Regency Rumours

by Louise Allen

  ‘No,’ Giles said. ‘I am not following you and our meeting here is a genuine coincidence.’ Truth? Lies? How could she tell? She had thought he had fallen in love with her and he had not. Obviously she could not understand him at all.

  If she did not love him, he would not make her so angry. If she only dared trust him—but he would be disgusted when he realised she had given away her child, had not had the courage to raise her as his own mother had raised him. Whatever she thought of the Scarlet Widow, the woman’s fierce love for her son could not be mistaken.

  ‘You are very agitated for a woman who is merely going to visit a friend for a few days,’ he remarked, cutting through her thoughts and sending her tumbling into unconsidered speech.

  ‘If I am agitated, then it is because I cannot get free from you. It seems I cannot keep even my secrets—’ She stumbled to a halt.

  ‘So,’ Giles said slowly, his eyes never leaving her face with its betraying colour, ‘I am right. You have a secret, one greater than the loss of your virginity, one that you would not trust to me even though you tell me you loved me, even though then you had no reason to mistrust me. You are afraid. Is it a secret that lays you open to blackmail, perhaps?’

  ‘Blackmail?’ Isobel went cold. ‘No, of course not.’ Was that what the prying stranger was about? But who had sent him? ‘You may leap to whatever conclusions you wish, Giles Harker. You have made me so angry I scarce know what I am saying.’

  ‘No, you are not angry.’ He caught her hands in his and held them even when she tugged. ‘Or, rather, anger is not the main emotion here. You are afraid.’

  Unable to free herself without a struggle, Isobel turned her face away. What she was going to do when he left her alone—if he ever did—she had no idea. She dared not let him know where she was going or she might lead him to Annabelle. All she could do was to get to Jane and try, somehow, to work out how to protect her daughter and her friend.

  ‘Of course I am afraid—I am locked in a room and being manhandled. Am I your prisoner while you interrogate me?’ she demanded. Defiance was the only weapon she had against the fear and the awful weakness of her love for him. And that love would betray Annabelle.

  Giles released her wrists and she stood rubbing them, although he had not held her tight enough to hurt. The touch of his hands, the fingers that had orchestrated such pleasure in her, seemed to burn like ice. ‘This has gone too far for me to walk away from it now, Isobel, whether you want me or trust me or not. You are in trouble, more trouble than you know.’

  He turned the key in the lock and walked out, letting the door slam behind him. Isobel sank down in the chair behind her, her knees suddenly like warm wax.

  ‘My lady? I passed him on the stairs and he looked like thunder—are you all right, my lady? I should never have left you alone with him.’

  ‘I am perfectly fine, Dorothy,’ Isobel said with a calm that was intended to steady herself as much as the maid. ‘Mr Harker and I had unfinished business, that is all. I did not have the opportunity to say everything I wanted to when we left Wimpole.’

  She had not convinced her, but there was nothing to be done about it now. ‘Dinner will be here soon and neither of us have so much as washed our hands.’

  But what had those parting words meant? How did he know she was in trouble?

  ‘Just you stop right there, my bullies.’

  The chaise juddered to a halt and Isobel let down the window. ‘Ned! Ned Foster, it is I, Lady Isobel. Please open the gate.’

  ‘Yes, my lady!’ the big man called back and swung open the heavy gate that barred the entrance into the manor courtyard. Chickens ran flapping in panic as the postilions brought the chaise in and Isobel heard the clang of the gate thudding back into its catches. It felt as though she was in a besieged castle. Isobel fought back the melodramatic image and gathered her things.

  She was paying off the men and Dorothy was carrying the bags around to the back entrance as Jane came running down the steps, a big shawl bundled around her shoulders against the raw air. ‘Isobel! I did not dare hope you’d come. How long can you stay?’

  ‘For as long as it takes,’ Isobel said grimly as she hugged her friend. ‘I am so glad to be here. The weather was bad after Oxford and there was a landslip about sixty miles from Oxford so we had to spend another day on the road. Oh, Jane,’ she confessed as they entered the hallway, out of earshot of the servants. ‘I do not know what is going on here, or who is to blame for it, but I have been so foolish. I fell in love with the most impossible man and I think this is a consequence. I am so sorry.’

