The door opened, and Lord Francis snapped out of his reverie and stood as his older brother, Charles Wheaton, Viscount Exencour, entered the room. The two men were similarly tall and fair-haired, but whereas Lord Francis was rangy and muscular, fairly radiating vitality, the Viscount was thin, and slightly stooped, his face prematurely aged by ill health.
Lord Francis strode towards him, clasping his brother’s hand, and then hugging him. "Charles, what a pleasant surprise! I had no notion that you and Claire were planning a visit to London."
"It was a bit of a sudden decision," Charles replied. "Claire is tired of the country, and wishes to spend a few weeks enjoying the social whirl, and visiting the modistes and milliners."
"I am delighted you are here; we shall have to visit our clubs together, and perhaps we can arrange for a snug card party some evening when Claire feels that she must visit Almack’s. Many of your old friends are in town."
Exencour gave his brother a shrewd glance. "That would be wonderful—if you have time for such frivolities. I have heard, even in the country, of your determined pursuit of Miss Isobel Paley. You didn’t say much about her at Strancaster this Easter, but now I am told that you are considered likely to offer for her. Am I soon to congratulate you? I would feel more comfortable knowing that you were married and preparing to set up your nursery."
"Nonsense Charles, you are certainly not so ill of health as to be worrying about that," Francis replied.
"Not yet," said the Viscount. "But I am certain at this point that I will not provide Strancaster with another heir. That duty must fall to you. So, I have a great deal of interest in your Miss Paley."
Lord Francis mentally reviewed his acquaintance with Isobel. How could he explain to his brother what it was about her that so intrigued him? "I must confess that her beauty was undeniably the original source of my attraction," he replied lightly. "But there are many other beautiful girls in London this Season. She is an heiress, but there are other wealthy girls also, some of them beautiful as well."
"Beauty and a respectable portion are certainly desirable in a bride," Charles responded. "I hear that she is not a very young lady, and has had several Seasons."
"No, she is not young, but five-and-twenty, I believe. However, a miss straight from the schoolroom would not do for me. I am already bored of dancing with them, and none of them are well educated. How could a man tolerate such prattling for decades? No, Miss Paley’s lively wit and independent turn of mind are among the things that attract me sufficiently to contemplate marriage."
"Why will she not have you then? You are certainly not ill favored, will never want for the means to support a wife, and though you don’t wish to hear it, you will almost certainly succeed to our father’s title."
Francis grimaced and shook his head. "I do not know. I believe that she is attracted to me, just as I am to her. We’ve had many lively conversations, and she always to be comfortable sharing her opinions with me. She has a lively sense of humor, and is interested, as I am, in politics and diplomacy."
Though he didn’t mention it to Lord Exencour, Francis also reflected that Isobel had not been unwilling when they had so nearly kissed that memorable evening at the Perchingham’s ball. Although her behavior had been everything proper, the warmth of feeling between them had been unmistakable. He hesitated, and then continued. "But when I consider all of our meetings, it is true that she has consistently avoided any effort I might make to declare myself."
"Well it is very mysterious, Francis, for even though, as your brother, I am very fond of you, no one could possibly doubt that you are a very eligible parti. There must be some reason behind her reluctance; think about it, and perhaps a clue will come to you."
"Perhaps," replied Francis doubtfully. "But come, you are just arrived, I want to hear more of the doings at Strancaster. Did you leave our mother well?"
The talk turned to other topics, and the subject was forgotten, but the next day, as he strolled down Oxford Street, Charles’ words returned to Lord Francis, and he found himself thinking back to the night at Kitswold when Isobel’s brother and his wife had joined them for dinner. She had definitely tried to discourage him then, while his flirting with her when he left Kitswold had received an arctic response. A shred of a memory teased at the edge of his mind. There was something there, something which eluded him, but he felt sure it held the key to the mystery. Something involving Viscount Wereham, and Harriet too, he fancied. He stared blindly into a shop window, and sought to recall the circumstances of the dinner party at Kitswold House when he had met Frederick. Then Viscount Wereham’s smug voice resonated in his mind.
