What would she think if word somehow got back to her? She’d be shocked, angry, disappointed. No doubt Anthony was deserving of just such a reaction. He’d had plenty of time for self-introspection, which had left him unhappy and disappointed in himself. But since he’d met Isabel, well, he couldn’t stand the thought that she might believe his attentions had been anywhere but on her since his arrival at Somerstone.
Now every moment that passed made him uneasy, for Anthony knew better than anyone how quickly rumors could fly. In the past, he’d relied on it. Enjoyed it.
The only thing for it was to tell her. He would be candid, painfully blunt if necessary, about what he was—or had been—and hope she could overlook his past flaws and see in him the desire to change, to be a better man. He shook his head, still marveling at the alteration Isabel had wrought in him.
One thing was certain: time at the house party was running out. Anthony needed to speak with her tonight. Tomorrow the countess was throwing a large ball, and Anthony had toyed with the idea of proposing to Isabel there, hoping to make things official between them before the house party ended. In truth, Anthony couldn’t abide the thought of watching Isabel leave without any sort of understanding between them.
* * *
“Isabel, that lavender color is stunning on you,” said Anne, who had shooed away Dorothy and was now repinning Isabel’s hair.
Isabel smiled then blushed when she couldn’t seem to stop. The thought of dancing with Anthony tonight filled her with a girlish giddiness unbecoming of a woman of twenty-three. She’d spent the entirety of last night in her father’s room. And, with the household all a bustle today, she and Anthony hadn’t seen one another. It was a little embarrassing to think how much she had missed him over the course of just a day. “Thank you,” she said, biting her cheek and hoping her sister wouldn’t tease her.
Anne just gave her a knowing look. “Oh drat, now I’ve ruined the curls around your face. I should have just let them be.”
“We’re going to be late.” Isabel frowned. “I’d hate to have the countess think us rude after the doting hospitality she’s shown to us these past few weeks.”
“Here, you just wait a moment.” Anne held up a hand. “Betsy was telling me about one of the maids who is a wonder with hair. I’m sure she can fix the mess I’ve made in no time.”
Knowing her sister wouldn’t take no for an answer, Isabel nodded. She sat at her vanity, sighing at the languishing tendrils around her face. Perhaps agreeing to a new hairstyle for the ball hadn’t been the wisest thing. But she’d so hoped to look—and feel—different tonight. Tonight seemed so full of possibilities, and Isabel couldn’t remember the last time she’d been excited for a social event. Usually these sorts of things felt like an obligation, one in which she’d act as a chaperone for Anne, feeling lucky if she was surrounded by people who were more witty than dull.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Anne peeked her head in. “This is Margaret, who has agreed to come and undo the damage I’ve done. I have to go and get my gloves, but I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Isabel nodded and Margaret, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen, crossed the room, greeting her with an unpolished curtsy. “Thank you so much for having me. I’ve only been brought up to the big house to help during the house party, and it’s an honor to serve you.”
“The countess must be quite impressed with you if she trusts you with such a grand event.” Isabel smiled her encouragement.
“I doubt she even knows who I am, but it’s of no consequence.” Margaret shook her head. “I can’t wait to watch all the fine couples dancing together in such elegance.” She grinned, examining Isabel’s hair from all angles. “And I hope to see if I was right about who might be partnered together. The past few weeks I’ve seen all sorts of goings on, and me and the other maids have made some wagers about who might dance together, or meet for a rendezvous out in the gardens.”
Margaret wound a small section of Isabel’s hair around her finger, then pinned it back in perfect form, making sure the pin was invisible. Isabel raised her brows, surprised at how good it looked. “And who do you predict might be together this evening?” she asked absentmindedly, wondering what Anthony would think when he saw her.
“Oh, well.” She blushed and then giggled. “Since you asked. I’ve no doubt that both Lord Beauchamp and his brother will be flocking near Miss Fairchild. It’s difficult to know who will come out ahead, though if you ask me Miss Fairchild prefers Lord Beauchamp. I’m sure I can’t understand why. His younger brother is much more dashing.” The girl hardly took a breath between sentences. “And then I’m fairly certain Lord Anthony and Lady Emily will be dancing together this evening, and perhaps more than that.”
