Engaging Sir Isaac: An Inglewood Romance

by Britton, Sally

  All true. Every word.

  He stepped away, removing his walking stick from beneath what remained of his left arm. “I want to be left alone. Most of the time.”

  “Pity.” Her cheeks lost some of their color. He started walking again, this time near her, and she fell into step beside him. He shortened his longer gait to make the experience less troublesome for her. “I rather hoped you would not mind my presence. What if I promise not to flirt with you anymore?”

  He started, nearly dropping the stick. “I beg your pardon.”

  “I thought you preferred direct speech?” Her eyebrows shot up and a grin spread across her face, revealing she did—in fact—have a matching dimple on the other side of her cheek. “I have already confessed that I am lonely, my hosts having no need of my companionship, and I find your conversation intriguing. If I promise not to flirt with you, will you tolerate my company?”

  Isaac spoke stiffly, disapprovingly enough to make any general proud. “You are a very odd sort of young lady, Miss Wedgewood.”

  The woman at his side laughed, the sound almost joyful. “I thank you for your directness, Sir Isaac.” She sounded far more amused than she ought, yet a pleasant sort of warmth spread through Isaac’s chest at the easiness of the sound and her smile.

  “No flirting,” he said, capitulating to her terms merely out of curiosity. Who was this woman with her vibrant laugh, crooked smile, and clever eyes? Whatever had her family done to put her on the outskirts of Society, necessitating she give so much time to the whims of someone such as Lady Olivia? “I suppose if Esther likes you, that ought to be testament enough to your character.”

  The woman wore her lively expression comfortably. “You both have such odd names. I cannot think I have heard Esther as a given name very often. Everyone seems to prefer having a dozen Marys in the family to anything more original.”

  “Our mother felt the same.” Isaac offered the explanation with a shrug. “She used to say that people preferred New Testament names to Old, which she liked better. More drama in the Old.”

  “A sensible woman.” Miss Wedgewood tucked her hands behind her back, adopting a lofty tone. “My mother named me after her, at least in part. She is Mildred, I am Millicent.”

  “Those are not the same name,” he noted dryly.

  “No. But both of us had papas to call us Millie.” A softer look stole over her, which he would not have seen had he not been studying her from the corner of his eye. The light in her eye dimmed, her smile changing from a broad grin to a gentle pressing of the lips.

  A bittersweet expression. In fact, when her eyes settled upon the ground, she fully appeared as lonely as she had proclaimed herself. Whatever feelings she had in regard to her situation, she did not strike him as a bad sort. There was a cleverness in her eyes, but nothing cruel.

  “Millie,” he repeated, quite without thinking.

  Her eyes darted up to his. “Now Sir Isaac, if I am not permitted to flirt, neither are you.”

  His chin jerked upward. “Me? Flirt?”

  “Speaking a woman’s Christian name without leave is most certainly flirtatious.” She grinned at him, then pointed at a turn in the lane. “I must go this way to return to the marquess’s home. Good day to you, Sir Isaac.”

  He merely gaped after her retreating form, but after she had gone a dozen steps he could not help but chuckle. “Good day to you, Miss Wedgewood,” he called. She turned enough to look over her shoulder at him, a saucy smile upon her face. She raised her hand in a brief wave, then continued on with a light step.

  Flirt. As if he would ever contemplate such a thing.

  A smile tugged at his lips all the rest of his walk home.

  Chapter 8

  “I have an invitation to spend the afternoon and evening with Lady Inglewood.” Though Millie hadn’t expected Lady Olivia’s praise for obtaining the countess’s interest, the marquess’s daughter’s sneer was something of a surprise. Especially when the lady had appeared almost statuesque while playing the harp.

  “You are off to have tea parties with Esther Riley? How does that accomplish anything at all?” Lady Olivia kept plucking at the strings of the instrument as she spoke. “Amusing yourself in that woman’s house is not precisely what I expected when we settled upon this arrangement.”