"’T’is no more uninteresting than those everlasting diggings of yours," the viscount had said. Lord Francis also recalled Isobel clutching a pile of papers to her breast as he entered her library at Kitswold. There was something there he thought, walking on, but not enough. Even as he reflected upon this, his attention was drawn to a man gazing in the window of a bookseller. He was astonished to recognize Alexander Paley, Isobel's scholarly cousin. Lord Francis had some acquaintance with him, the two men having shared an interest in Greek history during their time at Oxford, as well as some riotous evenings about town, and thus approached him with alacrity.
"Alexander," he said with pleasure. "It has been many a year, I know, since you have ventured to London. Have you given up your books in pursuit of a life of gaiety?"
Alexander Paley smiled at this pleasantry and shook Lord Francis' hand. "What a foolish question, Francis. Better you should give up your life of frivolity and indulge in more study. I have always regretted your choice to enter the army, rather than develop your mind. You had such promise as a scholar."
"Promise not fulfilled, alack, and now I fear that I shall never again pick up those threads. But I do hope to pursue diplomacy or politics, which, while not as worthy as your studies, can perhaps aid our existence in some way."
"A noble aim, Francis. And how have you been these past years?"
"My time on the Peninsula was enlightening, if not always enjoyable. I am glad to see peaceful England and I am also pleased to see English ladies. Indeed, I have become acquainted with a cousin of yours, Miss Isobel Paley."
"Have you? Isobel is one of my favorite relations; she is a woman of sterling qualities," observed Mr. Paley. "How came you to meet her?"
Lord Francis laughed. "I overturned my curricle in the road outside Kitswold, causing myself considerable injury, and she was perforce required to nurse me back to health. She was an excellent physician, and her company greatly helped my recovery."
"Isobel is a woman of numerous accomplishments," said Alexander. "Nursing is but one of them."
"Indeed," said Lord Francis. "From her I also learned of your new interest in Scottish antiquities. I had thought you confined your studies to the Grecian era."
"My interest in Scottish antiquities?" said Mr. Paley, seemingly bewildered. "It is not I..." he stopped abruptly.
Lord Francis eyed him closely, his suspicions aroused. "Miss Paley was making a fair copy of your latest paper for the Society of Antiquaries, and I saw some pages; they were clearly on the ruins near Ballydendargan. She was quite annoyed with me for discovering her at work, but I can only admire her for aiding you in this way. Surely I am not mistaken?"
"No, no, you are not mistaken at all," said Mr. Paley hurriedly. "I was merely surprised that you should have heard of my interest in Scottish antiquities. I have done only a little work on the subject. As you said, I specialize in the Greek period."
"I am sorry if I have intruded where you did not wish me to. Rest assured Miss Paley did not willingly give away your secret; I am afraid I surprised her at her work. But surely this interest of yours will not remain a secret for long? If the paper is to be presented to the Society, soon all will know of it. I am most interested in perusing it, myself," said Lord Francis. Something in Alexander's demeanor was urging him to pursue the topic of this paper.
Mr. Paley
looked uncomfortable. "I will be presenting the paper at the next meeting, of course," he said. "However, I will do so under a pseudonym. I intend to list the author as Marcus Paley, an invalid who does not leave his home. I have written papers under the name for some years now."
"Whatever for?" asked Lord Francis, truly curious now. "You are so well known for your scholarly works; surely many would be glad to know you have turned your attention to our own Isles."
"Merely a whim," said Mr. Paley. "I fear that my change in focus may cause others think I am merely toying with my Scottish studies. I do believe this work is important, and so I prefer to present this information under another name."
This explanation seemed odd to Lord Francis, but he felt it would be impolite to press the matter. "Well, Alexander, if you must resort to false names, then you must. But it seems I should follow the career of Marcus Paley more closely, now that I am aware of his existence."