Isabel’s voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “Lord Anthony, did you say?”
“Yes,” she went on. “Why, just a few nights ago I caught the both of them outside his bedroom door, and I don’t think I imagined the disappointment on their faces when I interrupted their little meeting.”
Margaret seemed completely unaware of the sinking feeling in Isabel’s stomach. “Though I admit, I don’t think he looks well paired with a redhead.” She twisted back one last piece of Isabel’s hair. “There. You look perfect.”
“Thank you,” Isabel whispered, feeling oddly distant. The girl had to be mistaken. In the past, she might have believed it, but now, knowing what she did . . . the sincerity and devotion Anthony had shown her the past few days . . .
She breathed in courage and determined she would ask him herself. They had such an open way about them now, Isabel could almost feel comfortable broaching such a topic. And once she did, she was sure it would all come to naught. Glancing at the clock, she pulled at her gloves and ran her hands down the front of her skirts before hurrying down to the ball.
* * *
Anthony looked around the room again, impatient when he couldn’t find Isabel. Somehow, with all of the day’s goings on, they hadn’t run into one another. Anthony still felt restless with the pent-up need to tell her the truth. As much as he’d hoped to avoid it, it would have to be here. Tonight.
After spending a few moments with Beauchamp and Ian, Anthony excused himself and worked his way back to the balcony doors where he could more easily survey the room. What could be keeping Isabel?
“Anthony?”
He jerked his head up, only to find Lady Emily at his side. He bit back a groan. “Lady Emily, what do you want?”
She clicked her tongue. “So harsh, Anthony. You would think we weren’t even friends.” Her pout, which he used to find charming, grated on his nerves. Her manners were girlish and shallow in comparison with the authenticity he admired in Isabel.
Lady Emily stepped closer and rested her hands on his chest. He peeled her hands away and stepped back. “We cannot be friends if you insist on being so friendly. People will get the wrong idea.”
“You’ve never cared what people think. Tosh, Anthony.” She slid closer. “Or is it Miss Townshend you are worried about?” Her eyes narrowed.
“Miss Townshend, the countess, anyone at this party. Take your pick.” He glanced around the room, looking for an escape. “There is nothing between us, and there never will be.”
She let out a slight hiss through her teeth and glanced to her left, but Anthony didn’t follow her gaze until too late. Lady Emily put her hand around the back of his neck and slinking closer, pulled him into a kiss. Stunned, it took him a moment to draw back, but as he did so Isabel came into view. She stared at the two of them, open mouthed. Lady Emily didn’t waste a moment.
“Oh, Anthony.” She giggled. “Don’t make me swoon.”
Isabel’s face crumpled, and, before Anthony could speak or even move, she picked up her skirts and darted away, disappearing from sight.
He jerked away from Lady Emily as if he’d been burned. “Isabel, wait!”
14
Fourteen: Breathles
s
Isabel wove her way through the crowd, her vision blurry, a sick feeling spreading through her. The music continued to play, and soft chatter filled the room around her, but it all seemed far away. The image of Lady Emily, her knowing smile, and that display between the two of them burned in her mind. How could she have let herself be duped so completely? Lord Anthony had wooed her, courted her, made her feel the possibility of a future between them. And she, in turn, had allowed herself to believe she saw something in him, despite his reputation. To fall in love with a man who was, and always would be, a rake.
A dry, humorless laugh bubbled up inside her. She’d been so naïve. She, who prided herself on seeing through men and guiding Anne through the tangled tapestry of courtship. Right behind the laugh came a choked hiccup and a stifled sob. Isabel covered her mouth, doing her best to keep her emotions at bay.
It took a strong tug on her arm to bring her back to the ballroom, where Anne was looking at her with concern, Mr. Tauney Easton right beside her. “Isabel, what happened?”
