Lord and Lady Stoughton looked like thunder. Amateur theatricals may be accepted in some circles, but clearly they believed the activity to be improper in the extreme. Lady Cynthia was plainly torn until she saw the look of disapproval on her parents’ faces. “I do not think it would be dignified. I shan’t participate,” she pronounced with hauteur.
“Of course it is not dignified! That is why it will be such fun.” Gasps of disapproval and half-hidden smirks and giggles followed Lady Joanna’s outrageous statement.
“Joanna!” cried her outraged mother.
Lord Pelton rushed to cover the awkward moment, giving Lady Joanna a cheeky grin. “I, like Miss Parrish, admit I am no Kean, but I am game to try.”
The cast was soon formed, Lady Edgerton, anxious for the limelight, offered her services while her husband snored beside her. Miss Hyde-Price also agreed to participate, hoping that the absent Lord Saybrooke who had escaped to the library after dinner, would be struck with her beauty and poise and propose on the spot. Mr. Collins, despite his beloved Lady Cynthia’s refusal, decided he did not want to miss out on the fun. Isobel initially demurred. Lord Westcott, jovial from an abundance of port, objected.
“My dear Miss Kennilworth, you cannot mean it. I was about to offer my services, as poor as they may be. I was hoping that Lady Joanna would have an affecting love scene that we might enact.”
Isobel flushed a deep red and stared at her hands in her lap.
“What is this?” came Saybrooke’s voice from the doorway, having chosen this moment to rejoin the party in the Museum Room. “Westcott, you forget yourself!”
“Ah, the reclusive vicar has returned to issue his pronouncements.” Lord Westcott could not keep the sneer out of his voice. To Isobel he said, “Miss Kennilworth, I am heartily sorry if I have embarrassed you. I meant it only as a joke to persuade you to join the acting ensemble. I apologize to one and all if I have offended” He looked around the room, sincerely penitent.
There was general murmur of acceptance of his pretty apology. All but Saybrooke looked with favor at the contrite Lord Westcott, although the smiles on the faces Lord Stoughton and his wife and daughter seemed a bit forced.
“If you will have me, then I shall be glad to accept,” Isobel said quietly, careful not to look at Lord Westcott.
Lord Saybrooke glared at Isobel and then at everyone in turn.
“Lord Saybrooke, I assure you there is nothing naughty in my play. Well, not very naughty.” Somehow Lady Joanna’s assurance did nothing to assuage his ire.
“Really, Saybrooke, are you such a Puritan that you cannot enjoy a little amateur theatrical?” goaded Westcott.
“I think Lord Saybrooke’s convictions are admirable,” announced Miss Hyde-Price. “I have changed my mind and will not be participating in your little play.”
“Please, do not renege on my account, Miss Hyde-Price,” said Lord Saybrooke in clipped accents. “I assure you my convictions do not forbid a bit of harmless play acting.” And with this he turned on his heels and exited the room.
The party broke up soon after, the players chosen, the time and place for rehearsal decided. Miss Hyde-Price did not renege.
Lord Westcott turned to Isobel, took her hand bowed over it and kissed it lightly. “Miss Kennilworth, I beg your forgiveness once again for my unseemly remarks. Mercer’s port was so fine that I imbibed a bit too much and I confess to being a trifle disguised. But that is no excuse. I would have you know that I would not discomfit you for the world.” His voice was low, meant only for Isobel.
“Lord Westcott, please do not distress yourself. To quote the bard: there was much ado about nothing. Truly.”
“You are gracious as well as beautiful. I look forward to tomorrow.” Their eyes held for a brief moment and Isobel had to look away, her cheeks flaming.
“As do I, sir. Goodnight.” Isobel felt like a giddy young girl, full of flutters and blushes.
“Goodnight.” Lord Westcott’s smile lit Isobel from within. The smile returned to him had a similar effect on the gentleman.
“Westcott, a word!” Isobel heard Lord Stoughton bark as she exited the room.
Isobel floated to her room on a cloud of happiness. She did not even remember Manning getting her ready for bed. Manning had not known what to make of her mistress during the past few days. She had never seen her smile so much. And this morning, she was even humming a tune! Manning shook her head as she walked to her room and a well-deserved rest.