  ‘Foolish to fall in love?’ Jane smiled. ‘That is never foolish.’

  ‘It is when the man in question is the illegitimate son of the Scarlet Widow.’

  Her friend’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, my, I have heard of her. But how on earth did you meet him? Does he know you love him?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. We made love, Jane,’ she added as the drawing-room door shut safely behind them. Best to get the entire confession over as quickly as possible.

  ‘You aren’t—’

  ‘No. But it all ended badly—I thought he felt the same for me, but it is quite obvious that he does not, and, in any case, there is no way we can ever be together. His mother sees me as a threat to him and I think she must be behind whatever is going on here. But how she ever found out, I do not know.’

  ‘You did not tell him?’

  ‘That I had a child? No. He knows that Lucas and I anticipated our marriage, but that is all.’ Isobel paced to the window and stood staring out at the darkening gardens. ‘Perhaps I am worrying unduly after all, for unless one of your people betrays us, there is no reason anyone might suspect Annabelle is not exactly who you say she is.’

  ‘And I trust them implicitly,’ Jane said, nodding. ‘There might be a danger if she resembled you closely, but as it is, she is very obviously a Needham. It is seven months since you saw her, isn’t it? She is growing.’

  ‘Yes.’ It seemed like seven years. ‘May I see her now? I did not want to speak of this unless we were alone, but now, I cannot wait. Is she much changed?’

  ‘I think she is perfect, but you will judge for yourself.’ Her friend’s smile was warm and once again Isobel was filled with gratitude that Jane had taken her child, loved her like her own and yet was prepared to share her so unselfishly. ‘She is bright, quick and very lovely. Come and see—they are in the kitchen with old Rosemary, hindering her efforts to make cakes.’

  Isobel almost ran down the stone-flagged passageway and into the kitchen. Two small children were perched on the edge of the big table, legs dangling, their eyes glued to the big bowl of fruit cake mixture the cook was stirring.

  ‘More plums,’ Nathanial demanded, but Isobel could only focus on the little girl.

  She scooped her up, warm and sweet and slightly sticky around the mouth from stealing batter. ‘Surprise!’

  ‘Aunt Ishbel,’ Annabelle said with a crow of delight and a kiss. She had never been able to get her tongue around Isobel’s name.

  ‘How pretty you look—and how sticky you are.’ Isobel whirled her round in her arms and everything in the world was right again. Then she stopped at the sight of their reflection in the battered mirror propped at one end of the dresser. Annabelle, female to her chubby fingertips, examined her own image with interest. Two heads of tumbled hair, soft and slippery, sliding out of its pins, but Annabelle’s was blonde while Isobel’s was brown. Two rather determined little chins, but very different noses. Two pairs of wide grey eyes.

  ‘Pretty,’ Annabelle said with a crow of delight.

  ‘Pretty,’ Isobel agreed. Oh, thank you, Lucas, for giving me this child. And anyone who saw them together would not pick up any significant likeness, she was sure. She turned to see Jane smiling as she watched them.

  ‘She grew so quickly,’ Jane said. ‘One minute she was still a chubby little baby and the next, there she is—a little girl. Now I think we can see what
they will be like when they grow up. They are both going to have the Needham height, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes,’ Isobel agreed, swallowing the tears that threatened to well up. It was ridiculous to weep because she was so happy to be here and it would frighten Annabelle. ‘I cannot believe how she has grown.’

  She had dreamed of the experiences she and her ‘niece’ would share as Annabelle grew up. They would go shopping together, she would be there at her first parties, her first dance. She would hear her whispered confidences about first love.

  ‘Isn’t it bath time?’ she asked, grinning at little Nathaniel as he stuck out his lower lip mutinously. ‘Come along, I’ll tell you stories about Wimpole Hall where I have been staying and about London and I’ll tuck you up in bed.’

  ‘Cake,’ Annabelle said. ‘Cake and bath and stories and bed.’

