by Laura Landon
Isobel dressed, then made her way downstairs. As was her habit each morning, she had a cup of tea with the staff, then went to the small dining room to fill a plate from the selection Cook had set out for His Lordship. She would take her breakfast to the small room that served as her office and look over her tasks for the day while she ate. This morning, however, the Marquess of Halverston was already seated at the table.
Isobel stopped when she saw him and turned, intending to return to the kitchen and find something from there to eat. He saw her, however, and stopped her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Moore. Please, join me.”
Isobel turned back. “Good morning, my lord. I’m sorry to interrupt. I didn’t realize you were already about your day.”
“Yes, I . . . ” He hesitated. “I wanted to get an early start. Please, fill a plate and join me.”
He pulled out the chair next to him and waited for her to get her food, then join him. Not until she sat at the table did she get her first close look at him.
Except for the dark circles beneath his eyes, there wasn’t evidence of his violent episode from the night before. The smile on his face was genuine, his tone of voice pleasant and sincere. Such a transformation was evidence enough that Lord Halverston had suffered from these incidents long enough that he was adept at concealing their effects.
Her heart ached for him.
“I got word yesterday that a shipment of books I ordered should be here in the next day or so.”
Isobel took a sip of her tea and set down her cup. “How wonderful. Your library is remarkable.”
“Do you enjoy reading?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve helped myself to several volumes already.”
“Not at all. I’m honored that you’ve found books that interest you.”
“I have. I can scarcely wait to see what new books you’ve chosen.”
He took a bite of food from his plate, chewed absently, then followed with a sip of his coffee. “I cannot take credit for all the books that will arrive. My sister, Claire, always adds to my list. She believes it’s necessary for me to read something other than autobiographies of military heroes from the past and farming practices for the future.”
Isobel took another sip of her tea. “You’ve intrigued me, my lord. I hope they arrive soon.”
“I’m sure there will be a sampling of the gothic romances Claire is so fond of. And no doubt some poetry. I read that Charles Dickens has a new book. Perhaps Claire will send that. And I selected Alexandre Dumas’s Count of Monte Cristo. I’ve never read it and certainly wish to.”
He turned his gaze toward her. “Have you read it yet? Or don’t adventure novels appeal to you?”
“No, I haven’t read it yet. And there’s nothing I enjoy more than a good adventure. Except perhaps a good gothic romance.”
Isobel couldn’t keep the excitement from her face. She was certain His Lordship recognized it. His words confirmed it. So did the smile that lit his face. “Then you must read it. As soon as I finish,” he teased.
She returned his smile, trying to ignore the rampant flutter beneath her breastbone when she focused on the deep creases on either side of his mouth and the glimmer in his eyes.
“Perhaps you would consider helping me catalogue the books when they arrive, Mrs. Moore. I know you have other duties to which to attend, but I would appreciate any time you might spare.”
Isobel’s heart shifted. “I can think of nothing I’d enjoy more, my lord. Thank you.” She lowered her gaze to her plate and continued eating.
“I also anticipate that I will receive a newspaper or two in the post. Either the Gazette or The Times. The news will, of course, be a week or more late, but it will at least allow us to keep up with the goings on in London. You are welcome to read the papers at your leisure.”
“I would enjoy that very much, my lord. Thank you.”
“And, if I know my sister, she will include one or two of the latest penny press papers—either The Morning Post¸ or The Daily Telegraph, that new the new scandal sheet that started up last year.”
Isobel smiled. “I would enjoy reading whatever your sister sends.”
“Yes, I dare say you women are always interested in the latest scandals and gossip.”
“Of course,” she teased. “It is what we live for, don’t you know?”
The Marquess of Halverston laughed, and some of the worry lines etched across his forehead seemed to fade. Isobel was glad. She hated to think that His Lordship was still bothered by whatever had caused the nightmares she’d witnessed the night before.
“I know Cook will ask if there’s anything you prefer with your tea,” she said when she’d finished eating and was ready to leave. “It’s the first question she asks when she knows I’ve spoken to you.”
The marquess placed his napkin on the table and leaned back in his chair. “Tell Cook that I’ll let her choose today. But when the cherries are ripe, I’ll expect her to bake a cherry pie or two.”
“I shall tell her, your lordship, but I fear you’ll have to be patient in that regard. There might be some wild raspberries or early blackberries ready now. Cook said there are some bushes in the meadow near here.”
“Yes, I know where they are.”
“I’ll send someone to pick enough for some tarts and preserves. Or better yet, I’ll go myself. The day looks perfect to venture outside.”
“Yes, it does.” The surprise on his face when he looked out the window told her he hadn’t noticed the weather. Another sign that something more serious consumed his thoughts.
Isobel finished eating, then rose from the table. She had several tasks awaiting her before she could go berry gathering. She was anxious to pick them early enough that Cook could bake Lord Halverston some fresh berry tarts and not have to use the preserves.
His Lordship rose when she did.
