by M C Beaton
Lord Harry had meant, had really intended, to escort Isabella and his sister, but he worried over the problem of Lord Rupert and Isabella until a banging of the street door and a glance at the clock told him the hour was late and James had left without him.
A shadow crossed Lucy’s golden evening on the way to the ball when the captain said, “I must thank you for your beautiful letters.” Lucy gave him a stricken look and the captain wondered what on earth he had said to upset her. He felt he could not pursue the matter with Isabella and her parents present and wished them all at the devil.
To his relief, Isabella and her parents were hailed by friends, and so he brought Lucy a glass of lemonade and, by turning his back on the Chadburys and shielding her from their view, managed to ask her why she had appeared so distressed when he had mentioned her letters. “I feel like a fraud,” said Lucy. “My spelling despite Isabella’s schooling this past summer is still atrocious, and so I got Isabella to write them for me. I thought you liked them. You wrote and said they were like a breath of English air.”
“I meant a breath of cold English air,” said the captain smiling down at her. “I would rather have had your misspelled letters than Miss Chadbury’s formal epistles. Now I know she wrote them, I can find it in my heart to feel slightly sorry for your reprehensible brother.”
“Do not misjudge Isabella,” said Lucy, flying to her friend’s defense. “It is very hard surely for someone else to write one’s letters. They cannot possibly say the things one wants to say.”
His gray eyes teased her. “And can you tell me now what you would have said?”
Lucy looked down at her fan. “Oh, lots of things but … but I forget what they were.”
“But you remembered me,” he said softly, “and that was terribly important.”
“I was worried about you,” said Lucy in a low voice. “I feared you might have been killed.”
A young man appeared at Lucy’s side and begged the next dance and she curtsied to the captain and walked off with her partner.
James felt a pang of pure jealousy as he watched them go. Did Lucy really need to smile so charmingly up at her partner?
He folded his arms and stood behind the roped enclosure of the ball room floor, determined to secure her for the next dance.
Isabella, he noticed, was dancing gracefully with Lord Rupert Fitzjohn. Where, oh, where was Harry?
Lord Harry made a late and sensational arrival with his parents. But it was not Lord Harry who made the social crowd stop and gasp, but his mother, the countess. Her curls were even brassier than ever, and she was wearing a flame-colored silk gown. Around her neck blazed a diamond necklace and a diamond tiara adorned her hair. There was a diamond brooch on her shoulder and her gown was fastened down the front with diamond clasps. The earl had obviously had a considerable amount of the gems that had hung for so long from the chandelier in his hall set in gold for his wife. The countess preened as she turned this way and that, enjoying the sensation she was creating.
Isabella saw Lord Harry arrive and for a moment was surprised. He was correctly and fashionably dressed in a black evening coat and black silk breeches and white stockings with gold clocks. His blue eyes were dancing with mischief as they ranged around the ball room. It was, reflected Isabella, like looking at an attractive stranger. And then he saw her and his face changed and became set in lines of pouting discontent. He minced toward her. “I think we should dance,” he said, “I believe it is the waltz and I waltz divinely.”
“You are come too late,” said Isabella in a thin voice. “I did not expect you and therefore have no dances to spare. The waltz is promised to Lord Rupert here.”
“Ah, but as you are betrothed to me, I am sure Lord Rupert will gladly give up his dance to me.”
Lord Rupert bowed. “It will be my pleasure,” he said smoothly and had the satisfaction of seeing the look of annoyance mixed with disdain that flashed in Isabella’s eyes.
Lord Harry had quite decided to stop all the nonsense and tell Isabella that he was releasing her from the engagement. But as he put one hand on her pliant waist and took her other hand in his, he experienced a sharp feeling of desire, and that made him very angry indeed. The fact that he had given her every reason to despise him was forgotten. How dare she avert her head from him. Lord Rupert was standing at the edge of the ball room floor watching them as Isabella suddenly looked at him and gave him a rueful smile. Lord Harry saw that smile and tightened his grip on her.
“I cannot wait until we are wed,” he murmured. “OH, GOOD HEAVENS!”
His voice had ended on a shriek. He released Isabella, ran to the side of the floor, vaulted the rope, and stood up on a chair and shouted, “A mouse! A mouse!”
Soon the dance floor was in chaos as the ladies rushed hither and thither, holding their skirts tightly around their ankles because everyone knew, although no one really talked about it except occasionally in whispers, that mice had a nasty habit of going up there.
Only Isabella, who had no fear of mice, stood stock still where he had left her, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “What a milksop Tregar is,” said one man to another.
Lord Rupert approached Isabella and smiled down into her eyes. “I think I shall claim my dance after all,” he said and led her smoothly in the steps of the waltz.
Isabella looked across at Lord Harry. He was now seated and had produced a small fan from his pocket and was fanning himself languidly while an anxious dowager handed him a glass of water.
