Isaac turned enough to peer over his shoulder, his hope returning that the friend would be his trespasser.
A woman dressed in a soft blue gown stood with her back to him, her ginger hair wrapped up in an extravagant twist and augmented by yellow ribbons. She was a head shorter than Lady Olivia, who stood beside her, making her far smaller in stature than he had thought given that during his last encounter with her, she had been on a horse.
Isaac waited for her to notice him.
As though sensing his attention, the woman’s head turned. She caught him looking at her from the corner of her eye. Yes. There it was. The confusion. She turned more, meeting his stare with a flash in her eyes, as though affronted by his mere presence. And then she paled, took in his empty coat sleeve, raked her startled gaze across his figure, and ended with a gasp.
Isaac smirked and stepped toward her, away from his sister’s conversation with the Ashfords, and bent to speak to her in a low tone. “I told you. Sir Isaac is quite mad.”
To her credit, her jaw tightened. Obviously, the woman had words to say but she bit her tongue. Her fan flashed in her hand, coming up to cover the lower half of her face from the people on the other side of her, conversing without any idea what was taking place two feet away from them.
“You are Sir Isaac,” she accused with a hiss.
“Indeed.” He straightened to his full height, amused when her cheeks turned pink. He was far too tall for her to converse easily with him in a whisper. The woman would have to mind her words. “And you are?”
She snapped her fan shut. “I was introduced to the room a moment ago. Miss Wedgewood.”
Ah. What a name. It sounded like something a novelist would name a villainess. How fitting for someone of Lady Olivia’s ilk. “I cannot say I am familiar with your family.” He tried not to sound too smug.
The woman’s hackles seemed to rise. Yes, she certainly took his words as an insult. No need to tell her he had been out of Society so long, he hardly recognized any names. It simply did not matter to him which families were considered important. It never had.
Esther appeared at his side, her arm slipping through his. He winced, hoping his sister hadn’t overheard his last comment. “Esther, allow me to introduce you to Miss Wedgewood. Miss Wedgewood, this is my sister, Lady Inglewood.”
“My lady.” Miss Wedgewood curtsied prettily, without showing any of the displeasure she had displayed only moments before. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I have had the good fortune of seeing one of your paintings, in London, this last winter.”
Isaac blinked, surprised, and looked to his side to see his sister blush.
“Oh, really? I have given several pieces away. You must tell me which you saw, so I may apologize for the lack of skill in its creation.” Esther’s smile was entirely too self-deprecating.
Miss Wedgewood laughed, the sound unaffected and oddly pleasing. “I understand you perfectly, my lady. I often feel the same about my work. No matter how much attention and love I put into my pieces, I can only see the flaws. I assure you, the painting I saw was lovely. It was of the sea, with gulls in a gray sky, at Mrs. Parr’s home. I went to an evening of poetry at her townhouse.”
Esther’s grip on Silas’s arm relaxed. “I did enjoy that one. Did you say you are an artist, too? Do you paint?”
“Not with oils, and rarely with watercolors.” Miss Wedgewood did not even glance his way again. She had ruined all his amusement by instantly forming a connection to his sister. Worse still, she spoke with complete sincerity in her compliments. “I prefer other mediums. I do like to work with ink and wood, making over furniture in the ebony and ivory style. And quilling fascinates me as well.”
Esther’s eyebrows raised. Isaac hadn’t the faintest idea what they were speaking of and started to ask when the room’s attention was called to order and they were asked to enter the dining room.
The usual shuffle began as women determined who outranked who. Isaac at least knew his place, escorting his sister. She was the second-highest ranked woman present, after Lady Alderton.
“I wonder how someone such as that came to be acquainted with the family?” Esther murmured to him. “I do not think anyone has ever known me through my painting before.” She sounded pleased, and there was a sparkle in her eyes that made him chuckle.
