"Don't fear, Hetty," said Isabel in a low voice. "We will not acknowledge him, and he may pass by. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. We will keep you safe. Charles promised, remember?"
Hetty seemed to calm slightly at the words, but Isabel could feel her arm trembling.
Of course, it was ridiculous to think that Mr. Farrow would do anything in the middle of the park in the afternoon, but the man was unpredictable and determined enough to set Isabel on edge. Why had she insisted that Hetty accompany them to the park without the escort of a gentleman? She had wanted so much to treat Hetty to an outing she would enjoy after spending so much time in the house.
Isabel had little hope that Mr. Farrow would pass by them, and she watched uneasily as his gaze came to rest on Hetty. His eyes widened, his nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched.
He reined in his horse, and his eyes lingered on Hetty as he nodded his head at the ladies in greeting. He seemed to be attempting a smile, but the top of his lip was raised in an unmistakable sneer.
"Ah, Mr. Farrow," Mary said in a sweet voice, breaking the strained silence. "What a pleasure to find you here on this lovely afternoon."
His eyes flitted to her, and he nodded with another attempt at a smile. "Yes, quite." His eyes moved back to Hetty. "Miss Robson, I confess that I did not expect to meet you here."
Isabel breathed a sigh of relief as she noted how collected Hetty looked. If she hadn't been able to feel Hetty's stiffness, she would have had no idea that she was anxious to be confronting Mr. Farrow.
Hetty smiled as she raised her brows politely and said, "Oh? Why not?"
Isabel took her lips between her teeth, fighting one desire to laugh and one to shake Hetty for her daring.
Mr. Farrow glanced at Isabel but otherwise kept his eyes trained on Hetty, "It seems you have found your way back to the Cosgrove family. How comforting it is to know where to find you in case I have need of you." His eyes threatened Hetty as his horse fidgeted underneath him.
Hetty shivered, and her smile faltered.
Isabel tightened her arm around Hetty's. Mr. Farrow clearly felt no compunction threatening Hetty in broad daylight with both Isabel and Mary as witnesses. She had no doubt that he would dare to have Hetty followed or taken whenever the opportunity presented itself, so long as he thought it would safeguard him from the damage Hetty could do to his reputation.
Isabel could not allow him to think such a thing when she had ammunition to prevent it.
"We are likewise comforted in our knowledge of where to find you, Mr. Farrow," she said with a challenge in her eyes.
He seemed annoyed at the comment and made no response.
"Please make no mistake, sir" Isabel continued, "if I find that you refuse to leave Miss Robson alone, you can rest assured that hitherto-secret information will come to light, ensuring both your financial and social ruin."
Mr. Farrow's lips pulled back to bare his teeth, and his hands clenched around the reins. "Impossible," he spat out.
"Indisputable," Isabel countered, her cheeks warm to the touch. "You stand on thin ice, Mr. Farrow. I recommend that you do nothing to further compromise your position. Leave Hetty be, and she will return the favor, though it is far more than you deserve."
She began walking forward, pulling Hetty and Mary along with her. Both had to hasten to match her speed.
"Bravo!" cried Mary with admiration, looking back behind them after an admiring glance at Isabel. "I believe you've successfully confounded Farrow, Izzy. He and his horse are still at a standstill in the middle of the path."
"You were marvelous!" cried Hetty. She seemed completely energized.
Isabel took a deep breath but didn't slacken her pace.
She chewed her lip distractedly. She had grave doubts as to whether she had been wise to say what she had. Charles, for one, would be aghast at what she had done. Hadn't she promised him that Mr. Farrow would be unaware of her identity as the person who knew the information he wished to keep secret?
She only hoped that Hetty was indeed safer for the interaction.
21
Charles had just sat down for breakfast when he heard the bell to his lodgings ring. Who in the world would be paying a call at this hour? He trusted that Morton would turn away whoever it was.
He had only taken one bite of his toast when a knock sounded on the door.
“A man here to see you, sir,” said the footman.
