was already seated. As she sat down, she pointed to the cards in his hand, “Can I trust that you won’t cheat with those?”

  He eyed her steadily. “I suppose the only way to prove to you that they are genuine and not altered in any way is to show them to you.” With that, he set them on the table and slid them across to her. “Feel free to verify their authenticity, my lady.”

  Isabella carefully picked them up. But the instant she looked at the Medieval pictures on the faces, she knew there was something different about them. “What kind of set is this? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “They’re from the late sixteenth century. They were designed in Rouen, France by a man named Pierre Marechal and where the English playing card style that we are familiar with originated from.”

  “Then why don’t they all look this way?” she asked.

  “Because England banned the import of French cards in 1628. After which, the new designs were only modeled after these.”

  She had to admit it was an interesting history. She handed the pack back to him. “So how is it that you are in possession of a set of them?”

  He was silent for a moment, and then said quietly, “They were a gift from someone who had ties with antiquities.”

  In spite of his vague answer, Isabella was burning with curiosity about who it was, but since it was undoubtedly a female friend, perhaps even a mistress, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to know after all.

  He shuffled the cards with an expertise that she had never seen. “I suppose you visit the gaming hells quite often.”

  “Not particularly.”

  She frowned. “Then how did you learn how to cut a deck like that?”

  He didn’t speak until he’d passed out the cards, laying the trump in the middle of the table and setting the rest aside. His eyes met hers, as he said, “I suppose I’m just good with my hands.”

  Isabella’s stomach clenched. He’s speaking of his ability with the coin, you imbecile. Nothing more. “Yes.” She cleared her throat as she focused on the main card rather than choosing to meet his direct gaze again. “I daresay as much as I practice, I’ll never master your coin trick.”

  “Practice and patience is all you need,” he said softly. “To master anything.”

  This time she found it rather difficult to swallow. Fortunately, the card she picked up registered in her mind at last. It was the King of Hearts. She suppressed a snort. How appropriate that particular one should be the card they’d have to bid on. She checked her hand and threw in a couple coins. “I wager two shillings.”

  “Accepted.”

  Isabella was rather surprised that he was willing to concede defeat so easily, but she wasn’t about to argue. She took the card and added it to the rest. However, when the play ended and it was time for them to turn their highest facing cards upward, she was disheartened to see that he held the Ace of Spades.

  “Let’s consider that a practice round,” he suggested, as he returned her coins to her. He gathered the cards and handed them over to her as well. “You deal this time. It’s only fair.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re just taking pity on me because I lost. Either that, or because I’m a woman.”

  “I would never offer pity solely based on your sex.” He paused. “Other things perhaps, but I fear that’s in my nature as part of the male species.”

  Isabella fumbled with her grip on the deck, but she recovered quickly enough and passed out the next set. Either way, she thought it was best not to acknowledge that last statement. “I’m relieved to hear it. I daresay I should hate to win faced with the thought that you didn’t try your utmost to best me.”

  He chuckled at that. “You sound rather confident of your abilities.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “I wouldn’t be much of an opponent if I accepted defeat lightly.”

  “Indeed, my lady,” he murmured. “You’re turning out to be quite an adversary.”

  Isabella wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted by that remark, but she decided to let it pass as she put all her focus on the game. When her persistence paid off and she won the next round, she clapped her hands together with delight.

  “Well
done, Lady Isabella.”

  With a particularly smug smile, she glanced up at Mr. Claymoore, and her heart somersaulted in her chest. He was running his thumb along the lower half of his chin. She might not have noticed such a simple action at any other time, but combined with those penetrating dark eyes, it captured her attention.

  She handed the deck to him and said rather breathlessly, “It’s your turn to deal, I think.”

  He reached out, but instead of taking the cards, his hand rested lightly over hers. A flurry of butterfly wings went into flight in her midsection as their eyes locked. Time slowed to a halt as she waited for him to say something, do something, in order to break the sudden spell that had been cast over them.

  “I meant what I said last night.”