  ‘Bath and bed and stories now, cake in the morning,’ Isobel countered, holding out her hand to the little boy. ‘How many stairs is it up to bed? I’ll wager you cannot count them yet.’

  ‘I can!’ He was off at a run and Isobel followed him, her cheek pressed against Annabelle’s soft one. Oh, Lucas, what a lovely child we made. I’ll protect her, I promise. Even if the danger was from the man she now loved.

  ‘Come and see the kittens.’ Annabelle stood beside the breakfast table and hopped from one foot to the other while Isobel spread honey on her last piece of toast. ‘Mama says I may have a kitten.’

  ‘A puppy,’ Nathaniel contradicted.

  ‘Both,’ Jane said, rolling her eyes. ‘But by the time they decide which they are going to have they’ll be grown cats and dogs.’

  ‘Shall I help choose?’ Both heads nodded as one—this was obviously the solution to an intractable problem.

  ‘Come along, then.’ Isobel put down her napkin. ‘And wrap up warmly.’

  The farmyard was enclosed, with high arches in the walls to east and west. The walls kept out the wind and the stall-fed cattle and the horses kept the barns and stables surprisingly warm, so it was no hardship to sit on a bale outside the cowshed while the children brought out the kittens and puppies for inspection.

  ‘I think the little boy with the white tip to his tail,’ she said to Nathaniel. The pup was big and bold and looked as though he would cope well with the rough and tumble of life with Nathaniel. ‘And the black-and-white kitten with the white tip for Annabelle—and then they will match.’

  Delighted, the children reached for their new pets and Annabelle promptly had her knuckles swiped by the mother cat who had stalked out to see what was going on. Isobel hauled the crying child onto her lap and hugged her and the kitten equally while she wrapped a handkerchief around the scratched hand. ‘It is all right, she was only cross because—’

  ‘What a charming picture. Maternal love. I thought that must be the secret, from the timing of things.’ The deep, familiar voice cut through the sounds of the farmyard, the child’s sobs, the barking of the sheepdog on its chain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ISOBEL FROZE AND Annabelle stopped wailing to inspect the new arrival.

  ‘Go—’ With an effort Isobel moderated her tone so as not to frighten the children. ‘Nathaniel, Annabelle, go inside and ask Cook to find a proper bandage for Annabelle’s hand and tell her I said you may have a slice of cake each.’

  They ran, tears and strange men forgotten, before she changed her mind about cake directly after breakfast. Isobel stood up, the kitten unregarded in her hands. ‘You are not welcome here, Giles. How did you get in?’

  ‘The brawny yokel outside is guarding the front gate, but he does not appear to have the wit to work out that there is a perfectly obvious track leading to this one.’ Giles strode across the straw-strewn yard and stopped by the mounting block.

  ‘What do you want?’ Isobel demanded.

  ‘To discover if what I suspect, what my mother believes she has discovered, is true.’

  ‘Your mother discovered? So this is blackmail?’ Is it a secret that lays you open to blackmail, perhaps? Giles had asked. He knows, she thought, a sort of bleak misery settling over her, eclipsing even the fear.

  ‘It would have been if I had not caught Geraldine in time and made her tell me exactly what she had discovered about you. She’s as protective as that mother cat and has about as many scruples.’

  ‘What do you think you know?’ Isobel asked. Her lips felt stiff, the question almost choked her, but she had to know what she was fighting.

  ‘That you have a love child whom you gave away to your friend to raise as her own.’

  ‘I did not want to let her go!’ The kitten gave a squeak of protest and Isobel set it down next to its mother who promptly began to wash it. ‘It was the only thing to do. I suppose you think I have no courage because your mother kept you.’

  ‘I have to thank her for that,’ Giles said.

  ‘It seems she had no scruples about shaming her family or taking you from your grandfather’s care. You grew up with a mother who had a scandalous reputation, and, apparently, she had no concerns about bringing you up to have to fight every day of your life because of who you are.’

  ‘She gave me life and she gave me, I hope, some of her courage. But she had to fight for so long that she does not know how to stop. When I discovered that she had found out something to your detriment and was coming here to threaten you with it, I stopped her.’

