Isabel: A Regency Romance

by Keyes, Martha

  She shut the clothes press quickly, feeling as though she had intruded on Charles's private space.

  She would have to make do with what she had on her back. Spotting a mirror on the dressing table, she picked it up to take stock of her state. The only available light was the faint light of the moon, shining through a crack in the curtains. She turned so that the light fell on her face as she looked in the mirror. Her eyes widened in horror. Her eyes were puffy and her hair disheveled.

  She hadn't the time or means to arrange her hair as she would wish, but she used her fingers to tuck and repin a few of the larger pieces as best she could. She tried not to think of what Charles must have thought seeing her in such a state.

  The house was in complete darkness as she opened the bedroom door, none of the pale moonlight reaching beyond the room.

  She winced as the door creaked slightly. It would be a challenge to navigate an unknown house in silence, but she could only do her best. She tiptoed down the stairs at a creeping pace, hoping to minimize any possible creaking. Even if she managed to descend both flights of stairs without causing a loose board to creak, the intensity with which her heart was pounding was bound to alert someone.

  Three times she was obliged to cough into her elbow, and each time, she emerged from the fit with wide, alert eyes which scanned her surroundings in fear that she had been heard. Would Charles try to stop her? After her outburst, it seemed unlikely.

  She ached to set things right with him, to explain why she had deceived him, why she had no choice but to leave.

  But she couldn't. It was a selfish thing to wish for anyway. It would only add to his sense of obligation to her.

  She stepped onto the landing with a sigh of relief that turned, once again, into a cough, catching her off guard so that the first two barks went unmuffled. Her only consolation was that she had reached the ground floor where there were no sleeping quarters.

  The landing was surrounded on three sides by different doors, presenting her with a predicament: which one would lead to the entry hall and front door? She had been in many London houses, and the majority, including her own, seemed to have the same general layout.

  She tiptoed around the base of the staircase toward the door behind, cringing at another squeaking floorboard which sounded deafening in the silence of the night. She stood before the door and took in a large breath, putting her fingers on the handle. She pulled it gently, peeking her head around to look through the gap and sighed with relief as her eyes met the unmistakable view of the front door. She slipped through the opening toward it.

  She took one backward glance at the entry hall of Charles's home, wondering where he was and whether he was hurt by her words earlier. “Let me go.”

  She glanced at the table next to the entryway where an empty, silver letter tray sat and reached a hand over to brush her fingers over it lightly. She imagined a letter there, written in her own handwriting, conveying everything she had never been able to say to Charles.

  But it couldn't be. An imagined letter would have to do.

  "Goodbye, Charles," she whispered with a painful swallow.

  "Isabel?"

  She froze, hoping it was just her imagination, and turned slowly.

  Charles stood in the doorway she had just come through. His hair was tousled, his shirt front open, and his eyes narrowed and blinking as though he had just woken.

  Isabel's mouth opened wordlessly, her voice suddenly uncooperative. She watched his eyes flit to her hand on the front door handle.

  "Where are you going?" he said, taking a step into the entry hall.

  Isabel met his gaze, her own clear and direct. There was nothing she could say to deceive him now, to pretend that she wasn't about to walk out the door. "I'm leaving."

  He stared for a moment and then shook his head slowly. "I can't let you do that."

  "You must," she said. Her heart throbbed inside her. It would have been so much easier to leave without having to face him.

  "At this time of night? Unescorted? And all when you should be resting." He shook his head again. "You nearly died tonight, Isabel." His jaw tightened. "Surely your frantic need to put distance between us can wait one more day."

  She swallowed, and her eyes brimmed with tears. Was he really so blind that he didn't understand why she couldn't bear to be near him? Tears spilled over, and she turned her head to hide them from him.

  His hands reached out as he moved to bridge the distance between them, but he dropped them suddenly as he stopped in his tracks.

  "Please," he said. "Let me fix this. Don't leave."

  She shook her head, not trusting her voice.

  A weak half-smile appeared on his face. "Didn't I tell you that I would abduct you and marry you if need be?" The smile faded, and he met her eyes with his own determined ones. "Marry me, Isabel. Let me keep you safe. You don't have to do this."

  A small sob escaped her, but before she could speak, he continued, his palms up in surrender. "I will leave you be. I will give you whatever space you wish for. Please," he begged again. "Just let me set this right."

  She couldn't bear it any longer. "Stop," she cried in a near-shout. She rubbed a hand on her brow, feeling frayed and out of control. "I don't want to marry you, Charles." It was true. And yet so very false.

  He stiffened. "Yes," he said, his voice harsh all of a sudden. "You've made it abundantly clear that the prospect of marriage with me is enough to send you running toward a life of penury."

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. It seemed impossible that he should be ignorant of her feelings for him. How could he believe that she was running away because she despised him? And yet she thought she saw the hurt hiding under his anger. Her resolution wavered.

  "I am only trying to help you," she said. It was a reminder to herself as much as it was an explanation to him.

  "Help me?" he said incredulously. "By leaving me?"

  "Yes," she said. "From the beginning, everything I've done has had one aim: your happiness, Charles. And that is exactly why I must leave."

