In Honour Bound (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 1)

by Elizabeth Bailey

  Tears squeezed out from under Isolde’s lashes and she swallowed on a rising sob. She could not weep in his presence. Seizing a volume at random, she sprinted for the door, making it through and shutting it behind her before the tears spilled over.

  She’d hurried to the small front parlour which had become her headquarters, and spent half an hour struggling to suppress the bout of misery that attacked her.

  Thinking of it now, and of that shared instant a moment ago, she could not help a rise of hope. Was he melting a little towards her?

  She stole a glance at him and caught him watching her. He turned his eyes away instantly, but not before she had seen the question in them. Her spirits rose a little. Only to drop again a moment later.

  “Isolde.”

  She looked up. “Yes?”

  “I desire you will resume your studies with Alicia while I’m away.”

  Isolde could not keep her glance from flying to Alicia’s face. The woman regarded her with disdain in her eyes, though her mouth smiled. Isolde began to feel oppressed all over again.

  “You cannot avoid the necessity to behave correctly,” Richard went on, “whatever we decide about your future.”

  “We?”

  It was out before Isolde could stop it. He ignored the question as if it was of no importance. Who were we? If Alicia was included, Lord help her!

  He turned to his sister and she held her breath.

  “I appreciate, Alicia, that with the funeral and all you’ve had to undertake, Isolde’s education has been necessarily neglected, but it cannot now be delayed.”

  Her education? Was that how he saw it? Isolde had to bite her tongue not to burst out. Did he suppose her wholly ignorant? Not only could she read and write, Papa had taught her the rudiments of Latin and Greek too, not to mention mathematics, science and the tactics of war. Soldiering was largely a dull affair, with long days of inaction interspersed with marches and the odd battle. She’d had no governess and Papa had been her tutor, sharing all he knew just as if she’d been his son. Hours had been whiled away in this fashion.

  “Have no fear, brother. I’ll take care of it.”

  Alicia’s voice recalled her. The woman’s look spelt venom to Isolde and she flinched. There was a silence, and then Richard spoke again, a wealth of meaning in his tone.

  “I hope, my dear sister, you mean you will take care of Isolde. I am leaving her in your charge, and I expect you to deal with her as I would myself.”

  Which was not saying much, if Isolde was to judge by the way he had treated her lately. She had brought it on herself, but that made it no easier to bear. Did he still believe her to be selfish and thoughtless? She wished he had at least given her a chance to redeem herself. If only he was not leaving so soon, for he did seem to have softened a little towards her.

  “Brother, you may rely upon me.”

  The unctuous tone sent shivers through Isolde, and dread of the coming days began to overtake her.

  All was set and Richard gave his final instructions to his butler, who told him the groom and coachman would have the travelling carriage at the door in a trice.

  “Excellent. I may trust Reeve to see all is as it should be.”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  Topham put a hand to his mouth and gave a discreet cough. Richard looked a question.

  “Mrs Pennyfather has caused a hot brick to be placed in the coach, my lord, along with the travel rugs.”

  “Good God! Does she suppose I am made of sugar?”

  The butler permitted himself a small smile at this sally. “You will appreciate, my lord, that all your people are determined to carry on as if the mistress was still with us. She would have ordered as much.”

  A pang smote Richard, but he suppressed it. His mother had ever been inclined to mollycoddle her only son. He had chafed at it, but now he realised he was going to miss her motherly concern.

  “True enough. Thank Mrs Pennyfather for me, will you?”

  The butler bowed and opened the library door. “If you are ready, my lord?”

  There was no further need for delay, but Richard was conscious of reluctance to leave the house. A nagging image of a white face with a tell-tale trail of wet across its cheeks crept out of the corner where he had tried to banish it. He’d been harsh, and knew it for a kind of defence to enable him to keep his distance. But now that he must leave the child in Alicia’s hands for a space, his conscience pricked him. She’d had an unhappy time of it, and his sister was unsympathetic.

  He paused in the hall where Fareham was waiting with his outdoor clothing. He allowed the valet to help him into the great-coat, but on impulse held up a hand when he was offered the hat.

  “One moment.”

  Crossing to the door to the little parlour, which he knew had been given over to Isolde’s use, he gave a gentle knock. There was no reply. Richard grasped the handle and opened the door. A glance about the room immediately revealed its occupant perched in the window seat, staring into the grey mist outside.

  She must have heard him, for she turned her head and looked across at him with eyes drowned in misery.

  His heart contracted. Without thought, he closed the door behind him and crossed the room in a few swift strides. He saw the startled look leap into her face as he caught her up, and then it was buried in the folds of his great-coat as he clasped her close against him, murmuring words that came out with no purpose other than to comfort.

  “Hush now, hush, don’t weep! All will be well, I promise you.”

  He heard a doleful sniff and released her, digging for a handkerchief. Finding one, he held it out.

  “Here. Dry your eyes, Isolde.”

  She took it, her breath shuddering a little, and brushed hastily at her wet cheeks. Her voice was husky when at last she managed to speak. “Thank you… I’m sorry to be such a ninny.”

  He smiled. “We are all of us allowed a moment of weakness.”

