“Who is your favorite poet?”
“Hmm?” Isobel had not heard his question.
“Poetry. I was attempting to talk of poetry, Miss Masters. And not doing a very good job of it, apparently.” He smiled in a self-deprecating way.
“I am sorry, Mr. Shepherd,” Isobel felt badly for ignoring him. He did seem to be trying to entertain her. With a last glance at her sister in the front seat, Isobel turned her attention to the young man. He at least had not yet earned her wrath. For Cat's sake she would try to be pleasant this afternoon. “I am sorry. My attention was distracted briefly. Poetry, you ask?”
“Yes, I was asking if you read any.”
“Indeed, Mr. Shepherd. I read it voraciously. It is one of the many accomplishments a respectable woman of middle age is allowed to own.”
“Middle age!” Mr. Shepherd exclaimed. “Hardly. You cannot be a day over twenty, Miss Masters.”
Isobel saw mischief in his eyes. She could not resist it and they both laughed.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Shepherd. But it is sadly true. I am nearing thirty years old. Quite a middle-aged spinster. And much too honest to delude myself that I am anything more.”
“We disagree about your age and prospects, Miss Masters. But perhaps we shall agree on poetry. Who is your favorite?”
“Favorite? Must I choose one?”
Mr. Shepherd made a grand gesture. “If you had only one poet to read in the entire world for the rest of your life, who would you choose?”
“The question is too hard!” Isobel protested mildly.
“Then I shall begin. If I was restricted only to one poet for the rest of my days...” Mr. Shepherd paused to consider. “I believe I should choose to read only Mr. Keats' poetry.”
“Only John Keats?”
“You do not like him, Miss Masters?” The young man looked stricken. “How can one resist the emotion and beauty of what he writes?
“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness.
“These lines have changed my life!” Mr. Shepherd intoned the words reverently, as if reciting a prayer in a church. “Do you not love those lines, Miss Masters? Do they not speak something of the eternal endurance of beauty?”
“I do, I do love those words, Mr. Shepherd. But that was not your question, was it?” Isobel smiled at the earnest young man. She quite liked him and his obviously genuine love for the poetry he spoke of.
“So where do we disagree then?”
“Well, your question was about reading one poet for the rest of our lives. If that should be the case, I would not choose Mr. Keats --” Mr. Shepherd looked like he was about to interrupt her, “-- lovely as the lines you recited may be.”
“Who would be your choice then?” The young man leaned eagerly forward on his seat.
“My choice...” Isobel thought about it, “...would have to be Lord Byron.”
“How typical!” Mr. Shepherd rolled his eyes and plopped back in his seat.
“Typical?”
“Yes. All ladies love Lord Byron. He is dashing and able to woo them with a single turn of phrase.”
“And you cannot abide that?” Isobel teased.
Mr. Shepherd spoke earnestly. “No. You are correct. I cannot abide that. Nor can any young man who hopes to woo a female for himself.”
“Well, then you will be glad to know that I am not seduced by Lord Byron's looks. But only by his 'turns of phrase,' as you call them.” Here are some of my favorite lines:
“I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air.”
Mr. Shepherd shivered. “All right, I can see your point, Miss Masters.”
“But these are the lines that seduce you? Lines about the end of the earth?”
Isobel chuckle broke the mood. “Well, those are some of the lines. But I much prefer his adventure stories. Have you read The Corsair?”
Before Mr. Shepherd could answer her, Lord Revere interrupted. “Would anyone care for a walk through the lane? If you might spare your poetry for a moment, that is.”
Isobel was surprised to hear a hint of teasing in his voice. He had stopped the barouche in a pleasant lane that showed off the immaculately groomed park to perfection. Mr. Shepherd helped her down as Lord Revere anchored the horses to a tree. It was a sunny afternoon and the chill of fall had not yet settled into the air. Isobel was pleased to note that she was enjoying herself.