Isobel lay in her bed for a long time, unable to sleep. What was wrong with her? She was acting like a silly school girl. Nonetheless, she could not get Lord Westcott’s charming smile out of her mind. A book! She needed a book. She had finished the novel she had brought with her last night, but Lord Mercer’s library contained novels as well as learned fare. She would just have to go down and get one. Isobel put on her robe, lit a candle and walked, barefoot down to the library on the second floor.
She saw no light within only the flicker of a dying fire, and so entered, her candle casting a faint light in the large room.
“Hello, Izzy,” drawled a familiar voice.
Startled, Isobel let out a muffled cry. “Drew, what on earth are you doing in here in the darkness?”
“Sampling the port.” Saybrooke’s speech was slurred.
“You are drunk!”
“Not yet. Come back in half an hour and I should be properly jug-bitten by then.”
“I shall get my book and then leave you to it,” said Isobel, lighting a branch of candles to better see the selection of books. Turning her back to Saybrooke she scanned the multitude of leather spines and gold tooled titles without really seeing them.
“What has happened to you, Izzy?” Saybrooke’s voice was just behind her.
She turned to face him. “I beg your pardon,” Isobel spoke in her most icy tone.
“Where is that Izzy I knew? And loved.” Saybrooke stood close to her now and Isobel could smell the port on his breath.
“She is long gone, Drew. She was forced to grow up,” Isobel said shakily. He could still bewitch her. He need not even touch her physically to affect her.
“I miss her.” Saybrooke brushed Isobel’s cheek with his fingertips. She shuddered and lifted her face to be kissed. Saybrooke complied. Their kiss was tentative at first, and then deepened, both of them expressing their yearning denied so long.
Isobel was lost for quite some time, but the image of a smiling Westcott broke the spell. She pulled out of the kiss and Saybrooke’s embrace.
“I do not know what came over me. I beg your pardon, Lord Saybrooke, I lost my head.” Isobel’s confusion and embarrassment stained her face red.
“Ah, so icy Izzy has returned. You have so many conflicting natures it is hard to know which one will surface at any given moment.” Saybrooke was annoyed and frustrated.
“I am who I am, Saybrooke. I am tired of hearing you talk about the ‘old Izzy’ and the ‘new Izzy’ as if I am some sort of changeling,” Isobel barked the words, her anger growing.
“Ah, but who are you? One minute you are a stone cold maiden, with all the warmth of a marble statue and the next you are a tittering school girl with not an ounce of discretion making eyes at Westcott as if he is a gift from God. Neither of these guises even remotely resembles the passionate Isobel Kennilworth that I remember, the Isobel who surfaced briefly as she smashed shepherdesses and hurled a tea cup at my head.”
“You point your finger at me? Who are you to judge? You stood there pronouncing judgment on a harmless little play and then abruptly, and rudely if I might add, left the room to drink your host’s port and get completely foxed! The Andrew Stafford I knew would never have been so callous and ill-mannered. Nor would he have drunk to excess.”
“I am simply trying to fulfill my duty as a peer, to live up to my new position in life. You have heard the saying, ‘drunk as a lord’?” Saybrooke said making a weak attempt at as jest.
Isobel said nothing for a m
oment, her eyes blazing in the dim light of the candles. She glared at her old friend, her former beloved, who had become a stranger.
Saybrooke spoke again, almost as if to himself. “I know and accept that people change, but I have always believed that one’s true nature, the one that God ordained and created within the mother’s womb, that nature should remain essentially the same.”
“Do not spout philosophy at me. It is late, or early rather. I cannot bear it,” Isobel said wearily.
“But we used to be philosophers. We would sit in trees and philosophize, dangle our feet in the lake and philosophize.” Saybrooke smiled at the memory.
“And then the realities of life invaded our carefree world and we were forced to conform to the rigors of the society we live in,” Isobel countered.
“See now, you are a philosopher!” Saybrooke joked.
“I did not say I was not, merely that I did not care to philosophize at two o’clock in the morning.”
Saybrooke continued to smile. “Do you remember when you were ten and I was fourteen? You saw the Thompson brothers tormenting a stray cat. You strode up to them like an avenging fury and the two of them were on the ground in the blink of an eye before I could even lift a finger to help.”
