They rumbled through the streets in Isobel’s carriage and waited for the opportunity to alight at Perchingham House. It required quite forty‑five minutes for Isobel and Letitia to make their way up the wide stairs into the ballroom, but they were well entertained in reviewing the others crowding the entrance.
Once within, Isobel and Letitia were both instantly claimed by dance partners, and their cards were soon filled with names. Lord Francis Wheaton had engaged Isobel for a waltz and supper, and she was looking forward to it, for though his lordship had amply demonstrated that he danced charmingly at various other gatherings, he had not previously solicited a waltz from her. In fact, Isobel found herself looking forward so much to her dance with Lord Francis, that she had difficulty paying attention to the country dances, and conversed with her partners quite at random.
She was fanning herself vigorously, cheeks flushed and eyes glowing, and awaiting the delivery of a glass of lemonade by her previous partner, when Lord Francis appeared before her, making an exquisite leg. He was dressed with great propriety and elegance in a coat which whispered of Weston’s restrained hand, and his neck cloth, tied in the difficult Mathematical, was a masterwork of snowy perfection. A ruby glittered in its glacial folds, mirroring her own jewels. The orchestra struck up the strains of the waltz, Lord Francis presented his arm to her with a delightful smile, and Isobel forgot the hapless Viscount Farngoth who was threading his way toward her bearing her requested lemonade. Lord Francis swept her into the dance, and she was lost in a world of sound and light, color and rhythm, as they moved in harmony with the music.
Isobel noticed little but the pleasure of effortlessly following Lord Francis as they twirled around the floor, finding his strong arms wonderfully comfortable, and they danced in the silence of those who have no need to speak. As the strains of the waltz began to draw to a close, Lord Francis subtly traversed the ballroom to the long windows, their heavy crimson draperies open to allow the night breezes to cool the crowded room. He swept her past a servant, coming to a halt in a swirl of her carnelian gown, but paused only to spirit two glasses of champagne from the footman’s tray, handing Isobel one before clasping her hand and leading her out onto the terrace.
Isobel laughed delightedly. "You dance famously, my lord. I vow no other man in London could have maneuvered so elegantly. No doubt it was a tactic you learned in the ballrooms of Lisbon from the great Wellington himself."
"It is true that Wellington’s social graces are nearly as highly developed as his military capabilities, and that staff officers are required to squire any number of young ladies. However, I flatter myself that I was uniquely inspired by you, Miss Paley."
‘And what purpose do balls serve if not to inspire us to creating a more musical and harmonious life?" Isobel paused, glancing at the starry night sky. "Yes, life is full of graceless moments, we need dancing to provide us with an ideal of harmony."
"Upon my word, Miss Paley, you certainly invest a great deal of meaning in a dance," observed Lord Francis.
"If one does not, surely there is little justification for the amount of effort that goes into it?" she inquired.
"The pure pleasure of the dance is justification enough, ma'am," observed Lord Francis. "And to waltz with you is no effort at all."
Isobel fanned herself with energy, for she felt unaccountably warm. "I am honored that my small skills find favor with you, sir. But a man as experienced as you are in the ballroom need not worry that his partner would be unable to keep pace."
"Why, I do not think that is so," observed his lordship. "I find that most partners do not suit my manner of dancing at all. Either they are not light enough on their feet, or they do not respond quickly enough to my actions, or they simply have no feeling for the music to which we dance."
"Then it must be necessary for you to choose your partners with great care," said Isobel.
"Indeed it is," was the rejoinder. "I will not waltz with someone I cannot feel that particular sympathy of movement with. I have done no waltzing this Season, Miss Paley."
"I suppose then I should feel honored that you deign to waltz with me, my lord," said Isobel.
"On the contrary, I am the one honored," was the graceful reply. Lord Francis bowed to her.
The moonlight made the silk of her dress shine and her golden ornaments gleam with a soft fire. Lord Francis looked into Isobel's perfect face and he caught his breath, leaning towards her. Almost his lips touched hers, but Isobel, coming quickly back to earth, turned her head and stepped back.