* * * * *
Cat was halfway down the lane, enjoying the warm sunshine and the leaves swaying gently before her when Mr. Shepherd caught up to her. They fell easily into conversation.
“It is a lovely day, is it not, Miss Catherine?”
She smiled at the young man. “It is, indeed, Mr. Shepherd. I love being out of doors.”
“Do you walk often?”
“I do at home in the country. But here in town it is not so proper for ladies to venture out on their own.”
Mr. Shepherd smiled at her. “Ah, that is true. But it is a pity. There is so much of town to explore.”
“Have you seen a lot, Mr. Shepherd?”
“Here in town, no, I have not. But Miles tells me there are wonders around every corner.”
This was interesting information. “Does Lord Revere go exploring, then?”
Mr. Shepherd spoke seriously. “Oh yes, he knows more about the town than anyone I know. Whenever I am here, he insists on showing me this or that museum or park or statue or other oddity. One would never know so many curious things existed around London.”
“I would never have thought it of him.” Cat said to herself.
“I do not think that Miles lets on to everyone about all he knows. But he cannot keep a secret from me.” Mr. Shepherd smiled.
“Izzy is the same way with me.”
“Izzy?” Mr. Shepherd asked, confused.
“Miss Masters. My older sister with whom you have just been conversing,” Cat prompted.
“Oh! Isobel. I see.”
“I'm sorry. I forget that not everyone knows her by that name.”
“I do like your sister, you know.”
“Oh, good!” Cat clapped her hands joyfully. “I do love Izzy, but she seems to have something against your brother. I do not believe she has smiled once in all the time he has been around.” Cat looked over her shoulder to see that Lord Revere and Izzy were slowly walking in the same direction as their younger siblings.
“Miles is a good fellow, but he can be prickly, especially here in town.”
“So he is different elsewhere?” Cat was intrigued.
“Oh yes. When we are at home with mother, he laughs and sings and seems quite a different man, actually. I have been to town now a few years with him and it is as if he becomes a different person when he steps foot inside his house here. I cannot quite describe it.”
“I wonder why he is so different from one place to another.”
Mr. Shepherd offered his speculation. “He is very protective of himself and our family. He believes it his duty to do exactly as expected.”
“I think that duty weighs heavily on our elder siblings,” Cat pondered as they stopped and turned toward where Izzy and Lord Revere were walking up the lane not far behind them.
“Your sister seems a good sort,” Mr. Shepherd said.
Cat smiled at his compliment. “Izzy is the best sort, sir. I would not trade her for any other sister in the world.”
“When we stopped here, she had just been explaining to me why she loves Lord Byron over John Keats.”
“Oh, that is easy. Byron has such wonderful characters and adventures, while Mr. Keats writes beautiful lyrics, but tends toward the sadly philosophical. There is only so much of that one can read
before you must do something else.”
“That is exactly what Miss Masters said!” Mr. Shepherd was delighted.
“We do love our Byron. Do you know that we have a special place in the woods at home where Izzy and I go to recite his poetry?”
“No! Do you? How wonderful.” They were both smiling.
“Oh, it is. Izzy loves to read the tragedy of The Corsair. And she does read it so wonderfully, as if she can truly see the scenes in front of her. She makes the pirate come alive. And when he returns to his lady love, Izzy has us practically in tears. I am quite jealous of her reading sometimes,” Cat said with a sigh.
“Miss Catherine, you make me simply long for a chance to hear her read.”
“You should, Mr. Shepherd. Perhaps we may convince her sometime.”
* * * * *
Miles watched appreciatively as Miss Catherine moved down the lane ahead of him. Her conversation with Jack did not raise any jealousy for him as he followed. By all means, let Jack do the work while Miles enjoyed the sunny afternoon and the excellent view.
Fortunately, the elder Miss Masters seemed to be amusing herself and did not require his company. She was walking in between the trees, quite lost to everything else around her. It puzzled him how quickly a woman's mood could change. If he was lucky, she would enjoy the afternoon and let him spend time with her sister.