Charles noticed the absence of any calling card in the footman’s hand.
“I told him you were not at home to visitors, but he requested that I let you know his name is Abbott.”
Charles looked at his footman dazedly for a moment before clearing his throat and putting his napkin down. “Show him into the library, please.”
He had written to Abbott, of course, and requested a response as soon as possible. He had not expected an answer, much less an actual call.
This meeting was bound to be quite an interesting one.
He took another bite of toast and a sip of ale before rising to walk to the library.
The man inside was tall enough to have to look down at the hands of the mahogany clock in the room, his hair a rich brown, and his expression grave. He betrayed none of the nerves Charles had expected to see, given their difference in station. His clothes were neat and simple, though obviously not well-tailored.
What kind of man was this Mr. Abbott, and what was the purpose of his visit?
“Hello, Mr. Abbott,” Charles said, offering the man a seat in a gilt armchair.
“Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Galbraith,” Mr. Abbott said without expression. He stayed standing. “Thank you for the offer, but I would prefer to stand. I know you were not expecting my visit, so I will keep it short.”
Charles inclined his head. “I admit my surprise at receiving news of your presence, but I am glad of it, all the same. What can I do for you?”
“If you please, sir, I wish to know, in quite plain terms, what the situation is of Hett—” he cleared his throat “—Miss Robson. I believe I understood enough from your letter to infer how things stand, but I would like to be certain.”
Charles looked at Mr. Abbott with a measuring gaze. The man seemed unflappable, nothing like that ignorant youth Charles had envisioned when Hetty had first spoken of her prior attachment to him. Charles had spent time around a fair number of untrustworthy gentlemen over the years. Mr. Abbott was very clearly not one of them. He was a bit stiff, surely, but Charles liked what he saw so far.
He spent a few minutes recounting his first and subsequent encounters with Hetty, what he had come to learn of her situation, and where things now stood.
Mr. Abbott stood motionless but attentive, no expression crossing his face but for a brief grimace upon hearing of Mrs. Robson’s role and a pulsing of the vein in his neck when Marshalsea was mentioned.
“I wish I could say that I was surprised,” he said when Charles had finished speaking. “When her mother informed me that they were moving to town and that I was not on any account to contact Hetty, I greatly feared what would become of her. She is naïve in the extreme and has always wished to please her parents. Allow me to express my gratitude to you and your friends for ensuring her safety when no one else would.”
Charles executed a shallow bow.
“I have both the power and the desire to help Hetty, Mr. Galbraith. My financial situation is stable, though quite modest. But I love her very much, and I will take the best care of her I possibly can.”
Charles cleared his throat and clasped his hands. Had the man understood him clearly? “Mr. Abbott, allow me to be plain with you. You do realize that Hetty is with child?”
Mr. Abbott nodded curtly. “I will certainly not be the first person to raise another man’s child, sir.”
Charles acknowledged the truth of the statement.
“Hetty doesn’t deserve ruin,” Mr. Abbott continued, “simply because she was too innocent to understand the malicious
intentions of those around her.”
Charles stared at the man in wonder. Behind Mr. Abbott’s stoic façade, there was clearly a deep, abiding, and unselfish love that Charles found himself admiring.
“And what of obtaining permission from her parents?” he said. He doubted Mrs. Robson would consent to a marriage between her daughter and a plain, working man like Mr. Abbott.
“I believe I can persuade her father to agree to it. He is much more reasonable than his wife, and his is the permission I need. I shall obtain a license and ask that the banns be read at once. Then I shall return for Hetty and convey her to my mother’s home.”
Charles nodded slowly. “I should like to do something more to help you and Hetty. Allow me to pay for the license, Mr. Abbott.”
Mr. Abbott seemed to hesitate. Likely it was a matter of pride for him.
“You will have plenty to do in caring for Hetty over the years,” Charles continued. “Allow me this one gesture.”
Mr. Abbott frowned but nodded. “It is very generous of you, sir.”