"And are you enjoying your return to the social whirl?" she asked. "Mayhap the Season is dull after your long absence and exciting adventures in the Peninsula." She wondered at the artificiality of her tone and inwardly chastised herself for allowing the moonlight to go to her head.
"I am enjoying beyond expression my return to England," observed his lordship. His lazy eyes sought out Isobel's again. She could see a touch of amusement lurking in the back of them. "However, London does not hold the charm for me that it once did. While it is pleasant to admire the many ornamental personages at the various assemblies, I find that their beauty is no substitute for sensible conversation, which often seems to be sadly lacking."
"How serious you are," said Isobel lightly. "This is a time for gaiety, not philosophizing. One does not attend balls for sensible conversation. You should dance and enjoy yourself, not indulge in mournful thoughts."
"Oh, my thoughts are not mournful at all, now that I have found you. I am sure that you can provide more intelligent conversation in ten minutes than I have heard in the last se'ennight."
"I am not sure if I should feel complimented, sir," said Isobel. "Sense and intelligence are not highly prized in gently-bred females."
"When they are combined with beauty and kindness, there is nothing more attractive," said Lord Francis, raising her hand to his lips. "I seek a woman who can engage my mind as well as my heart."
"You are asking a great deal," said Isobel, turning her head away. Her heart had jumped when Lord Francis had claimed to admire intelligence as well as beauty, and for this she took herself severely to task. He was indulging in a flirtation with her, and could hardly be trusted at his word. Doubtless many another woman would hear such pretty speeches this night. "No woman could possibly combine all these virtues you describe."
"On the contrary, ma'am," said Lord Francis. "I had despaired of finding one such, but now I have discovered her." He gave her a curiously intent look, as though attempting to gauge her response.
Isobel's mouth felt curiously dry and she experienced a peculiar sensation in her stomach. "You must introduce me to this paragon, my lord," she said. "I fear I shall be most jealous of one so accomplished."
"You have no need to be jealous of any woman, Miss Paley," said Lord Francis. "You are indeed that paragon."
Isobel's hands fluttered by her sides, and Lord Francis gathered them into his strong grip. "Surely you cannot mistake my meaning, Miss Paley," he said, looking into her eyes. His own had lost their customary lazy geniality, and his voice was quick and sure.
"I...Lord Francis, surely...I cannot..." Isobel was amazed to find herself struggling for words. She felt quite foolish, stammering like a schoolgirl. The gentleman's attentions were most marked, and his manner almost possessive, yet she could not say she truly found her situation unpleasant. She did not feel threatened by his actions, and yet she found herself short of breath. She looked up at him with a perplexed expression.
"I promise you, if you can bring yourself to trust me you will not regret it," said Lord Francis.
Isobel did not know how to respond. She knew Lord Francis was treading where she would rather he did not, and that she should gather herself and demand he should return her to the ballroom. Yet she was deeply disappointed when her partner for the next dance appeared at the door just then and hailed her.
"Miss Paley! I believe I have this dance," he said. "We must not allow Lord Francis to so monopolize you. Y
our grace on the dance floor must be appreciated by all."
Isobel reluctantly withdrew her hands from Lord Francis's grip and turned towards the gentleman. She heard a sigh behind her as she departed on her escort's arm. She took one look back over her shoulder and saw that Lord Francis still watched her, a thoughtful expression in his eyes.
The rest of the evening passed in a whirl. Isobel danced with an uncounted number of young men, all of them pleasant, and yet, to her eyes, none of them memorable. At supper Lord Francis was the epitome of a polite gentleman; while he spoke not one word or made one gesture that could be interpreted as being out of the ordinary, it seemed to Isobel that his look was singularly intent and his manner proprietary. She supposed she should be annoyed at his marked preference for her, but somehow she could not work up any anger towards Lord Francis. It was, she decided, a most confusing situation in which she found herself.