After her reception at her aunt's house the other day, Miles had realized what he was in for. Not only did he have to woo the beautiful and charming Miss Catherine, he must somehow also win over her sister. Miles hoped that today might go a little way toward that project. But he doubted it. Miss Masters had held her grudge for ten years. It was unlikely one afternoon would undo it all.
To his surprise, Miss Masters approached him and began to speak.
“Thank you, Lord Revere, for bringing us here this afternoon.” It was spoken quickly, as if she was doing a necessary but unwelcome duty.
“I am glad to do it, Miss Masters.”
She did not say anything else.
Miles was not entirely comfortable with the silence, and so he tried a topic he thought might rouse her. “I overheard you discussing poetry with my brother.” Jack and Miss Catherine had stopped in the path just ahead of them.
“Yes.”
“Jack is a great one for poetry. He believes it holds all the emotions of life in it.” Miles tried to tease, but it came out sounding like he was insulting his brother. Jack heard his name and turned back toward them.
“Are you teasing me about poetry again, brother?” Jack grinned.
Miles turned toward Miss Catherine. “Do you know that when he was young, he used to wander around the house reciting those lonely verses he loves. For a time, he even fancied himself to be a poet like Mr. Keats. He kept a writing notebook on his person at all times and would declaim spontaneous verses the instant something sparked his memory.” It had been years since he'd thought of those pleasant days.
Miss Catherine giggled. “How delightful!”
“Well, Mr. Shepherd,” Miss Masters spoke, “that explains much about your unwavering devotion to the poet even to the exclusion of all else.”
“I might tease you just as well about Lord Byron, madam. Your sister has just enlightened me about your penchant for dramatic recitation,” Jack was laughing as he said it. His whole attitude brought a stab of recognition that sliced through Miles' heart. Wesley had had that look, especially when he was enjoying himself. Miles shook his head to clear away the memory. Now was not the time to think of sad things. He must concentrate on making Miss Catherine happy.
“Ah, but I only recite in my own home or my own wild woods, Mr. Shepherd,” Miss Masters responded.
“We are in the woods now, Miss Masters. Is it not the same? I do wish to hear you recite something.”
“Oh, don't get her started on woods, Mr. Shepherd!” cried Cat. Miles could not help but join in the general spirit of teasing and enjoyment. He even found himself eager to join in somehow.
“The same!” Miss Masters exclaimed. “Not at all. These orderly sets of trees here are not woods, Mr. Shepherd. These trees are too straight.”
“Too straight?” Miles asked. “How can a tree be too straight?”
“Lord Revere,” she spoke as if exasperated to have to explain herself to him. “The trees run in straight lines right down this path. And they grow straight up and down. Never do they stray from those lines. They are carefully cultivated things, pampered and shaped by expert gardeners.”
“And you do not like them?” Miles had never heard a woman speak like this before. He rose to the defense of his favorite place in the park.
“No, I do not,” Miss Masters spat the words at him.
He looked at her as she stood there. She had drawn herself up to her full height, though she still stood a good foot shorter than he, and was almost seething with emotion. Miles had the feeling he had done something terribly wrong. Why could he not appease this woman? Would she find fault in everything he did or said? He felt the tension built as they all sensed something unexpressed in Miss Masters' words.
“We have a lovely wood by our house,” Miss Catherine broke the growing silence.
“And what is it about the wilderness that so appeals to you?” Jack asked.
“I prefer the trees to grow as they might in every which way. I feel more at home seeing branches hanging here and there and living things making their homes in them. I am comfortable there.”
“But if you made your home there, you would surely miss society!” Jack said.
“Not by half. Society has only ever given me the gift of a hated nickname. I believe I can live without that quite nicely.”
They had reached the end of the lane as Miss Masters uttered this biting remark. Jack offered her his arm and they turned back toward the barouche.