“You do have talent, Essie.” He gave her an affectionate smile, then assisted her into her chair. He was then shown to his own place at the table by a footman, closer to the middle than he expected given that most present were gentlemen. It was not as though he minded the slight, though. With the marquess and his heir away, Lord Neil occupied one end of the table and his mother the other. Lady Olivia was near to her mother’s right hand. The farther Isaac was from each of them, the more likely he was to enjoy his meal.
And then Miss Wedgewood was seated next to him.
* * *
Millie’s shock at seeing the impertinent grounds man at the grand dinner, then realizing he had been her quarry all along, had taken more time to wear off. His sister’s art had been a merciful change in topic, allowing her time to regain her mental balance. At least she could compliment Lady Inglewood’s artwork sincerely, though Lady Olivia disliked the woman as much as she did the baronet.
Lady Olivia had contrived to put Millie and Sir Isaac next to each other at dinner. Perhaps Millie could make up for her earlier tart behavior during the course of the meal. After all, nothing truly unpleasant had passed between them. He may only think her an overly curious sort.
Once their first course was before them, a broth-like concoction the color of cream, Millie sent her seatmate a tentative smile. A flirtatious, innocent character would likely be the best to play. “Sir Isaac, you ought not have teased me so when we first met.”
One of his eyebrows rose, but he did not even turn to face her when he answered. “Did I tease you? I am not certain I would call the tone of our conversation teasing.”
“Perhaps not entirely.” She allowed herself a spoonful of soup before continuing. “I did spend most of my day wondering about you, though.”
“About me?” he asked, his tone still lacking interest. “Do you mean the supposedly mad baronet you were warned about or the rude grounds man?”
Millie pushed an airy laugh from her lungs. “Both, of course. Your deception was quite clever, sir.”
His eyebrow tilted upward again, then lowered into a frown. She hadn’t impressed him, it would seem. He did not succumb to flattery easily. “I hope your curiosity on the matter has been satisfied.” He spoke dryly, without so much as a smile.
“I am afraid not,” she said, sighing dramatically. “I only have more questions about you, and I will not rest until they are all answered.” Surely that flirtatious comment, accompanied by one of her prettiest smiles, ought to draw him in. Most men delighted in speaking of themselves, bragging about their accomplishments, puffing up as a prized rooster in a hen yard when paid the least bit of attention.
But Isaac Fox was not a rooster, nor did he take her sweetly baited offer of conversation. “You will have to find your answers elsewhere, Miss Wedgewood. I am afraid I am not nearly so interesting as you seem to believe.”
He pointedly turned away, toward the gentleman on his other side, and began a conversation on the topic of growing hay.
The man would rather speak of farming grass than to her.
Millie winced and put her soup spoon down, ready to try something else, even if it was merely the second course.
Chapter 4
Millie sat in the little art room of the second floor, staring out the window without really seeing the gray clouds rolling in for a summer storm. A sheet of paper lay before her, filled with intricate ink drawings of flowers and birds and ivy, twisting about each other in elegant swirls. She had completed the work that morning and intended to use it as a pattern for her next project, likely a box for her father’s pipes. She only needed to decide what to put in the center of the lid. Usually she
put a larger scene, such as a couple dancing, or a ship upon water, in the middle of whatever object she worked upon.
Sarah sat in the corner of the room, mending one of Millie’s dresses they hadn’t realized had a torn hem until she had put it on. A soft knock at the door made Millie hastily correct her posture. “You may come inside,” she said, rising from her chair to face the door.
Lord Neil entered, the same confident laziness in his posture as the day before. “Miss Wedgewood. I am glad I found you here. I have a question to put to you.”
She clasped her hands before her, relaxed and smiling. “I hope I have the answer you seek, my lord.”
He folded his arms over his chest and took her in, but not in a lewd way. His attitude was calculating, much as his sister’s had been on their first meeting. Yet he lacked the predatory mask his sister wore with such ease. “Olivia has put you up to something, has she not?”