  ‘How? Are you telling me you can control that woman?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She believed me when I told her that if she tried to hurt you I would take her back to the Dower House, lock her in and keep the key. I have done it before when she went beyond the limit and I’ll do it again if I have to.’

  ‘Then I must thank you for that, at least,’ she threw at him. ‘But if you have the situation under control, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I wanted to make sure you were safe here, that her agents had gone. I knew you had a secret before she discovered what it was.’

  ‘How?’ She had been so careful…

  ‘Just putting together things that you said. I realised it was something here, in Herefordshire, something to do with Needham.’ He took a step towards her, then shook his head and turned back to hitch one hip on the mounting block. ‘I must have gone over every word you have said to me, Isobel. Every silence, every moment when there was such sadness in your eyes. Until I realised she was on your trail all I wanted to do was protect you by keeping away.’

  ‘Why, Giles? Why did you care so much? Are you—?’ Isobel broke off, her courage almost failing. But she had to know. ‘Are you telling me you love me after all?’ she asked flatly.

  ‘No,’ he said, his face tight and stark. ‘Nothing has changed, Isobel. I care for you, I want to keep you safe. And I am every bit as ineligible for you as I ever was.’

  Her pride would not let her weep or plead. ‘What a good thing,’ she said. ‘Of course, I have realised that I do not love you—it was a foolish infatuation when I was lonely and miserable. Now I am doing the Season and looking for a husband—I will be delighted if I never see you again.’

  ‘I was a foolish infatuation, was I, Isobel? In that case either your acting skill is incredible or you have equally good powers of self-deception. You fell in love with me and I believe your current protestations as much as I did those at Oxford or at the ball.’

  ‘I am not a good actress, merely someone telling the truth,’ she said forcing the words out between numb lips. ‘I needed what you could give me at Wimpole. I needed heat and warmth and…affection.’ One brow slanted up satirically at the euphemism. She felt her cheeks burn red. ‘You do not care for me now, so why are you concerning yourself? I told you at Oxford that I did not want you.’

  ‘On the contrary, at Oxford you told me I had betrayed your trust and your feelings.’ He stood up and took one step towards her before her upflung hand stopped him.

  ‘I would say anything to get rid of you,’ she threw at him, desperate to hang on to the last
shreds of her self-control. ‘I do not want you, I do not need you—all I need is your silence and for you to keep your blackmailing mother silent also.’

  ‘So the little girl is your daughter and your friend is raising her as the twin of her son.’ He glanced down at the Border Collie puppy that was attempting to chew the heel of his boot, picked it up by the scruff and handed it to Isobel. She caught it up without taking her eyes from his face and clutched the warm squirming bundle to her bosom like a shield. ‘She has your eyes. May I see her?’

  ‘No! I have told you, I do not want anything more to do with you. Go back to London and marry a wife your mama will buy you. She will purchase your heirs in the same way as she bought your accent and your education and your smooth society manners.’

  ‘No one controls my life.’ There was anger in his voice. ‘Not since I was a child. Do you condemn my mother for wanting the best upbringing she could get for me? What do you buy for your child, Isobel? Do you pay for her clothes and her nurse? Will you pay for her governess? Will you search for the right husband for her when she is old enough to make her come-out, even if you do it from behind the walls of your own home? Or will you wash your hands of her and leave it all to Mrs Needham so you can walk away and find this husband you seek?’

  ‘Between us Jane and I will do everything we can for the children. I thought this would be best for Annabelle. I did not want her to grow up as…’

  ‘A bastard?’ Giles enquired in a tone that made her wince. ‘I manage.’

  ‘I do not want her to have to manage. And it is different for a woman and you know it,’ she threw at him.

  ‘Isobel, are you all right?’ She turned and there was Jane, a shotgun in the crook of her arm. ‘Don’t you dare lay a finger on her,’ she said fiercely to Giles.

  Giles took a reckless step towards the woman with the gun. A woman who Isobel knew was perfectly capable of taking a shot at a cattle thief. And now it was the children under threat. ‘There is no call to shoot anyone.’