“I begin to see your point, Miss Masters. The woods seem charming through your eyes.”
“Miss Catherine, shall we walk together?” Miles offered his arm. She began to talk of the weather and the lovely things to see in the park. It was entirely unremarkable, but had the effect of drawing his attention away from the unsettled feeling he was experiencing at Miss Masters' last remark. Miles had never considered what sort of damage his laughter or ridicule might do its object. But clearly her venom had been aimed at him.
Miles was feeling even more unsettled thinking that silly teasing from a decade ago might ruin his plans for wooing Miss Catherine now. He might stall before he had really started.
The innocuous conversation with Miss Catherine continued until he dropped her back at her front door. As he and Jack started home, his brother leaned back and sighed happily.
“I quite like your Misses Masters. I cannot remember a drive in the park that I have enjoyed more. You were right. Miss Catherine is beautiful. But I do like her sister, too. You painted her as an ogre, but I found her to be very agreeable. I should quite like to know her more, especially to talk to her about poetry, since you will have none of it.”
Jack continued his enthusiastic chatter all the way to their own door. As they climbed the stairs, Jack laughed heartily and declared, “I like both the women very well. You should watch out, brother, I may decide to fall in love with one of them.”
Chapter 7
The next three days brought only brief social visits from Lord Revere and Mr. Shepherd. It gave Isobel, Cat, and Aunt Hetty time to pore over all that had happened so far. With a young girl’s delight at her first serious courtship, Cat listed over and over again all that Lord Revere had done and said. The dances, the compliments, the flowers, the visits. She talked over each thing in detail, searching for any hidden meanings or secret feelings. Isobel doubted whether there was really anything under Lord Revere’s behaviors. But she held her tongue, remembering her promise to Cat that she would try to see something good in the man.
She could say of him that he was being absolutely proper in his attentions to her sister. And his conv
ersation could be charming at times. He spoke well of many things and knew what compliments to pay that would most flatter a woman, though he had not paid any to Isobel. Not that she needed or wanted his compliments.
Isobel found that she was now able to sit in the same room with him without making some embarrassing remark or curling her lip in contempt. Lord Revere’s attentions pleased her sister, so Isobel supposed she might forgive him for some of the past. But not all. Never all.
On the fourth evening after their outing to the park, Isobel had a chance to try her hand at liking Lord Revere a little bit more. He had invited Cat and Isobel to a musical evening at the home of one of his acquaintances, Mrs. Starr. The evening was to feature a new English soprano singing a mixture of works, including some songs by Herr Beethoven, Isobel’s favorite composer.
Cat had never before been to a musical evening like this and had readily accepted the opportunity for a new experience. Isobel herself had been quite excited by the prospect. Her family was not very musical themselves, and so Isobel and Cat both relished every opportunity to experience from others what they could not produce for themselves. And Isobel had heard good tidings of this new, young soprano who was supposed to be the current pride of England.
But as the time drew closer to their leaving, Isobel's nerves began to take over, as they always did when she anticipated these public events. Ten years had not been time enough to forget the embarrassing spectacle she had made at her first musicale. It had not been enough to trip and fall down a staircase at her come out ball. No, then she had gone and solidified her reputation and her nickname by somehow falling out of her chair at her first musical evening. Since then, anxiety had overwhelmed her each time she thought of going out. And so Lord Revere found her alone, pacing the front parlor when he arrived to retrieve them for the concert.
“Good evening, Miss Masters,” he greeted Isobel.
“Good evening, Lord Revere.” She could not still her nervous movement around the room. She felt out of breath and anxious. “My sister will be down soon. She was just finishing her toilette when I came down a few moments ago.”
“There is plenty of time,” he stated and when she did not say anything continued on. “I do regret to say that Jack will not be joining us this evening. He found himself under another obligation.” She nodded absently and continued to move around the room.
The Wrong Woman (Unexpected Love #1) Page 4