Mr. Paley fidgeted uncomfortably. "There is no need for that, Francis. I am sure you have many other interests, and my work on the Grecian islands is more in your sphere of knowledge."
"But knowledge can always be expanded. Perhaps I shall become a great devotee of Scottish antiquities. Come, dear fellow, you must stroll with me; we have much to catch up on."
As the gentlemen turned their feet down Bond Street and their conversation to other topics, Lord Francis made a mental note to check on the activities of one Marcus Paley. Alexander had seemed dismayed by Lord Francis' mention of Isobel's copywork for him, but Lord Francis remembered it distinctly. At the time he had thought it odd that Alexander's focus of interest should have changed, and that gentleman's evident discomfort with the direction of the conversation more than ever convinced Lord Francis that Miss Paley’s doings were rather deeper than he had expected. Perhaps he ought to simply forget the enigmatic Miss Paley, and seek out some other lady who would doubtless greet his attentions with more pleasure. But he did not want others, he reflected. It was only Isobel who had engaged his heart sufficiently to make him contemplate matrimony. It was necessary to convince her that he was a man worthy of her confidence.
Lord Francis would have been interested to know that immediately after leaving his lordship’s company, Alexander Paley’s footsteps led him to Clarges Street, where he presented himself at the home of Miss Isobel Paley. Pierce ushered him into the morning room, where Isobel sat reading, her beautiful profile turned to the door. She turned, and her face lit up at the sight of her cousin.
"Alexander, my dear, how good to see you," she said, rising to her feet and coming towards him, her hands outstretched. "What are you doing in London?"
Alexander took both her hands in his, and raised one to his lips. "You look charming, Isobel. Although I have no idea why I tell you that, for you are surely aware of the picture you present."
"That is why I love you, Cousin; I can always count on you to bring me back down to earth. My head has been quite turned by the compliments of the London gentlemen; it takes a scholar to point out to me how meaningless they are." Isobel beamed at Alexander. "You have no notion how delighted I am to see you. Can you stay a bit? Have you seen the Frieze of Bassae? I spent the better part of an afternoon sketching it."
"Alas, no, though I would love to hear of your impressions of the frieze. You must write me a long letter. I came to London only for a few days; you know how much I dislike the city. I had to meet with my mother’s solicitor, and I took the opportunity to visit the library and Lackington’s, but I leave later this afternoon."
"What a pity," said Isobel, honest disappointment on her face. "I do love London, and my friends here, but I also long for someone with whom I can share my other interests. But if I must make do with letters, so be it."
"Sometime you will have to come to Oxford and spend a few days, Isobel. Then we can compare our work in peace. I wonder that you can keep your thoughts straight amidst the noise of London." Alexander shook his head.
Isobel smiled. "Oh, I can appreciate gaiety, as well as a Roman coin. Though perhaps not as lasting, a waltz with a handsome gentleman is also a great pleasure."
"That leads me to the reason for my visit," said Alexander. "How well do you know Lord Francis Wheaton?"
He was astounded to see Isobel turn a fiery red and drop her eyes. "What is going on, Isobel?" he asked.
She turned away, waving one hand airily. "I am acquainted with Lord Francis, Alexander, but nothing more."
"He gave me to understand that he spent some time at Kitswold," said Alexander. "Did I not hear him correctly?"
"Oh, yes, that," said Isobel. "He did spend some weeks at Kitswold, after he foolishly overturned his curricle outside my front door," said Isobel "But, after all, how well can one know someone who is a convalescent?"
"Well enough for him to learn of my new interest in Roman ruins in Scotland!" retorted Alexander. "I hardly suppose that you took your paper up to his sickroom to share it with him, so you must have had some discussions with him."
"Don’t be nonsensical," said Isobel. "He interrupted me in my library while I was preparing the manuscript, and I was so startled that I was unable to secure it. I had to give him some sort of excuse for what he clearly deemed bizarre behavior on my part."