Millie’s eyebrows shot upward. “Put me up to something? Whatever do you mean, my lord?”
“It is obvious she does not consider you a friend. Last evening, before dinner, she made a point of introducing you, yet the two of you have spent no time in each other’s company in the three days you have been here.”
Millie did not so much as blink at his observation. The man was cleverer than he let on. Yet she could not admit anything to him without betraying her promises to Lady Olivia.
“It has something to do with Sir Isaac. The deliberate way you two were put next to each other at the table was obvious to anyone paying attention. Sir Isaac could not help but see the slight against him was intentional, to seat so many gentlemen in more favored places. What, precisely, are you doing for my sister? And why are you allowing her to dictate to you? I am dreadfully curious.”
There was that word again. Curious.
“My lord, I am not at liberty to discuss this with you. Whatever it is you have perceived, you ought to speak with your sister.”
He waved that comment away. “I tried. She denied everything, as though I am foolish enough to believe her word on anything.” That hardly spoke well of their relationship as siblings. “Olivia is up to something, and you are playing along. I will agree to stay out of it, but only if you promise me a favor at a later time.”
This did not bode well. A favor, to a man known for acting the part of a charming rake? She had heard rumors of the way he flitted about society, from one lady to another, never settling into his place, a profession, or a marriage. Unsteady, some called him. A lay about, said others.
Yet all he had shown her, since the first moment of their meeting, was a begrudging sort of kindness.
“Why would you want a favor from me?” She did not see a way around it. Not really. But agreeing blindly would hardly be wise.
He shrugged, almost carelessly. “You seem to be an industrious sort of person. One day you might be in a position that I find useful, though you certainly are not in a favorable place now.”
Millie swallowed. “I will owe you a favor, my lord.” She did not want or need another person poking about while she attempted to fulfill the task given her by Lady Olivia. “But there must be conditions. I will do nothing that will harm my reputation,” she said quickly.
“What reputation?” he asked, one corner of his mouth going upward. He glanced at the maid in the corner, then back to her. “I think we both know you haven’t much of one to ruin.”
Millie felt the heat rushing into her cheeks. “Perhaps not. But it is a condition. I will do nothing disreputable.”
“Agreed. Anything else?” One corner of his mouth turned upward. Despite their conversation, she sensed no malice in him. Amusement, perhaps, but not even directed at her. The man was a puzzle, yet something about him eased her concern.
If only she could think of something else to ask of him. Then it came to her. “You know Sir Isaac better than I do. My other condition is that you must tell me how best one would get past his defenses. He is not eager to befriend me, and I would know how to change that.”
“Befriend him?” Lord Neil’s eyebrows rose, and he dropped his hands to his side, as though genuinely astonished. “Olivia does have something strange planned. I can agree to this condition. I could tell from watching last night that he had little enough interest in you. But you were going about it all wrong. Sir Isaac is a military man. If you wish to break through his defenses, attacking head on will get you nowhere.” He directed a grin at her that reminded her of a wolfhound. “Does that help you, Miss Wedgewood?”
She was sure it would. In time. “I believe we have reached an accord, my lord.”
He bowed. “So it would seem. Good luck, Miss Wedgewood. Whatever my sister has put you up to, I am certain you will need it.”
Lord Neil left without another word.
Millie turned to her maid; Sarah had her sewing at rest in her lap and was staring wide-eyed at her. “Was that a good idea, miss? Seems to me you just made a deal with a devil.”
“I do not think him a devil. His sister, perhaps.” Millie lowered herself into her chair again and rolled the pen upon the table, watching the nib twirl across the wood. “He said I should not attack Sir Isaac head-on. What do you suppose that means?”
“It’s like in battle, isn’t it?” the maid said, lowering her head back to her work. “You’ve got to sneak up behind him, find some way to infiltrate the ranks.” Sarah had three brothers in various branches of the military. All three had been called back to action when Napoleon had escaped Alba and began his war anew.