  Her pulse began to race. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because I thought you should know the truth. After everything that bastard Wistenberry did to you, I figured that you should at least be given the courtesy of a direct answer.” With devastating slowness, he removed his hand from hers.

  Isabella didn’t know what else to say except, “Thank you, Mr. Claymoore.”

  A heavy tension surrounded them, so Isabella was thankful when Mrs. Hopper popped her head around the doorframe. “Ah, there you are! I thought you should know that supper is ready, Lady Isabella.” She nodded to Ridge. “Your tray is already in your chambers as requested, Mr. Claymoore.”

  Ridge rose to his feet and tucked the cards in his pocket. “Thank you, Mrs. Hopper.” He turned and inclined his head toward Isabella. “Good evening, my lady.”

  He turned and left all the coins on the table, so when Isabella stood, she did the same. Besides, it wasn’t as if either one of them had won the game. In truth, she wondered if it wasn’t just beginning.

  She joined Mrs. Hopper and as they made their way downstairs. The older woman turned to her. “Perhaps it’s just me, but I feel as if I interrupted something just now.”

  Isabella waved her hand. “Don’t be silly. We were just playing a simple round of cards.”

  But as they entered the kitchens, she highly doubted that there was anything “simple” about Mr. Claymoore.

  ***

  The next week passed by rather uneventfully. Isabella rarely crossed paths with Mr. Claymoore, who continued to take his supper tray in his rooms. During the day, he was out with Mr. Hopper checking things on the castle grounds, while Isabella generally spent her time trying to keep herself occupied. She had inspected just about every inch of the master’s apartments and taken long walks along the lower bastions, but the continued solitude was starting to wear on her quite heavily. She stared out at the sea often, wondering when this dreaded isolation would end.

  Of course, Claudia and Mrs. Hopper were more than happy to join her when they could, but while the latter was generally somewhere in the kitchens, her maid was working on mending or laundry, so that left Isabella to her own devices.

  Sadly, or perhaps thankfully, there had been no further card games in the evening. And yet, the sensual dreams that began invading her sleeping hours were just as strong as ever.

  Surely, with no evidence to suggest that Simon was even in the area, she might be able to leave the castle for a short time, even if she had to contend with Mr. Claymoore’s brooding presence.

  Thus, when Ethel mentioned going into the village to gather a few things from the market, Isabella had immediately perked up. But when she approached the older woman with the prospect of joining her, Ethel’s mouth had drawn down in regret. “Oh, Mr. Claymoore wouldn’t approve of that. He is quite adamant about you leaving the castle.”

  Isabella was momentarily deflated, but as an idea formed in her head, she said, “In that case, I may have a solution to the problem.”

  Mrs. Hopper looked at her curiously, but Isabella headed out in search of her quarry.

  She found Ridge a short time later. He was pruning the hedges with Herb. Her face warmed when she saw that his white shirt was open to the center of his chest and rolled up to the elbows, the sweat from his labor dampening the rest, where it clung to his body like a second skin. He truly was a magnificent man.

  But she put such thoughts aside, to be locked away in her imagination that night. Knowing that he preferred a direct approach, she said, “I’d like to go with Mrs. Hopper to the village.”

  “I don’t see a problem with that.” Her spirits lifted. “Over my dead body,” he added. And her hopes crashed back to the earth.

  “Even if you were to escort us?”

  He blew out a heavy breath. “We’ve gone over this before—”

  “I realize that,” she interrupted. “But I don’t intend to be recognized.”

  “The answer is no.” With that, he turned back to what he’d been doing, obviously intending that to be the end of the subject.

  Isabella wouldn’t be dissuaded. She reached out and dared to touch his exposed forearm. His muscles jumped beneath her touch, but otherwise, he didn’t move. “Please, Mr. Claymoore. I promise that I won’t bother you after today. I just need to get out of these walls, if for a short while. You told me that I wasn’t a prisoner here, and for the past week I’ve abided by your wishes. But nothing has happened. Simon hasn’t even tried to contact me. All I know is that if I remain inside this cold stone for one more day I’m going to be…” She paused to try to find the right word to express her anxiety. In the end, she whispered, “Suffocated.”