So much did Miss Paley feel this confusion, that the next day found her still abed long after she had usually risen, attended to any pressing household matters, and ridden in the park. Thus, when Lord Francis Wheaton arrived to call upon the ladies dwelling in Clarges Street, he was surprised to find only Lady Morgan in the sitting room. She was dressed very simply and reading a novel; she looked up with a quick smile when Lord Francis was announced.
"Good morning, Lord Francis," she said. "How pleasant to see you."
Lord Francis advanced and kissed her hand gracefully. If he was disappointed to find Lady Morgan alone, he was far too well‑bred to betray this in his countenance. Nonetheless, Lady Morgan seemed to have some inkling of his feelings.
"You are doubtless sorry to find Isobel absent," she observed. "I am afraid she is a trifle indisposed this morning; a most unusual occurrence. Still, we all deserve to take to our bed upon occasion."
Lord Francis felt obliged to offer a disclaimer. "How could I possibly be disappointed in my company, when it is made up of a lady as charming as you, Lady Morgan?" he said. "You vastly undervalue yourself."
"How kind of you to say so," said Lady Morgan. "And yet I continue to suspect that it was not my presence that drew you to Clarges Street this day."
Lord Francis smiled charmingly. It was clear to him that Lady Morgan was not to be deterred from her chosen topic of conversation. "Mayhap it is Miss Paley who is the main object of my attentions here, but I nonetheless enjoy the company of both you and Miss Harriet. A more winning combination of female virtues I am unlikely to find elsewhere."
"I believe that I speak for Miss Harriet as well as myself when I say that your visits here are most eagerly awaited," said Lady Morgan.
Lord Francis could not resist the opening this provided. "Is it only Lady Morgan and Miss Harriet who enjoy my visits?" he asked.
Lady Morgan laughed. "Lord Francis, you are quite impossible. I am certain that you are entirely aware of your extraordinary charm of manner, and thus do not hesitate to berate you for so obviously fishing for information. How could Isobel possibly not enjoy your most pointed attention to her?"
"I am sometimes led to believe by Miss Paley's words and actions that she would prefer I did not continue to visit her," said Lord Francis. For once his speech was not drawling, and his eyes held a serious look.
Lady Morgan appeared to be choosing her words with care. "It is not that she does not enjoy your visits, Lord Francis. I am sure that you have spent sufficient time with Isobel to be certain of the fact that your temperaments are remarkably complementary. However, the lady in question is careful not to be taken in by the merely glib and likeable."
Lord Francis made an impatient gesture. "You and I talk at cross‑purposes, ma'am. As I believe that you stand something in the light of a sister to Miss Paley, I will speak plainly. I have spent considerable years, both here and elsewhere, acquainting myself with any number of women. Never have I met one who appeals to me as strongly as Miss Paley. I have gone out of my way to be agreeable, and yet she avoids me at every turn. I admit to considerable frustration with the object of my interest."
"This is plain speaking, indeed, sir," said Lady Morgan. "And I would be loathe to gossip about my very dear friend. Yet you must by this time be aware that Isobel has resisted the lures of any number of very eligible gentlemen. She is a woman who is quite content to care for herself and secure her own interests without need to account to others."
"I am glad she has resisted the blandishments of others, for now I can press my case. I cannot believe that my attentions are repugnant to her, and yet she constantly flees from me," said Lord Francis.
"If you are truly certain of your choice, then you must convince Isobel. My feelings about the matter, alas, will do you no good," said Letitia. "And you must be patient; she has not known you long enough to be certain of the strength of your attachment."
"I do not know how I can demonstrate to Miss Paley more clearly that my affection is fixed on her," said Lord Francis. "I do not see why we should play out an extended comedy, when we could be enjoying one another's company on a continual basis."
Letitia shook her head. "All I can counsel, Lord Francis, is patience and good will. You do not do well to attempt to hurry Isobel; she makes her choices wisely and will not be dictated to."
Lord Francis was prevented from replying to this by the arrival of Miss Harriet, who was delighted that so charming a gentlemen was visiting them, and desired to know every detail of the previous evening's entertainment, which she was sure had been utterly delightful, though a wretched headache had prevented her from attending the festivities herself. The topic of conversation was quickly changed, and not returned to, although both Lady Morgan and Lord Francis found they had a great deal to think about.