Something about the smell of the crowded ballroom—the mix of so many people and burning candles—threatened to make Isabel faint. “Air. I need air.”
Mr. Easton turned on his heel to lead the way, and Anne laid a hand on Isabel’s back, guiding her toward the balcony doors, which had yet to be propped open. Soon Isabel was gasping in the cool night air, one hand on the balustrade, the other at her throat. As if such a gesture could hold back the torrent of despair threatening to crash down on her.
“Please,” Anne said from behind her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
And in that moment, as much as Isabel wanted to keep the truth from Anne, to be the strong one who never faltered, she couldn’t. “Lord Anthony . . .” She swallowed, her mouth dry. “I saw him with L-lady Emily.” She shook her head before going on. “I’ve been such a fool.” And with that she began to weep, her breaths coming in great heaving sobs.
Anne’s arms encompassed her, a fierce strength in her slender figure. “I can hardly believe it,” Anne murmured, muted anger in her voice. “I thought so well of him.” Isabel leaned into her sister, feeling her strength and allowing herself to be vulnerable.
“Are you certain you weren’t mistaken in what you saw?” Mr. Easton’s voice broke through the night air. “For I’ve heard some questionable things about Lady Emily’s character. Just tonight, I overheard her telling Lady Summers she was planning to retaliate against Lord Anthony for humiliating her.”
“Isabel, there you are.” A man’s frantic-sounding voice came from behind them.
Isabel stiffened, hating the way her skin tingled in reaction to hearing Lord Anthony’s voice.
He took several quick, shallow breaths. “I’ve been trying to catch up to you ever since you ran off. Please, allow me to explain.”
Anne didn’t move a muscle, she would let Isabel decide and not try to sway her one way or another. Isabel let out a heavy sigh, angry that she couldn’t avoid this encounter. But Lord Anthony would have to be faced. Might as well do it here, tonight, and have it done with. Though dread pooled in her stomach, reminding her that she was not so coolly unaffected with this situation as she wished herself to be.
Isabel cleared her throat, swallowing back any hint of reticence. She straightened her back as Anne released her hold. “Why yes, Lord Anthony, I believe I would like a word.”
Anne shot Lord Anthony a threatening glare. “Mr. Easton and I will be right through these doors should you need anything, Isabel.”
Isabel nodded, wishing her pulse wasn’t thundering through her veins, each beat adding to the headache forming behind her eyes. She bit her lip, wishing she didn’t feel so very exposed. It felt as if everything depended on this very moment.
At the feel of something on her arm, Isabel jerked, surprised to find Lord Anthony right next to her. The sleeve of his jacket brushed her elbow as he joined her at the balcony. He let out a despondent laugh. “I tried so hard to tell you, to warn you of my past, but it seems inevitable that it would catch up with me. If not here and now, somewhere in the future.”
Isabel stepped back from the balcony, wrapping her arms around her core. “So you and Lady Emily do have a past.”
Anthony turned, giving her a half-hearted smile. There was something in his coffee-colored eyes that tugged at Isabel, despite her determination to remain unmoved. “Yes, if you can call it a past. We flirted at a ball a few months ago, and once her interest in me became clear, I took her out to the gardens, where I kissed her, several times. Nothing more—that, I can promise you. But she clearly thought more was a possibility. She approached me a few nights ago outside of my room. I rebuffed her advances and it offended her. Tonight was nothing more than a ploy to cause trouble between us.” His shoulders sagged uncharacteristically, and he shook his head.
“Isabel, I feel sick knowing what you must believe of me. And to think I had begun to hope you might see me differently, that you might seriously consider a man with a multitude of past transgressions. But I suppose a man can only be careless with so many hearts before he ends up breaking his own.”
It felt like minutes since Isabel had drawn a breath. Her insides tensed, like a coil wrapped too tightly. There was something about Lord Anthony that frightened Isabel, for when he spoke he slowly undid her defenses. He made her listen when it was the last thing she wanted to do.