  Her candid orbs met his, contrition in them. “I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.”

  “No, you didn’t hurt me. I was grieving and I couldn’t think straight. Forgive me.”

  Her sunbeam smile appeared. “If you forgive me.”

  Richard was hard put to it to refrain from pulling her back into his embrace. He rested back on his heels to put a little space between them. “Now we have that settled, will you promise me not to give way to melancholy while I’m away?”

  A grimace crossed her face. “I’ll try.”

  “And don’t trouble your head about your future. I will take care of you.” He had no difficulty in reading the doubt in her vivid eyes, and added on a teasing note, “After all, I am your appointed guardian.”

  He was rewarded with a tiny laugh, but the doubt remained.

  “But you don’t wish to be, do you?”

  “We’ll discuss that on my return. I haven’t forgotten about your family either. We’ll address all these matters in due course, if you will only be patient for a little while.”

  Her gaze did not waver, and it struck him that she was much more confident than her air of fragile innocence suggested. Her thoughts were not mirrored in her face this time, however, and Richard was puzzled.

  “What is it? What are you thinking?”

  A flush crept into her cheeks and she looked away. “I can’t tell you that.” Then her eyes returned to his. “I might one day.”

  He could not forbear a smile. “You intrigue me.”

  She put out a hand and he took it and, without intent, lifted it to his lips.

  “Be good, Isolde.”

  Releasing her, he turned for the door.

  “Richard.”

  Halting, he looked back. “Yes?”

  She was frowning. “I may not be a lady, but I am educated, you know. More than most girls, Papa said, for he taught me as if —”

  “As if you were a boy? Yes, I rather gathered as much.”

  “You said I had to continue my education.”

  Sig
hing, Richard turned. “Have I offended you?”

  “Yes.”

  The defiant little word was oddly touching. He hid a smile and made her a small bow. “Then once again I beg your forgiveness.”

  She inclined her head and he had to laugh.

  “Isolde, you are an original, I’ll give you that.” He moved back to her and held out his hands. To his mingled surprise and satisfaction, she put hers into them. “Will you, to please me, try to learn of Alicia? I know she is a little … difficult. But she does know what will serve you in society.”

  Her lips quivered on a smile. “Will it please you if I become a lady?”

  He hardly knew what to make of that. Did she really care? He let go of her hands. “It’s for your sake as well as mine.”

  She regarded him, rather enigmatically, he thought. Then she dropped a perfectly placed curtsy. “Have a safe journey, my lord.”

  He laughed out, and turned once more for the door, feeling a little reassured. He grasped the door handle and pulled, only then realising that the door had been slightly open. Had he left it so? He could have sworn he closed it and Isolde had called him before he reached it.

  Faintly puzzled, he left the room, making sure of the clicking latch before releasing the handle. His valet stepped forward with his hat and gloves, and Topham moved to the front door. As he took these articles from Fareham, he discovered his sister standing in the aperture to the dining-room across the hall.

  An odd expression flitted across her face as she met his gaze, and the suspicion struck Richard that she had been at the parlour door. Had she eavesdropped on his conversation with Isolde?

  Then she was moving to him, smiling and wishing him a successful venture.

  “Take no risks, Richard. It cannot matter if you are delayed. I will ensure we are fully prepared for Christmas. It will naturally be a quiet time, but the usual observances must still be met.”

  He agreed to it, took her proffered hand and wondered if he should again solicit her kindness for Isolde. If she had been listening… He tried to run his mind over what had been said, and could not recall anything beyond the last sight of Isolde’s smile.

  “The coach waits, my lord. You will not wish to keep the horses standing.”

  The butler’s faintly admonishing tone recalled him and the moment was lost. A hasty goodbye and he headed for the front door, drawing on his gloves against the sudden biting cold.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Three interminable days and Isolde was ready to scream. Abandoning the chapter on precedence in the book of etiquette she was supposed to be studying, she paced the little parlour, trying to warm up as much as anything else. The fire was inadequate to cope with the cold pervading the house since the bout of heavy snow that had fallen late on the day Richard left.

  Isolde had squandered fruitless hours worrying over whether he had managed to get to London. Topham, when questioned, had said it was not more than a day’s journey, unless the weather was inclement. It could not be less so, in Isolde’s opinion. What if Richard had to take refuge and was snowed in? He might not be in London yet. Lord knew when he would be able to return.

  Suppose he did not get back for Christmas even? Not that Isolde anticipated any enjoyment from the festive season, with the alien environment in which she was incarcerated shrouded in mourning. Her hopes had not been raised by discussion with her usual source of information.

  “I dunno, Miss Izzy, what with her ladyship gone and the mistress lording it over the place like she is,” said Becky, who had abandoned all pretence of the servant to lady relationship with Isolde, much to her joy since the maid was her only friend in Bawdsey Grange.

  “But what did you used to do?”

  “Well, it ain’t been no picnic these last two years, what with the master gone and her ladyship laid on her sickbed like, but Mrs P made sure as we had our goose and plum pudding dinner in the hall as ever was, and the mistress — Miss Alicia as we called her then — made sure as we got our Christmas boxes all right. Leastways, like Mrs P says, it were her ladyship what ordered it and Miss Alicia done her bidding, so it’s as like to ninepence as we won’t get nothing this year.”