Within minutes, Mr. Abbott had departed, leaving Charles to marvel at the man’s cool and collected confronting of an unfortunate situation—and one he had no duty to involve himself in.
The contrast between Mr. Abbott and Mr. Farrow could hardly have been more stark.
Charles’s mother would have greatly admired such a man. And Charles found himself in full agreement. He had no doubt Hetty would be well taken care of by Mr. Abbott, which was more than he could say of her parents’ care.
* * *
Charles stood in front of the mirror, his tongue between his teeth as he put the finishing touch on his cravat. Two crumpled cravats lay on the floor near his feet, and tiny beads of sweat were forming near his hairline.
He let his arms drop to his sides and examined his work through narrowed eyes. It would have to do. It was rare for him to retie a cravat, but his fingers had been unreliable and impatient all morning. He shrugged on his blue coat and took in a deep breath. The carriage and his horse would likely be waiting outside.
The ride to Belport Street was undertaken at a brisk pace, but Charles was glad for a few minutes of reflection. Things had been going well with Julia the past few days. While she was still to be seen in Farrow's company more often than Charles liked, she seemed to be equally as interested in Charles's company once again.
The frustration Charles often felt in her presence he ascribed to lingering feelings of bitterness or resentment at the way things had been handled since the Season had begun. Julia continued to say things that Charles often found tasteless, disappointing, or even cruel, but it was reasonable to expect that the effects of London and Farrow would take time to wear off.
She had let drop several hints that she would welcome a more assertive courtship on Charles's part. On one or two occasions, she had even spoken of a future together as if it were a foregone conclusion. Charles had been surprised to find that such comments had made him feel anxious rather than elated or confident.
He found himself wondering how Isabel was faring. Was her father pestering her about a date for a wedding? And what of Miss Cecilia and Lord Brockway? He had not seen them in company recently. In fact, the other night Lord Brockway had danced numerous times with an unfamiliar young woman. If it was evidence of an attachment forming, it would throw a wrench into Isabel's plans. Did she have an alternative in place in the event that Miss Cecilia didn't marry Lord Brockway?
He hoped that she was pleased with the arrangements for Hetty. He imagined that both Isabel and Hetty must have been as surprised as he was upon receiving his letter detailing the plans for the latter. Charles felt that there could hardly have been a happier result to the whole situation. He could only be grateful that he had written to Mr. Abbott against his better judgment.
He was shown into the morning room when he reached Belport Street and had only to wait a few minutes before the door opened to admit Isabel and Hetty.
Isabel's expression held a friendly smile as she walked in, but Charles thought he saw a hint of dark circles under her eyes.
Hetty looked glowing in a dress of pale pink muslin. She twirled as she approached Charles. "What do you think?" she said, indicating the dress. "Miss Cecilia gave it to me—says she didn't wear it above three times, so it is practically new!"
Charles's mouth twitched, but he tried to look as interested as Hetty expected him to be. He knew that Isabel would appreciate the naive candor of Hetty and glanced at her. Her eyes twinkled as they met his, just as he had expected and hoped they would.
"You look very smart," he said to Hetty with a nod of approval. "Have you all your things? The carriage is waiting outside. My sister will greet you when you arrive at Wembley where you will remain with her until Mr. Abbott is able to convey you to his mother’s home.”
Hetty's expression became timid, a blush stealing into her cheeks, and she rubbed the fabric of her dress between two fingers. “I can hardly believe that I shall see him again! I never thought to.”
"You are very fortunate in him, to be sure,” Charles said. His eyes traveled to her bare head. “But where is your bonnet?”
"Oh,” Hetty said, looking around her for the bonnet. "How silly of me! I shall go fetch it." And with that, she scurried out of the room.
"Is your sister truly prepared," asked Isabel with an indulgent smile lingering after Hetty, "for the impetuous and unaffected Miss Hester Helena Robson?"
Charles chuckled. "I have done my best to prepare Jane for Hetty's personality, but some things must be experienced to be understood."