“Infiltrate the ranks.” Millie turned the idea over in her head, her eyes upon her artwork again. “Of course.” She stood abruptly. “Sarah, tomorrow morning we must pay a call on the Countess of Inglewood.” If she could ingratiate herself with Lady Inglewood, infiltrating the ranks of the family, she might have a better chance against Sir Isaac.
Somehow, everything would come together. This would be her way back into Society, the way to return her mother to the world she loved, and undo everything Emmeline had ruined by running off and jilting the grandson of a duke.
Chapter 5
Calling on a titled lady without notice was hardly good manners, but Millie had a purpose. Multiple purposes, in truth. Though she had searched the house high and low, nothing in the Alderton home would suit for her project. There were no suitable boxes, and no suitable ink for working upon wood. With Lady Olivia ignoring Millie for the most part, and no one else in the house but the marchioness and Lord Neil, Millie passed the hours with difficulty.
The art room had become her haven, more so than the bedroom assigned to her during her stay.
After Lord Neil’s visit, and his hint at how best to get around Sir Isaac’s defenses, she had hit upon the perfect place to begin.
If she could befriend Lady Inglewood, or at least form an acquaintance based upon their mutual enjoyment of artistry, she may find a way into Sir Isaac’s trust.
Sarah came with her on the short walk to the Inglewood estate and went around to the servant’s entrance once Millie’s admittance by the butler was assured. Thank goodness for the maid’s cheerful presence. Though not many would admit to such a thing, Millie counted Sarah as a friend. Perhaps her only friend, since Emmeline’s betrayal.
The butler showed Millie to a sitting room on the ground floor. The room’s stark furnishings and windows looking out to the front walk made it a formal room, not graced with the family’s presence on a regular basis. The furniture was of the latest style, with elegant curves and stylish fabrics, but nary a personal touch graced the room, not even a single embroidered cushion upon a seat.
A painting over the hearth did capture her attention. The scene called her forward, so she stood directly below the artwork before even realizing she had taken a step.
It was magnificent. In oils, artfully rendered, was a stretch of beach with the ocean extending into the background, the sun peeking out of the clouds and bathing everything beneath in the soft light of morning. Children play
ed upon the beach, racing behind a boy with a kite. The perspective the painter employed kept the children at enough of a distance that one could not see their expressions in great detail, but their figures were bounding across the sand with unabashed joy and delight.
“Do you like it?” a voice asked from behind, soft and somewhat uncertain.
Millie turned, startled, to see the countess standing in the doorway. She looked back to the painting. “Is it one of yours, my lady?”
“Yes.” The countess came to stand beside Millie, staring up at the painting herself. She pushed back a strand of her deep brown hair, and eyes similar to her brother’s studied the painting most critically. “I still cannot quite accept my work here.” She pointed to one of the children trailing behind the others, a little girl smaller than the others. “This painting tells the story of a memory.”
With that piece of information, Millie took several steps back and looked at the work again, tilting her head to the side as she studied it. “The other children are similar distances apart, but that little girl is twice as far from them as they are from each other. Is it you, in the painting?”
The countess blushed, but she nodded once. “I do not feel like that anymore. As though I am behind. But the memory…” She shrugged.
“You keep the painting in this room, where you do not have to see it so often.” Millie nodded her understanding and looked again. “I think it must be a good place for it, though. When you have visitors, this painting reminds you how far you have come. You are not a little girl at the rear of the group, but a countess who commands a great deal of respect. I imagine you are the one people trail behind now.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose, and she took in Millie’s words in quiet for a moment. “I wonder if you are right. Certainly, seeing it hanging here when I welcome someone new into my home has an effect. It reminds me to stand a little taller, as it were.” She lifted her chin and her lips formed a gentle smile. “Forgive me for the rather abrupt conversation. But before, when we spoke of art, you seemed to be a kindred spirit.”
Engaging Sir Isaac: An Inglewood Romance Page 4