“Thank you for joining me this morning,” he said. “It would please me if you did so each morning. We might use the time to discuss any business that needs to be covered.”
His suggestion surprised her, but how could she refuse? She’d enjoyed sharing breakfast with him, too. It was much better than eating alone. “I would be delighted,” she said, then turned and left the room.
She didn’t mind starting her day off in his company. He was a pleasant conversationalist. And she enjoyed discussing books they both enjoyed, as well as the happenings in London, even though she had no desire to ever be a part of that lifestyle again.
Isobel went to the small room at the end of the hall that was her office. When she closed the door, she sat on the chair at her desk and dropped her hands into her lap. She needed to think.
Being near him caused a stirring inside her that confused her.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t allow feelings to develop for Lord Halverston. Not when she might have to leave on a moment’s notice. Until she reached her majority, she wasn’t safe anywhere.
Chapter 7
Alex took the path around Cook’s vegetable garden, then through a copse of trees. He stopped at the edge of the glade, knowing that if he went farther, she might hear him. The bushes that held the berries she had gone to gather were in a clump to his right.
He looked but couldn’t see her clearly—only the black of her skirt that swished in and out when she moved. She was on the back side of the bushes but would no doubt work her way to the front in time.
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a tree. He couldn’t fathom why he was here. Didn’t know why he’d left the house when every voice inside him warned him that going near her was an addlepated thing to do. When every voice told him he wasn’t healed enough to go near any female. Especially one who affected him like she did.
But the voice to which he chose to listen told him that every time he was with her, he’d forgotten what had happened to him. That during those special times, he’d been able
to shove the reason for his nightmares to a dark corner where they couldn’t haunt him. The freedom he experienced when he was with her was exhilarating. The peace that blanketed him was a feeling he’d been afraid he’d never know again. But he had. And Lady Isobel was responsible for the glimmer of hope that flickered inside him.
He watched as she worked her way around the clump of blackberry and raspberry bushes. She had a small pail in each hand, and she placed one pail on the ground before she began picking.
He used the time before she noticed him to focus on her. Her hair was pulled back in the unflattering bun at the nape of her neck, the same as she always wore it. But in the sunlight, her hair seemed lighter. Seemed to glimmer.
She worked with steady movements, picking a handful of the small berries, then placing them in the pail. When she reached forward, then pulled back, he noticed her narrow waist and the full rise of her breasts. No matter how much she tried to make herself appear plain and common, it was impossible for her to hide her true beauty.
He hoped she wouldn’t notice him, but the snap of a twig beneath his boot as he approached her shattered the moment. She turned toward him.
“Please, excuse me, Mrs. Moore. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
A smile brightened her face, and Alex pretended that her look indicated that she was happy to see him.
“You didn’t, my lord,” she began, then stopped on a laugh. “Well, perhaps you did at first. But only because I was lost in my thoughts.”
“Do I dare ask the nature of those thoughts?” He continued toward her until he was close enough to take the pail from her hands. She turned to pick more berries.
“You may always ask, my lord,” she said, pulling several plump raspberries from a branch and placing them in the pail he held. “But a wise female never reveals her innermost thoughts.”
“Since I’ve already determined that you are a very wise female, I shall assume that you don’t intend to enlighten me.”
“Then you assume correctly,” she said, hiding her smile as she reached again for more berries.
“Is that because your thoughts were that private?”
Alex was afraid that she’d be offended because he continued to ask. Instead, she laughed.
“You give me far too much credit, my lord. Instead of being private, I’m afraid my thoughts were merely . . . trivial.”
Alex reached into the pail and plucked a raspberry to pop into his mouth. “Somehow, I doubt any thoughts you might have are trivial, Mrs. Moore.”
“Oh, but they were. I was merely thinking about another time I picked berries. I was perhaps twelve or thirteen. The vicar was scheduled to pay a call on Mother. Vanessa and I were dressed in our finest and given strict instructions to be on our best behavior when he arrived.
“When we were ready, we went to get Mother’s approval, and she told us to wait on the terrace until the vicar arrived. But I became bored and wandered into the garden.”
She picked more berries, then placed them in the pail he held. Alex couldn’t help himself. He took one of the berries she’d just dropped and put it in his mouth.
“I walked past a raspberry bush much like this one and noticed the raspberries were ripe for gathering. So I obliged. They were delicious.” She placed more berries in the pail. “As these must be, considering the amount you have already eaten.”
Alex paused with his hand midway to his mouth. He smiled. “Yes, they’re quite good. Would you care for some?”
“I’ve already sampled my share.”
“Then, please, continue with your story.”
“Well, I was in the process of eating berries when I heard Vanessa call that we were to go inside. I rushed to the house and absently wiped my hands on my dress as I went.”
Lady Isobel took the pail filled with raspberries from his hands and handed him an empty pail. She began picking blackberries and filling the pail.
“Might I guess that by the time you entered the house, your dress no longer met with your mother’s approval?”