And with his hair mussed from his dash across the ballroom and the moonlight reflecting in his mournful eyes, her heart wanted to believe him. But her logical side, the side she’d always given preference to, couldn’t allow his words to take place in her.
She gave a derisive laugh. “Your words almost convince me, Lord Anthony.” Her voice was cool and distant, so unlike what she felt. “In fact, in this moment, I believe them. But this little charade must come to an end. I suppose it’s possible you’ve changed, and perhaps you believe you have. But what about the next time a beautiful woman flirts with you? How can I trust a man who has admitted to repeated past transgressions? To such carelessness with other’s hearts? I suppose the danger is I would never really know. And that would break my heart over and over again.”
Anthony pulled back from her a little. And Isabel wondered if he knew that, even though her words were directed toward him, each one was a knife to her own heart. “I can’t trust you, Lord Anthony. I can’t trust us.”
Something akin to determination lit his eyes, and he stepped forward before she had a chance to walk away. “No. Please.” He reached up, and the back of his knuckles traced a line down Isabel’s jaw, his touch like white fire that rooted her feet to the ground. His gaze roamed over her face, searching and hungry and desperate. In a moment, his lips were on hers, and Isabel felt as though she’d been struck by lightning. Heat poured through her, each millimeter of contact between them blazing, awakening all of the feelings she’d been so determined to tamp down. With each brush of his lips against hers, Isabel felt herself to be a starved woman, ravenous for Anthony’s love, for who she was when she was with him.
Her lungs seemed to sputter when he pulled back and touched his forehead to hers. “Trust this; trust us.” He kissed her again. This time without the heat and passion but with a soft tenderness that went straight to her heart. The warmth and surety she felt with his arms around her seemed to belie every protest her head could make.
“Isabel, are you all right? Is Lord Anthony—” Anne’s sharp intake of breath broke the moment as the two of them hurriedly stepped apart.
The warmth receded, all of Isabel’s former doubts rushing back in.
“I brought you a drink,” said Anne, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Why don’t you come inside for a moment?”
Despite the temptation to stay with Anthony, Isabel knew it wasn’t wise. Not when he could convince her so easily. Not when his kiss stole her breath, making it impossible to think.
As she turned to go he leaned forward and whispered, “I won’t push you
anymore tonight. But please, I beg you, meet me tomorrow? Down by the bench in the gardens before breakfast. There’s something I must speak to you about.”
Isabel nodded dumbly. Anthony gave a brief bow, his gaze unrelenting as Anne took her arm and whisked her back into the ballroom.
15
Fifteen: Garden Tête-à-Tête
Tired of tossing and turning, Isabel climbed out of bed well before the sun crept over the horizon. She’d slipped in a few snatches of sleep, but mostly her thoughts had been consumed with Anthony. His eyes, his smile, his words. And his kiss.
Isabel blew out a sigh and padded across the room, grabbing her wrap off the chair and pulling it around her before taking a seat at the vanity. She gently teased out her braid, using her fingers to comb through her hair as she tried to reign in the wild tangle of her thoughts. She vacillated between allowing herself to believe Anthony’s sincerity and the promises he seemed so eager to make, and giving into the dark despair that spread through her whenever her mind conjured up images of him with Lady Emily.
How could she know, with any certainty, whether she could trust Anthony? The thought of letting him go and closing her heart seemed impossible. But the other alternative—opening her heart and loving him—seemed just as unbearable. She feared giving him power over her: the power to betray her trust and shatter her heart.
Isabel traced the dark circles under her eyes. For such a large house, her room felt awfully small this morning, closing in around her as she struggled to decide.
She needed to get out of this room at once. But she couldn’t face Anthony just yet. Her insides trembled at the thought of seeing him again after last night. A quick glance out the window at the rising sun and Isabel knew exactly where to go. Making her way to the wardrobe, she put on the first dress she touched and then pulled her hair back in a low chignon. Her father was a well-established early riser, and speaking with him would serve as a welcome distraction.
An Unlikely Courtship: Regency House Party: Somerstone Page 9