Isobel gave a short laugh, remembering the little hoyden she had been. Saybrooke continued. “You proceeded to scoop up the cat, which was none too pleased, and ride with the writhing, hissing animal all the way home. Your arms and hands were covered in scratches, nor did your neck or face escape unscathed. But you nursed that mangy cat back to health single-handedly. No one else was allowed to care for the scraggly feline, not that anyone else felt compelled to do so. At some point he ceased scratching you and became your loyal subject.”
“Whiskers. I remember. And I would do the same today if I encountered such abuse, short of beating the miscreants within an inch of their lives.”
“Would you?” questioned Saybrooke. Seeing the fiery glint returning to Isobel’s eyes he continued. “You would most certainly take him home, but the creature would promptly be handed over to a footman to care for.”
Isobel began to protest, but the truth of his words stopped her. She went on the offensive instead. “I was a young girl with very little to do. I had a surfeit of time on my hands. Now, I have responsibilities, a busy life.”
Saybrooke laughed without mirth. “Responsibilities? Deciding what dress to wear to the next ball? The irksome burden of having to go on visits, sipping tea and gossiping about the visitors who have just taken their leave? Making sheep’s eyes at members of the opposite sex and in general giving in to the pressures of a dissipated society?”
“Are you speaking of me, or of yourself?” At Saybrooke’s answering glare, she continued, keeping her voice neutral. “My goodness, such righteous pronouncements. Your views were never so extreme, even during your ‘religious awakening’.”
“We shared that awakening, Izzy. What happened?” Saybrooke asked sadly.
“I believe we have already covered that. Life changes us. Even you, Saybrooke. I recall, quite clearly, that back then you were not a self-righteous prig.”
“And you were not a calculating, self-indulgent vixen,” Saybrooke said in measured tones.
Isobel’s palm, connecting with Saybrooke’s cheek, made a loud smack in the quiet room. Isobel, shaking with rage, dropped her hand, her eyes never leaving his. Saybrooke returned her gaze, his eyes full of regret and misery.
“It seems we cannot reconcile who we are with who we were. I will have to rethink my theory.” Saybrooke said to cover the silence.
“I think it would be best for us not to speak to each other unless absolutely necessary. We do not seem to be able to do so without ill effects,” Isobel stated in a subdued voice.
“I think that wise,” he agreed.
“Goodnight, Lord Saybrooke.”
“Goodnight, Miss Kennilworth.”
Without another look in his direction, and also without a book, Isobel left the room. She went quickly to her room and cried herself to sleep. Saybrooke returned to the armchair by the dying fire and resumed his sampling of the port.
The dawn of the new day was almost imperceptible, for fog lay thick on the ground; a gray mist enveloped the countryside. There was a distinct dullness in the air. Lady Joanna, however, was full of youthful enthusiasm. As the acting troupe slowly gathered in the dining room to break their fast and gather strength for the coming day, Lady Joanna chattered and effervesced about the approaching production of what she called “The House Party”. As soon as she heard the title, a very subdued Isobel knew what was coming.
“I have got a script for everyone. Miss Parrish was kind enough to come to my room last night and help me rearrange a few parts to fit our actors and then copy out six copies. She has lovely handwriting. Well, shall we get started?”
By eleven o’clock, the actors had all gathered in the Yellow Room, the site of the performance, as well as the rehearsal. Miss Parrish handed out scripts. It was instantly obvious who had copied which of the scripts. Those who had Miss Parrish’s version admired her clear, elegant copperplate. Those, including Isobel, who received Lady Joanna’s copies, had to expend a great deal of effort just to decipher the barely legible scribble.
Lady Joanna took great pleasure in assigning the parts and Isobel was delighted to find that, indeed, her love interest in this play was Lord Westcott. She peeked ahead before they began to read aloud and blushed when she saw that she and the lord were to share an embrace. Well, thought Isobel, we shall see about that. It was one thing to steal an embrace on a veranda or in a darkened garden or even in a library, but it was another to do so for an audience.
The props and costumes had already been seen to and Lady Joanna had already spoken with Lady Mercer, who had said she could spare only one maid and one footman to help with the play due to the preparations for the ball the following night. Lady Joanna assured her that a maid and a footman would do splendidly.