  She swallowed hard. “I know you still believe that my husband means to enact some sort of additional revenge, but he’s already taken everything from me. He surely can’t want anything else.”

  She held her breath as she waited for him to say something. In the end, he frowned and gestured to her red hair. “And how might you manage to hide that?”

  She smiled broadly, relief flowing through her veins. “I have a solution to that. Follow me.”

  He eyed her warily, but did as she asked. She just prayed that she could convince him that her plan would work.

  It didn’t take her long to find her maid. She had taken to sitting in the salon when she sewed. “Claudia. Would you stand up for a moment?” She had already told the girl her idea, so she immediately rose to her feet, and then Isabella looked at Mr. Claymoore. “We’re of a similar height and build. The marked difference is our hair, which will be covered with a bonnet.”

  He stood before them with a critical expression. “What about your faces?”

  Isabella had already thought of that too. “I’ll make sure and keep the brim pulled low.”

  But for all her arguments, she could tell he wasn’t fully convinced, for his mouth was set in a grim line.

  “If it will make you feel better, we’ll test our theory on Mr. Hopper before we go.”

  She held her breath while he appeared to think it over. After an interminable length of time, he sighed heavily. “Fine. But make it quick, and don’t expect to tarry when we’re gone.”

  Isabella clapped her hands together as she rushed down the stairs, practically dragging her maid behind her. In her chamber, they hastily changed gowns. Once Claudia had donned Isabella’s muslin day dress and she was wearing the maid’s simple gray gown, it really was hard to tell them apart, except that Isabella’s bosom was a bit larger. Even so, it wasn’t enough to draw attention to the fact that they had switched identities.

  Mr. Claymoore was waiting for them in the hall, and together, they all returned to the kitchens. Mrs. Hopper was still there, and as if divine providence had decided to intercede, her husband was present as well.

  Herb glanced up when the trio walked in and offered a smile. “And where might you be off to, Lady Isabella?” he asked. Isabella opened her mouth to answer him but realized that he wasn’t actually addressing her.

  “I thought I’d take a turn in the inner courtyard,” Claudia replied politely, trying to mimic her mistress’ voice.

  Mr. Hopper shook his head. “It’s certainly a lovely enough day for it
. Perhaps I might even join you.”

  Claudia glanced at Isabella, although she replied, “I’d like that.”

  As he went back outside, Mr. Claymoore’s mouth tightened. “That really doesn’t prove anything. Herb’s eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”

  But it was Mrs. Hopper’s exclamation of delight that made all the difference. “While Herb and I weren’t blessed with children of our own, I daresay our daughter would have been just as practical as you are, Lady Isabella! A perfect way to hide in plain sight.”

  Isabella had never been fortunate enough to know either of her grandparents, but she would have liked to think one of them would have been just like her and Herb. She dipped into a mock curtsy. “Thank you.”

  But while she’d gained the approval of everyone else, it was Mr. Claymoore’s final word that made all the difference. His jaw tightened visibly, but he said, “I can see I’ve been outnumbered.” He looked at her, his gaze stern and unyielding. “Stay close and don’t wander. We get what we need and come back straightaway.”

  Isabella resisted the urge to put her arms around him, although she did offer him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mr. Claymoore.”

  ***

  It was but a short carriage ride to the nearest village of Kingsdown, but to Isabella, it was the taste of freedom she’d been denied for days. Even if she had to endure a pair of watchful dark eyes, she’d needed this brief excursion into civilization. If nothing else, it would remind her that the world continued to turn, and that someone was out there enjoying his or her life to the fullest.

  “Did you know that this is where Herb and I first settled after we were wed?”

  Isabella turned to Mrs. Hopper. “I did not.”

  “We lived there almost twenty years but then moved to Deal,” she noted. “I normally go there for provisions, as they have a better selection of fish, but it’s also known as one of the main smuggling ports these days and doesn’t always have the best reputation. Herb and I go there quite frequently, but newcomers are specifically noted, so I decided it was best to avoid that particular route.”