“You must not be so distressed,” murmured Lord Rupert. “Many are afraid of mice.”
“Soldiers?” demanded Isabella contemptuously. “Only silly misses are afraid of mice. Lord Harry was the only man in the ball room to be so afraid.”
“There is nothing like the love of a good woman to stiffen a man’s spine,” he teased. “He will change once you are married.”
She wanted to say that she would do anything not to be married to Lord Harry, but convention kept her silent. Lord Rupert wanted her to talk about her fiancé, to reveal something, so that he might have an opportunity to say he would help her. It was all part of his plan of revenge.
They were just leaving the floor when Isabella heard one man say to the other, “Disgraceful exhibition. And in Almack’s, too! Did you ever see such a man milliner as Tregar?”
“I shall fetch you some lemonade,” said Lord Rupert in a soothing voice. Isabella nodded her head, her thoughts racing. Marriage to Lord Harry would not be a placid arrangement. She doubted very much now whether he was really going to stay in the army. His family had enough money now. He could sell out, and then he would be with her all the time, chattering and preening and humiliating her on every occasion. Tears shone in her large eyes, tears that Lord Rupert noticed immediately he returned with her lemonade. He pasted a look of concern on his face for he was in fact delighted at this sign of distress. She deserved it. Let the galled jade wince!
“Miss Chadbury,” his voice was low and soft, “I cannot bear to see your tears. You do not need to tell me. This proposed marriage is repugnant to you. But you do not need to go through with it. I will help you.”
“How can you, my lord?” asked Isabella in a stifled voice. “My parents have arranged the marriage with his parents. Neither side will allow me to cry off.”
“Is it possible you could meet me tomorrow?” he whispered. “I assure you, I can save you from this.”
Too overcome with gratitude at his seeming kindness, Isabella forgot the conventions and looked at him with some hope in her eyes. “I … I could perhaps slip away early when all are asleep.”
“Go for an early morning ride in the Park,” he urged. “Ten o’clock, say.” Ten o’clock was very early for society.
Isabella saw her next partner approaching and nodded. As she moved off into the set of the next dance, she heard sounds of raucous laughter of a kind never before heard at Almack’s. Lord Harry was surrounded by gentlemen. He seemed to be reciting
some poetry, lewd to judge from the expressions on the faces around him and by that vulgar laughter. Isabella shivered despite the heat of the ball room. She wondered what Lucy thought of her brother now.
But Lucy had not noticed her brother’s behavior. She had eyes only for Captain James. She had even forgotten seeing Isabella give Lord Rupert that flower. She could not even enjoy her own popularity for it meant she could have only two dances with the captain and then suffer other escorts to lead her to the floor. Made selfish by love, she merely thought Isabella a poor sort of creature when, on the road home, Isabella said she had not enjoyed herself at all. For the captain was escorting them home, Lord Harry having gone off to a gambling club with other friends.
Again on leaving, the captain pressed Lucy’s hand warmly, and Lucy returned the pressure. Then James raised her hand to his lips. Isabella, wrapped in her own misery, went on into the house, the only little light in her darkness being the prospect of seeing Lord Rupert and finding out how he could help her.
Mr. and Mrs. Chadbury might have been expected to sympathize with their daughter’s predicament at Almack’s. But Mr. Chadbury had been approached by several of Isabella’s rejected suitors who had slyly congratulated him on finding “such a fine fellow” for his daughter and all that had served to do was to remind him of Isabella’s “wanton” behavior, as he called it. For her part, Mrs. Chadbury was wavering between trying once more to beg her husband to allow Isabella to break the engagement and yet dreading the thought of having an unmarried daughter on her hands. Having an unmarried daughter was a terrible thing. Besides, Mr. and Mrs. Chadbury were plagued by feelings of guilt, feelings that they had spoiled their daughter and that to give in to her once more, to allow her to reject Lord Harry, would only serve to damage her character further. They therefore persuaded themselves that Lord Harry would come about, that marriage would strengthen his character.
The Earl and Countess of Tremayne were, as usual, too wrapped up in their own affairs. If Harry wanted to go ahead with the marriage, so be it. If he wanted to hop around Almack’s, screaming about mice and making a cake of himself, then that was his affair.
Lucy awoke fairly early with a pleasurable feeling of anticipation. Captain James had danced with her, and therefore the conventions demanded that he should call on her this day to present his compliments. Of course, he could always send a servant, also equally correct, but she was happily sure he would not do that.
Isabella’s room was next to her own. She could hear Isabella moving about, the sound of splashing water as she washed herself.
Lucy climbed down from her high bed and began to dress as well. It would be fun to talk to Isabella about the ball, by which Lucy meant she wanted to talk to someone, anyone, about the glory that was Captain James Godolphin.