The rehearsal went remarkably well, even though Miss Hyde-Price in the guise of Lady Prunilla was not happy that she had to share a love interest with Miss Parrish’s character, Lady Charity. Captain Danvers was pleased to be the much sought after beau, though his character, Lieutenant Pine, yearned for Lady Edgerton’s character, Mrs. Vane, who in turn pined for Lord Westcott’s character, Lord Dash. Lord Dash, however, had an all-consuming passion for Isobel’s character, Miss Sweet, who was unhappily engaged to Mr. Collins character, Sir Guy. Sir Guy, however, was not a steadfast fiancé and took every opportunity to flirt with Lady Joanna’s character, Miss Fitz. Miss Fitz did not return Sir Guy’s regard, but only had eyes for Mr. Valiant, Lord Pelton. Miss Fitz and Mr. Valiant were forbidden to marry due to Mr. Valliant’s lack of pedigree and funds. It did not take the actors and actresses long to realize that Lady Joanna’s satire, replete with its tangled romances and misplaced affections resembled their own party all too closely. Lady Joanna took few pains to disguise the true identity of the characters. Miss Hyde-Price, however, failed to see herself in the selfish little horror she portrayed, for she was blissfully unaware of her true nature and saw herself in a much kinder light than did anyone else who observed her behavior.
Evening came and the play was performed. Even the disapproving Stoughton’s deigned to attend. The hardworking actors were gratified by the laughter and horrified gasps of the audience at the appropriate places. Lady Mercer thankfully had a sense of humor and seemed to thoroughly enjoy watching a much exaggerated version of her house party being acted out before her eyes. The rest of the audience, save Lord Saybrooke, followed their hostess’ lead and a few of them even gave a chortle or two of their own accord. Lord Saybrooke was careful not to scowl or appear offended by some of the warm sentiments displayed in the performance. And though Isobel had convinced Lady Joanna to change the embrace to a soulful handclasp, much to Lord Westcott’s chagrin, Lord Saybrooke had all he could do to remain passively in his seat.
All in
all, however, the play was a success. The amateur players congratulated each other and the audience praised their efforts. Lady Joanna looked radiant and basked in the compliments. “Oh, thank you,” she said in an unfamiliar breathy voice to Lord Pelton, who had praised her ingenuity and hard work. “I had the most wonderful time; it hardly seemed like work at all. If I were not a lady, I would most certainly aspire to a career on the stage”
Isobel had enjoyed herself as well, mostly due to the company of Lord Westcott. She had no such thespian aspirations. Her inclinations were directed toward a much more domestic course.
Tea and brandy were served in the Museum Room following the performance and the group wandered en masse in that direction. When Lord Saybrooke appeared to veer off in the direction of the library, Miss Hyde-Price scurried to his side, sliding her arm through his.
“Lord Saybrooke, you cannot mean to go off to that musty old library! After all my…our hard work, you must come and celebrate with us,” insisted Miss Hyde-Price in her most syrupy voice with just a hint of steel.
“While I appreciated the clever performance, I have promised Mr. Parrish that I would search out a particular reference that escaped us both today during our discussion of epistemology.” Lord Saybrooke feigned regret.
Miss Hyde-Price’s regret was completely unfeigned and her pout nearly persuaded him to comply with her wishes. However, Miss Hyde-Price had unexpected help from another quarter.
“Good gracious, Saybrooke, you need not find it tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough,” laughed Mr. Parrish good naturedly.
A chagrined Lord Saybrooke looked at Miss Hyde-Price’s face, ebullient in victory, and succumbed to the inevitable, escorting her into the Museum Room.
Isobel and Lord Westcott sat on the sofa, Isobel sipping her tea and Lord Westcott, his brandy. They laughed and talked in hushed tones as if no one else in the world existed. Or so it seemed to Saybrooke as he half-listened to Miss Hyde-Price’s exhaustive description of Lady Cowper’s ball that had taken place almost a fortnight ago.
Wishing everyone to perdition, Lord Weston was too much the gentleman to ignore the rest of the party for any length of time. Lady Cynthia engaged him in conversation and Isobel wandered off to congratulate Lady Joanna on her triumph once again. Before she could reach her side, Lord Pelton appeared at Lady Joanna’s elbow and bestowed a dazzling smile on her.
Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) Page 7