  Isolde balked. “No, no, Becky, I am sure you will. Richard — I mean, Lord Alderton — would never permit such a thing to be forgotten. Indeed, I should not be surprised if it was not he, rather than Alicia, who arranged for it.”

  “I hopes as you’re right, Miss Izzy, only his lordship ain’t here, and Mr Topham warned as he might not get back in time.”

  A hideous thought that was already haunting Isolde’s restless nights. The notion of spending Christmas with only Alicia for company made her resolve to hide in her room for the duration.

  “But what of the gentry, Becky? How did they spend Christmas?”

  Becky brightened. “With her ladyship in her sitting-room mostly. Mrs P had us make it cheerful like, with holly boughs and fir cones and such around the fireplace. Her ladyship liked to play at cards or fox and geese, and then she’d be wheeled to the dinner table for as there’d be gentry invited from round about, and before she took so ill there’d be one or two to stay. Cousins, I think. When his late lordship were alive, it were a regular house party and everyone merry as grigs.”

  But there would be no house party this time, and no dinner guests either. Isolde knew the neighbouring gentry had already paid their respects, and the funeral had been well attended. No family members had materialised, as far as she knew, but like Alicia, she’d not been there. Another lesson. Ladies were neither expected nor required to attend the funeral or follow the coffin. Isolde could not imagine how she would have felt if she’d been barred from seeing Papa off on his final journey.

  Worse than any of this, however, were the incessant scolds, the sheer rudeness of Alicia de Baudresey. Relentless in pursuit of Richard’s aim to educate Isolde into a lady, Alicia chivvied her ceaselessly, criticised every effort she made and never uttered one word of praise, regardless of how hard Isolde tried. Had it not been for the thought of Richard’s inevitable disappointment in her, Isolde would have given up altogether.

  She paced, rubbing her arms, and recalling Alicia’s response the one time she’d lost patience and dared a protest.

  “Why are you so cruel to me? What have I ever done to you?”

  Alicia’s mouth became pinched, her eyes narrowing into pin-pricks of malevolence.

  “You are a dangerous upstart. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

  Shock roiled through Isolde, accompanied by a wave of guilt. She’d never framed the thoughts, never for an instant looked at a possibility — a hope? — that lay coiled in unguarded ignorance somewhere deep inside. But at these words, it sprang full-blown into her head and she could not deny its portent.

  Her face must have given her away, for Alicia’s lips curved into a smile as unpleasant as it was knowing.

  “Ah, you see, I was right.” She snorted. “You are baying for the moon, girl. You will never be mistress here. You will never oust me.”

  Isolde found her voice, recovering the native rebel within. She lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, you do. I saw it from the first. Even my mother, God rest her soul —” said with a scornful inflexion that made Isolde wince — “had started weaving plans in her head. I soon put a stop to that.”

  How? What had she done? What had been said? Or was it only Alicia’s vengeful mind that thought up these things? It was all nonsense, of course. It must be. Impossible to believe that Lady Alderton had any idea of…

  Isolde’s mind balked. She would not even think it. Alicia had taken leave of her senses, so twisted that she saw shadows where there were none.

  “If that is what you think,” she managed, speaking with care lest her burgeoning emotions get the better of her, “I am surprised you are making an effort on my behalf.”

  Alicia let out a harsh laugh. “On
your behalf? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Then it hit. “How could I be so stupid? You are doing it because Richard expects it of you. Because if you don’t, you are afraid he will cease to support you.” She saw by the fury in the woman’s eyes that she had hit the mark. “You wrong him. He’s not like you. However he felt, he would never cast you aside.”

  “No, he won’t,” said the woman, recovering herself, “because the opportunity will not be granted him.”

  With which, Alicia had turned and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her. She had returned an hour later and carried on as before, just as if the episode had never happened. This morning she had set the passage for learning and left, saying she had other duties demanding her attention.

  The night had found Isolde tossing, her thoughts in chaos, Alicia’s words going round and round in her brain. She could not rid herself of the stupid notion the woman had about Lady Alderton. It was ridiculous to suppose there could be any truth in it. Yet Isolde kept remembering how Lady Alderton, that last night, had urged her to put her trust in Richard, to depend on him, on his kindness.

  She clung to the memory of what had passed between them just before he left, and the knowledge that he had purposely sought her out. He had promised he would take care of her, and asked her to be patient. Take care of her how? As her guardian? Or only until he had persuaded her family to take her off his hands?

  No, that was unfair. Had he not said early on that she had a home here? But nothing had ever been said to lead her to think there might be more between them, despite the disturbing products of her imagination. What could Richard possibly see in her, a creature wholly unsuited to life in his milieu?

  The unacknowledged dream receded. If Alicia supposed her brother to have any amorous intention towards her, she must have windmills in her head. He was far more likely to palm her off on this Uncle Vere, Lord Vansittart.

  Isolde sighed. If Richard did not want her, even that would be better than a future spent within these walls, subject to growing unhappiness and prey to Alicia’s taunts.