She had just finished dressing when she heard Isabella’s bedroom door open and close and then Isabella’s light rapid footsteps descending the staircase.
Lucy darted from her room in pursuit and was just in time to see the street door slam. Isabella had gone out!
Lucy ran back upstairs and put on a warm cloak and bonnet and set out herself, wondering where Isabella had gone.
As she stood outside the Chadburys’ town house, looking this way and that, she heard a clatter of hooves, and then saw Isabella ride out under the arch that led from the mews at the back.
She did not see Lucy but rode off round the square and disappeared from view.
Without stopping to think, Lucy hurried after her. Frost glittered on the cobbles, and the day was smoky and gray with a small red sun trying to struggle through the pall of smoke that always hung over London.
Lucy headed for Hyde Park. That was where Isabella had surely gone. She still did not think that Isabella had gone to meet anyone, merely that it was odd of her to ride out so early, and, besides, Lucy was eager to talk about her captain.
She skirted the high wall of Hyde Park and entered by the lodge gate that led to Rotten Row.
The first thing she saw was Isabella and Lord Rupert. They were standing beside their horses at the edge of the Row, talking seriously. Puzzled, Lucy began to steal up on them, using the trees as cover.
If Isabella and Lord Rupert had not been so intent on their conversation, then they would certainly have noticed the little figure of Lucy darting from tree to tree.
“I am breaking the bounds of convention,” Isabella was saying, “by talking to you about my fiancé, but I am in despair. I do not want this marriage.”
His heart exulted. How easy all this was turning out to be.
Isabella then stood silently before him, her head bowed. Behind them a waterfowl squawked, then rose with a great beating of wings into the still and frosty air.
“I said I would help,” said Lord Rupert at last. “There is but one way I can help you.”
Isabella’s beautiful eyes flew to meet his. “Oh, my lord, if only you can think of something, anything.”
“Marry me. Elope with me.”
Isabella closed her eyes. Oh, that vision of those writhing bodies on the floor of the post house dining room. She turned pale.
“What is it?” he demanded anxiously.
“I must tell you, sir, that I fear the intimacies of marriage.”
“As does any gently reared lady,” he said while the lecher inside him admired the quick rise and fall of her bosom.
“I was, several years ago, witness to a party held by some bloods and their Cyprians in the posting house. What I saw then disgusted me, appalled me.”
He raised her hand to his lips. “And you think I would behave thus to a lady I love and respect! Yes, love, Miss Chadbury. We are not all thus. I promise you,”—he put his hand on his heart—“there would be no intimacy between us until we had been married several years and had come to know each other better. You have had a dreadful experience, but it will soon fade from your mind. I would be your squire, your faithful companion, nothing more. Just say the word, and I can have my traveling carriage waiting at the corner of the square to whirl you away to Scotland. Do you think your parents will not come about? Of course they will. I am rich and titled.”
A little distance away, Lucy strained her ears but could not hear a word.
Isabella put her hand to her brow. “Give me time to think.”
“I will be at the opera tonight,” he said. “All you have to do is nod your head in my direction. At five in the morning, I will have my carriage waiting in the square. Bring only what you need for the journey.”
“Oh, this is all so underhand,” said Isabella wretchedly. “My lord, give me some time, I beg of you.”
“I will wait forever, if necessary,” he said in a low voice.
“Until this evening.” Isabella swung herself lightly up into the saddle and rode off.
Lucy stayed where she was. She saw the look of solemn respect leave Lord Rupert’s face as he watched Isabella go and saw it replaced with a look of triumphant cunning.
Lucy did not know what to do. Isabella should not have been holding assignations with another man while she was betrothed to Harry. She decided the sensible thing would be to return home and ask Isabella outright why she was behaving in such a way. She hurried back and went straight up to Isabella’s bedchamber where that lady was just removing her bonnet.
“I followed you,” said Lucy breathlessly. “To the Park.”
“Why did you do that,” asked Isabella evenly, “and why did you not approach me?”
“You were talking to Lord Rupert when I arrived, and so I did not want to interrupt.”
“You preferred to spy on me, is that it?”
“But Isabella, it was most odd. Why should you be talking to Lord Rupert so early in the day and without a maid or groom with you?”
Lucy noticed a shade of relief in Isabella’s eyes.
Isabella had correctly judged that Lucy had not been able to hear anything.
“I decided to go for an early ride,” said Isabella. “Lord Ruper
t was there by chance. We exchanged a few pleasantries, that is all.”
“It looked to me like an assignation,” said Lucy.
“You are too romantical, Lucy. Have I not warned you about the pernicious effect of reading too much fiction? Have you ever known me to be other than correct?”
“No-o.”
“Well, then, you played spy for nothing, and your little nose is quite red with the cold. Let us go down and find some breakfast.”
“I think I will go back to bed,” said Lucy huffily, for she was sure Isabella was lying.