“Not only was my dress stained with blackberry and raspberry juice, but my hands were a disgusting shade of purple and pink, and my lips were an . . . unseemly red.”
“And your mother was anything but pleased,” he finished for her.
“That was the angriest I’d ever seen Mother. Although the vicar laughed at my appearance, Mother didn’t see any humor in the way I looked. She sent me to my room without supper.”
Alex looked at the twinkle in her eyes and the mischievous smile on her face. “Am I to assume you were quite the rebel?” he asked, taking another berry from the pail and popping it into his mouth.
“Your assumption would be correct. At least in my parents’ eyes.”
Lady Isobel continued filling the pail with plump blackberries, and Alex continued to watch her with fascination. The smile on her face didn’t fade, but remained.
“May I ask you a question, my lady?”
She opened her mouth, and Alex knew she intended to reprimand him for using her title. Then, as if she realized that no one was around to hear, she relaxed.
“If you intend to ask something I can answer.”
“How old were you when your mother died?”
A cloud of sadness covered her eyes, and her movements stopped. “I was seventeen. Vanessa was fifteen.”
“What kind of person was she?”
Her smile returned. “Mother was all that was kind and good in the world. Especially when Father left for London, and she could convince him to allow her to remain behind with us.”
She resumed harvesting berries, but her movements were slower, not as aggressive. “Vanessa and I were the center of her life. We spent hours together, reading and taking long walks when the weather cooperated. Each afternoon, we had tea, and Mother made the time together very special. Cook always served a special treat, the same as Cook does here, and Mother and Vanessa and I took turns pouring. Vanessa and I tried very hard to emulate Mother’s gracefulness. From the way she lifted her cup from her saucer, to the manner in which her little finger curved outward when she took a sip. To the softness with which she could return her cup to her saucer without making a sound.”
He could tell by her expression that her memories brought mixed emotions. There was happiness in recalling her mother, as well as sadness. “Does it bother you to speak of your mother?” he asked.
She lifted her gaze and focused on him with a warmth that settled to the pit of his stomach.
“No. I miss her, of course. But I enjoy having an opportunity to speak of her. To tell someone who didn’t know her how special she was.” She picked several more berries and placed them in the half-full pail. “Father won’t allow us to speak of her.”
Such an admission surprised him. “What reason does he have for that?”
“I think he doesn’t like being reminded of her. Or of the role he played in her death.”
Alex allowed her to continue picking berries even though her hand trembled. He thought she needed to be occupied rather than having nothing to do.
“How did she die?”
Lady Isobel took a deep breath, then turned slightly. Enough that she was turned away from him.
“Mother hadn’t been feeling well for several days. She’d come down with a chill and couldn’t seem to recover from it. Father arrived from London and demanded that Mother accompany him back to town. He told her he needed her to entertain the wives of several acquaintances with whom he was doing business. Mother begged him to let her stay in the country until she was better, but he refused. What Father wanted, Father got.”
She stopped picking berries and dropped her hands to her sides. “Mother didn’t improve, and the rounds of entertaining only wore her down more. By the time she returned to Gilchrist Manor, she was so ill there was nothing we could do to help her improve. She died within a week of her arrival.”
Alex saw the sorrow in the way Lady Isobel’s shoulders slumped. In the way her eyes lowe
red. In the slight trembling of her chin. He wanted desperately to take her into his arms and hold her. To comfort her as he knew she’d tried to comfort her mother.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he whispered.
“Please, don’t be.”
For several moments they stood in silence. Then, she turned her gaze to him and lifted the corners of her mouth to form a sad smile. “Thank you,” she said in a soft voice.
“For what?” he asked.
“For allowing me to speak of my mother. For permitting me to share how special she was. I don’t know many people, especially men, who would be so understanding.”
“Perhaps it’s because I lost my mother when I was young, and I felt the need to tell my younger brother, Barnaby, and my sister, Claire, all about her. Because, even though I wasn’t as old as you when my Mother died, I was the oldest and remembered her the best. Claire remembered her not at all, because Mother died giving birth to her. I, too, wanted my siblings to know as much about her as I could remember, and since it was so painful for Father to speak of her, I was the only one who could tell them what she’d been like.”
“Did your father love her that much?”
“Yes. She was the light of his life. He was never the same after she died.”
She looked at the pail in his hands. “I believe we have enough berries for Cook. We should return.”
Alex bent to retrieve the second pail, and they walked together back to the house. When they reached the edge of the garden, she took both pails from his hands.
“Thank you,” she said. “I enjoyed your company. But . . .” She hesitated. “But I’m not sure it’s wise for anyone to see that we spent time together.”
She was correct. It wasn’t wise. She would be gone as soon as she reached her majority. And even if there wasn’t that to consider, he couldn’t allow anything to develop between them.
No female would want anyone as damaged as he was.
. . .
It had been three days since she’d been alone with him. Three days since they’d picked berries. Although she’d glimpsed him during the day as she’d been about her duties, she hadn’t spent any time alone with him. And she was relieved.