Isabel clasped her hands together, lightly twiddling her thumbs and looking at Charles with a frown. "How ever did you convince Mr. Abbott to accept Hetty? To marry her?” She shook her head, bewildered. “I am sure it has been no small ordeal for you to arrange it all."
Charles set his hat down on a side table, shaking his head. "I admit that I was at point non-plus for a few days, but circumstances suddenly combined in a very serendipitous way. Mr. Abbott appeared at my door one morning—I had written to him of course, but I had no expectation of a response. He was shockingly composed and unruffled upon hearing Hetty’s story and himself declared his intention of marrying her. It seems that they had every intention of marrying prior to the Robsons arrival in town, had Mrs. Robson not intervened.
“He told me that he only needed a bit of time to make arrangements. And as if I had not already sustained enough surprises for one day, that very same evening, my sister Jane visited and offered her assistance until Mr. Abbott is able to convey Hetty to his home. She is involved in a society for the betterment of unfortunate women, you know.” He took in a large breath and shrugged his shoulders.
“Divine providence,” Isabel said with wondering eyes.
“I am inclined to agree with you,” Charles said.
Isabel looked at him with her candid, direct gaze. Her eyes held that same sincerity he had come to appreciate. "Thank you again for—" she took in a breath, seeming to search for a word "—saving the day. Having Hetty's affairs arranged has relieved a great burden from my mind."
He wasn't surprised to discover that Isabel worried for Hetty. She seemed the type of person who likely worried for others a great deal, though she managed to maintain an appearance of placid confidence. The circles under her eyes, though, betrayed that façade for once.
"I’m sorry not to have been able to arrange things sooner.” He pursed his lips. “But come, has something in particular increased your worry on her behalf?"
Isabel didn't respond for a moment. "Only that I fear what Mr. Farrow might do."
Charles's brows snapped together. The mention of Farrow's name never improved his mood, but it rankled even more than usual since Isabel's refusal to trust him with whatever secret she knew of him. He resisted the desire to revisit the debate, though, instead saying, "I still can't say that I feel comfortable with your plan to warn him against any interaction with Hetty. If he is as dangerou
s as you say he is, he will not like to be threatened."
Isabel averted her gaze, her cheeks reddening. What had he said to elicit such a reaction?
"I will feel more at ease,” she said, “when she is at your sister's. Have you told anyone else?"
"No," he said, shaking his head then rearing back slightly. "Good heavens, do you think Farrow would really follow her all the way to Wembley?"
Isabel paced, her hands still clasped in front of her. "I don’t know. I believe he would harm her if he could. She threatened him, you know, so he fears that she will parade the baby around along with his name. Much is at stake for him, and I haven't felt at peace knowing that he can find Hetty here as easily as he did a few days ago."
Charles frowned. "How should he know to find her here? He believes her still to be at Marshalsea, I imagine."
Isabel's eyes flitted to him and then away again, but she didn't respond.
"Doesn't he?" Charles asked. Receiving no answer still, he kept his unblinking eyes on Isabel. "Does he have reason to believe otherwise?"
Isabel stopped pacing, wiping her hands down her dress as she looked at him with fear in her eyes.
The door flew open.
"I'm terribly sorry," Hetty said in a breathless voice, a chip straw bonnet and its ribbons dangling from her hands. "I had set my bonnet upon the bed when I came down the stairs but found it to be missing when I returned. I was obliged to go find Anaïs only to discover that she mistakenly packed it into my valise, thinking that I had forgotten to do so."
Charles glanced at Hetty for a moment as she spoke, but his eyes returned to Isabel. She had again turned her gaze away, though, and was looking at neither him nor Hetty. He squeezed his hands into fists, feeling strangely infuriated that Isabel's normally-frank demeanor had somehow been replaced by mistrust and secrecy. If she sensed real danger, how could she not tell him?
"Hetty," he said, trying to muster a smile, "if you would please make sure that all of your belongings are in the entryway, I will join you in a moment."
Isabel: A Regency Romance Page 17