"Well, I was very surprised when he asked me about it," said Alexander.
Isobel’s eyes grew wide. "He asked you? When did you see him?"
"Not a half hour ago, in Bond Street," said Alexander.
"You didn’t tell him that it was my paper, did you?" asked Isobel, not quite sure what she hoped he would say in response.
Alexander shook his head. "No, I didn’t do that, though I was hard pressed for a moment. I’m not an accomplished liar, Isobel. I’m very much afraid that Francis seemed skeptical of my explanation that I published some papers under the name Marcus Paley."
"Oh, you did not tell him about Marcus, did you?" breathed Isobel.
"I had to," said Alexander frankly. "The paper will appear under that name, and Francis seemed just curious enough to go searching for it. Tell me, Cousin, how well do you know his lordship? And don’t try to fob me off, I could tell he had a more than casual interest in you," he added, when he saw the stubborn look that was descending on Isobel’s face.
"As I said, he spent some weeks at Kitswold, and I have, of course, seen him in London. We have danced a few times, and he paid me a morning call." Isobel refused to meet Alexander’s eyes.
"And that is all?" he asked.
"Oh, you are being remarkably persistent, you horrid thing," said Isobel. "Perhaps Lord Francis has shown some interest in me. But I have no intention of encouraging him."
"Why not?" asked Alexander. "I haven’t spent much time with Francis since we were at school together, but he was always a very sound fellow. Intelligent, kind, and thoughtful as well. I told him when we met today that it was a pity he went into the army rather than pursue his scholarly inclinations."
Isobel shook her head. "He seems to be all that a proper gentleman should be, but I am not interested in the married state, as you know. I have done my very best to discourage his lordship, and as for letting him know about my other interests—a thousand times, no."
"Well, I’d be careful if I were you, then," said Alexander. "My explanation about Marcus sounded weak even to my own ears, and Francis is no fool. He may ask you some questions."
Isobel found to her dismay that she wished to burst into tears. "I don’t think you need to worry about that, Alexander. I very much doubt that Lord Francis will be paying me a visit any time soon."
Alexander threw his hands up in the air. "I would ask more questions, but I don’t think I care to know the answers. I have no idea what you are up to, Isobel, but have a care. Lord Francis does not deserve to be trifled with, and, while I am always happy to aid you in your scholarly pursuits, I dislike having to cover your tracks."
Isobel bit her lip. "I am sorry, Alexander," she said. "I didn’t think he would remember that paper. I promi
se you that I will be more circumspect in the future. Please don’t be angry with me. Will it help if I promise to make sure Lord Francis does not bother you again? "She reflected sadly that, from now on, he was likely to have very little interest in her doings.
Alexander sighed. "I can never be angry at you, Isobel." He took her hands in his again. "What a pity that such a fine scholarly mind must be hidden from the world. I only came to you because I thought you should know that I told Francis that I was Marcus Paley. Now, we need to be quiet about the whole thing, and hope he puts it behind him."
"Indeed, we must hope that," said Isobel fervently.
Chapter 15
Some two weeks had passed since the dark day on which Letitia had been claimed by Lord Morgan and Lord Francis had proposed to Isobel. Both events still cast their shadows over Isobel's life however, try as she might to forget them. Her trips to the modiste were sadly flat without Letty's excellent taste and humorous comments, and she no longer had a companion to walk with in the park, for Miss Harriet did not care for that form of exercise. Isobel had received a letter from Letitia reassuring her as to her and the children's health and their safe arrival in Wales, but reading between the lines Isobel could sense her misery. It bothered her that she was unable to alleviate her friend’s distress, and she peppered Mr. Askworth with requests that he explore every avenue which might relieve Lady Morgan of her husband's obnoxious presence, though her long-suffering solicitor’s responses, regrettably, never changed.
The Secret Bluestocking: Isobel's Traditional Regency Romance Page 14