  He doubled back and blinked rapidly, staring at her with a knit brow.

  She swallowed. "It is true. Please believe me."

  He began to pace from side to side, one hand stroking his cheek. "I ask you to marry me, and you wish to run for the hills. And yet you say you wish for my happiness?" He stopped, looking at her with his palms facing up in front of him in an uncomprehending gesture.

  "You don't understand," she said helplessly.

  "Then, by all means, explain! What has given you such a distaste for me that you would do anything to avoid marrying me?"

  It was there again—the hurt. She had seen his brow furrow enough times to recognize that there was more than anger there.

  Her last shreds of composure frayed. "Oh, Charles! I don't want a martyr for a husband. I don't wish to live my life knowing that you sacrificed your chance at love—all to save the woman you felt duty-bound to marry." She shivered at the thought of the life she described and looked to meet his eyes.

  Charles's jaw was slack, his lips parted, and his eyes blinking slowly. "Is that all you think this is? Duty?"

  Isabel said nothing, shutting her eyes tightly and pulling her lips between her teeth. Of course it was duty. Entertaining any other idea would reignite unbearable hope. She heard the sound of his soft footsteps approaching her, and her nostrils flared. She didn't know if she could bear his touch or having him near.

  She opened her eyes, and her breath hitched. He was so close, and yet the distance between them felt unbridgeable. His hands hung at his sides, looking as empty as she felt.

  "What do you want, Isabel?" he said in a gentle voice, his eyes searching hers. "You. Forget everyone else. What is it that your heart wants?" He let out a shaky laugh. "Have you even considered that through all of this mess?"

  She took in a deep breath and let her head fall back. Had she considered it? Only every single day. She had hardly been able to think of any
thing else. She brought her head forward again and let out her breath.

  "Say it," he said softly. His brows were still drawn together, but there was no anger left, only pleading.

  And she wanted to say it. She wanted him to know the truth. She couldn't leave him here, thinking she had left because she loathed him. She couldn't leave him here with the distress and pain she had glimpsed.

  His eyes watched her, his throat bobbing.

  With an impotent shrug, she looked at him with frank, watering eyes and said, "I want you."

  He stared at her for a moment—a moment which stretched on and on, building with each second. And then suddenly he closed the remaining gap between them, his arms wrapping around her, his lips meeting hers with an insistence and force which left her lightheaded.

  She froze for a moment, shocked by the suddenness, the unexpectedness of it—by the implication of it. And then she softened, letting herself yield to the pull. She wrapped her hands behind his neck, returning the embrace.

  It was minutes before Charles pulled back and looked at her. His eyes were soft and warm, and he gently pushed a hair out of her face, letting his hand come to rest on her cheek.

  Her shoulders raised up as she pulled in a needed breath. "I don't understand. What about Miss Darling?" She searched his eyes.

  He smiled down at her. "What about her?" His hand slid from her cheek down to the arm which rested on his shoulder. He pulled it down and brought her hand to his mouth, kissing it as he kept his eyes locked with hers.

  "It has been some time since Julia's company brought me even a fraction of the joy that I find in your company, you know." He let out a puff of air through his nose, his brow knitting. "I couldn't see it, though—I was too blinded by my old assumptions." His half-smile appeared. "Besides, I thought you wanted to put as much distance between us as humanly possible."

  Isabel laughed softly, grasping his hand a little tighter. She had been frighteningly close to never experiencing what it was like to have his arm wrapped snugly around her.

  "I couldn't bear the thought of you feeling obligated to marry me,” she said.

  His thumb stroked her hand. "But I do feel obligated to marry you." His eyes teased her. "If only to ensure my own happiness."

  She glared at him playfully. "Even if you must forgive all my father’s debts?"

  Charles chuckled. "A small price to pay for my own happiness, I think.” His smile faded as he gazed down at her. “I love you, Isabel. And I will spend the rest of my life endeavoring to comfort you and make you laugh the way I did when we first met.”

  She looked up into his eyes, her heart fluttering at the thought. “I should like that very much.”

  He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers yet another time.

  Epilogue

  Walking at a brisk pace across the busy street, Isabel felt her arm tugged, and she looked up at Charles.

  He was smiling down at her, eyes alight with amusement. “If only I could get my horses to walk with as much purpose as you do, love.” He pulled back on her arm again, bringing them both to a halt once they were clear of traffic. “Why the rush?”

  Isabel sighed, trying to relax her posture. “I am terribly impatient to know the result of the trial, Charles. Surely you understand?”

  He looked up and down the street before stooping his head and kissing her lightly on the lips. “I do. And yet running to the rectory won’t change the outcome. I am sure it all turned out as we expected it would. They could hardly return any verdict but guilty.”

  Isabel shot him a significant look and determinedly pulled him forward to continue on their way. If Farrow had any connection to the magistrate, it was entirely possible that he would be let free.

  They turned the corner into the churchyard, and Isabel slowed, scanning the scene before her with a sudden lump in her throat. There was a stark line on the stone and in the greenery, a soot-colored delineation showing exactly where the fire had been extinguished.