When Isobel descended from her boudoir quite late in the afternoon, she found Letitia waiting for her in the sitting room. Lady Morgan looked up from her book with a quick smile.
"I hope you are feeling much better," she said. "I am quite exhausted with greeting your visitors, none of whom seemed to believe that you were genuinely out‑of‑sorts. Your renowned good health has made me appear to be a liar."
Isobel laughed. "I am sorry to make you carry the burden of greeting so many callers, but I cannot say I am sorry to have missed them all. Pray, who has been here?"
Letitia ticked them off on her fingers. "There was Mrs. Camelton and her daughter, and Sir Anthony Melcham, and Lady Cannington. Oh, of course I must not forget Lady Jersey, who was most annoyed with me for denying you to her. She seemed to think that I perhaps had you concealed somewhere about my person. And Major Lord Francis Wheaton," she concluded, with a quick glance at Isobel's face.
Letitia was astounded to see Isobel color.
"Oh, was he indeed here?" Isobel asked weakly.
"Surely that is not such an unlikely occurrence?" said Letitia. "You two have seen a great deal of one another of late."
"It is impossible not to see a great a deal of a gentleman who is living in one's home," said Isobel, somewhat defensively.
"It would seem that he continues to seek you out in London," said Letitia.
"Yes, so it would seem," said Isobel abstractedly.
"You cannot be unaware that his attentions have been most particular," said Letitia, "You must realize that a proposal of marriage may be imminent."
Isobel looked down at her hands. "If Lord Francis were to do something so foolish, I am afraid he would have to suffer the consequences. I am not inclined to entertain marriage offers."
"Isobel, why this determination against Lord Francis?" asked Letitia. "Surely, a man who truly loved you would be able to countenance the eccentricity of your scholarship. Lord Francis seems to be such a man; his interest in you apparently goes far beyond your pretty face and large fortune. He has no need of your wealth, there are dozens of lovely girls who are far more docile than you to be found in London this Season, and he can scarcely be unaware of the quirks of your nature."
Isobel hesitated. She could hardly indicate to Letitia that, as much as
she loved her, she could not feel that her judgment in the matter of men was entirely sound. Although she had to admit if she was being entirely fair, she had been taken in by Lord Morgan as well; he had appeared to her to be a perfect match for Letitia. For all Lord Francis' charm and seeming steadiness of character, she had not known him long enough to judge his constancy.
"I cannot guess on such short acquaintance how Lord Francis' actions may be interpreted," she said. "I only know that if he is seeking to fix my interest, it will take a great deal more than pretty words and graceful dancing."
Letitia sighed. "I cannot pressure you on this, Isobel, for I know your many concerns. Still, you would do well to consider carefully your feelings for the gentleman, as I believe he is not only quite smitten with you, but worthy of you as well."
Lady Morgan excused herself, pleading weariness from the morning's social round, leaving Isobel alone in the sitting room to attempt to gather her thoughts. If they were dominated by a certain tall, blonde gentleman, Isobel was certainly not inclined to admit to it.
Chapter 13
At breakfast a few days later Isobel, Letitia, and Harriet were nibbling on toast and drinking chocolate as they conversed and reviewed the newspapers, occasionally remarking on some item or the other. A footman entered bearing a silver salver piled with elegant envelopes containing cards of invitation as well as other, larger packages of correspondence. Isobel sorted through the heap and, coming to a bulky missive, peered at it closely before handing it to Letty.
"This is for you Letty," she remarked. "It seems to have been franked by your cousin."
Letitia’s surprise registered on her face as she opened the letter. "I don’t often receive letters from my cousin," she said. "I wonder that he knew my direction." She then fell silent, beginning to read, her expression turning to vexation, and then fear. "Oh no, this is quite dreadful," she exclaimed, her hands trembling.
The Secret Bluestocking: Isobel's Traditional Regency Romance Page 11