  Charles squeezed her arm. “It looks worse than it is. The trees and plants that burned will make way for new life, and the church will be washed and repaired. It could have been much worse.”

  Isabel turned toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and looking up at him. “It is only thanks to you that it isn’t worse.” She looked at the place on the steps to the door of the church where she had sat, fearing for her life as the fire grew around her. She swallowed. “And only thanks to you that I am here at all.”

  He brought her in closer, pulling her tightly against him and placing his mouth firmly on top of her bonnet. “Thank heaven,” he murmured softly.

  Footsteps sounded, and they pulled apart, their eyes meeting the neatly-dressed figure of Mr. Safford as he entered the churchyard.

  Isabel pulled away from Charles, letting her hand slide away from his back and down to clasp his hand. She looked at Mr. Safford with a quick heartbeat and suspenseful eyes.

  Mr. Safford stopped, meeting Isabel’s gaze. “Guilty,” he said on an exhale. “Transportation for life.”

  Isabel let out a relieved, shaky breath and looked at Charles. His mouth was stretched in a firm line, and he nodded.

  “It is you we have to thank,” Mr. Safford said to Charles, “that things have turned out as well as they have. Without you, Miss Cosgrove’s life and my life might have been forfeit, and the will might have been destroyed, along with the rest of this sacred place.” He looked around himself wistfully.

  “I am only sorry,” Charles said, shaking his head, “that I didn’t do something about Farrow sooner. His desperation took him to lengths I never would have thought possible; worse with each action.”

  “I, too, waited too long,” said the rector.

  “He shan’t hurt anyone anymore, though,” Isabel said solemnly.

  * * *

  Charles opened the door to the Cosgrove residence in Belport Street, and Isabel passed through in front of him.

  They had only just stepped into the entry hall when a familiar, boisterous voice assailed Isabel’s ears.

  “Oh ho!” the voice cried.

  Isabel’s brother Tobias stepped into the hall from the doorway before them and stopped, raising a brow enigmatically as his gaze landed on Charles. He took two large strides over to Isabel and wrapped her up in his customary, strong embrace.

  “I can only assume,” Charles said with a touch of humor, “that you are the infamous brother Tobias who has been teaching my fiancée cant expressions.”

  Tobias pulled back from Isabel, his mouth pulling into an even larger grin as he regarded her with approval. “Ain’t at all strait-laced, is she?”

  Isabel suppressed a smile. “I had no notion you would be home, Tobias! I am surprised in the very best way. And,” she said enigmatically, “I am pleased to introduce you to my affianced husband, Mr. Charles Galbraith.”

  The two shook hands, and Isabel looked on with a sense of contentment. She had little doubt that Charles and Tobias would get along.

  “Never thought I’d see the day when you became a tenant for life, Izz!” Tobias winked at her and leaned in, whispering, “Always believed you’d marry before Cecy.”

  “Be kind to her, Tobias,” Isabel said in a censuring tone. “She has suffered a number of disappointments since you saw her last.”

  Tobias raised his brows questioningly.

  Before Isabel could respond, a footman entered, requesting that Tobias join his father in the library.

  Tobias shot Isabel a feigned look of apprehension before winking again, bowing to Charles, and walking back the way he had come.

  Isabel turned to Charles.

  His brows were raised, his eyes lingering on the doorway Tobias had disappeared through.

  Isabel smiled. “Quite a character, isn’t he?”

  Charles nodded. “He is. But I think I like him.”

  “Then you must help me to find him a suitable wife, for he is notoriously terrible at making decisions and desperately in
need of settling down.”

  Charles’s half-smile appeared. “I think I shall stay well out of that fight, my love.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her in toward him. “Your father could use a child who doesn’t concede his every wish.”

  Isabel brushed a hair away from Charles’s face. “True. Much as I desired to go against his wishes, I found myself dragged by a mysterious—“ she stood on her tiptoes, punctuating each word with a kiss “—handsome, charming, unstoppable force.” She dropped back down off her toes. “So, I have, very regrettably, surrendered. And Cecilia will naturally marry just the sort of titled gentleman my father wishes her to.” She sighed dramatically.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Charles said. “Perhaps Cecilia will surprise us all and marry a nobody like your Aunt Eliza.”

  Isabel only laughed.

  “Or,” Charles said, looking through the doorway as if to check for witnesses before he swiftly scooped Isabel into his arms.

  She suppressed a squeal. “Charles!” she hissed, unable to hide her large grin as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Or,” he continued, ignoring her protest, “perhaps I don’t give a fig what Cecilia does.”

  And he leaned in, kissing Isabel as soundly as she could ever wish to be kissed.

  * * *

  Read the next in the series:

  Cecilia: A Regency Romance (Families of Dorset Book Three)

  Other Titles by Martha Keyes

  Wyndcross: A Regency Romance (Families of Dorset Book One)

  Eleanor: A Regency Romance

  Other titles by Martha Keyes

  Cecilia: A Regency Romance (Families of Dorset Book Three)

  Wyndcross: A Regency Romance (Families of Dorset Book One)

  Eleanor: A Regency Romance