  Millie came further into the music room and sat upon a chaise near the harpist’s chair. She folded her hands primly in her lap, resolved to explain things. “You tasked me with humiliating Sir Isaac. I cannot complete the task without coming to know the two of them better. The first task set for me was accomplished easily by spying, where no one expected to find a spy. But this is different. I must gain their trust if I am ever to learn their secrets.”

  It was a thing her mother had taught her, years before, and taught Emmeline, too. Knowing the secrets of others gave a woman power, and in a world ruled by men, every scrap of advantage must be taken. At least, that is what Mrs. Wedgewood had said.

  Lady Olivia’s hands stilled the vibrating strings as she appeared to contemplate that idea. “What makes you think you can win their trust? Sir Isaac has been famously stand-offish since his return from war and Esther Riley is nearly as closed off as her brother.”

  Although reluctant to admit that most of what she had already learned had come by sheer luck, Millie had to make some sort of answer. “I have similar interests to the countess, as you pointed out before. That much has captured her curiosity. Sir Isaac is a different matter. I am attempting to find the crack in his wall as of yet.”

  That did not appear to impress Lady Olivia at all. She plucked at her harp again, gentle notes slipping from the strings into the rest of the room. “I suppose I do not care how long it takes you, so long as I am assured satisfaction. Sir Isaac’s humiliation will be difficult, there is no doubt. But his sister—I will be most pleased when Lady Inglewood is an unknowing instrument to bringing her brother low.”

  Millie cleared her throat, a trifle nervously. “Lady Olivia, perhaps if you told me why you wish the baronet harm—”

  “That is not your business,” the woman snapped, her eyes hardening as her shout echoed through the room.

  After a long moment of silence, Millie at last spoke, her voice soft in the quiet. “Of course, Lady Olivia. As you say.”

  Lady Olivia rested her cheek upon the curve of her instrument. “We will not expect you for dinner.”

  The clear dismissal left Millie no choice but to stand and curtsy. She took her leave of Lady Olivia and walked out the door, feeling as though she fled a tiger’s lair. As she stepped from the room, her eye caught sight of a man leaning against the wall beside the open doorway. Millie started, then realized Lord Neil stood there, appearing as indolent as she had ever seen him.

  Yet his eyes glittered in the shadows of the hallway. “What are you and my sister planning?” he asked abruptly, the slyness absent from his tone making him sound entirely too serious, too knowing.

  Millie shut the door to the music room behind her before meeting his eyes again. “Nothing of importance, my lord.”

  He stayed leaning there, one ankle crossed over the other, arms folded on his chest. “It did not sound like nothing. I suspected your business with Livvy might have something to do with Fox. But not with the countess.”

  “I have no idea what you mean, Lord Neil.” Millie’s feigned innocence did nothing to soften his expression, nor to remove his suspicion.

  “Miss Wedgewood.” He pushed away from the wall and offered her his arm. She took it, though his cordiality was clearly naught but a tool meant to get his way. “Did you know that I have been banished from all Inglewood lands?”

  What on earth could such a confession mean? Millie shook her head. “I hadn’t heard such a thing, my lord. Is there a particular reason for that unlucky fate?”

  They walked slowly down the corridor, lit by windows along one side, the other lined with closed doors.

  “I insulted Lord Inglewood by flirting with
his countess.”

  Millie startled and pulled them to a stop. “You did what?” She took in the nobleman’s warm eyes, a mix of brown and green, and the wave of his dark blond hair. He certainly was handsome, and dressed with an obvious sense of fashion, yet she hadn’t thought him a great flirt or a scoundrel. To admit to such a thing, to such an intent upon a married woman, marked him as both.

  And yet. There was still something about him. Something that made his character, the outward manifestation of vanity and selfishness, feel false. His sister was as she presented herself. But there was something different about Lord Neil.

  “You need not appear so shocked, Miss Wedgewood.” His sly grin returned, yet the merriment did not reach his eyes. “The upper-classes are full of people who not only flirt but also bed those married to others. I thought to try my luck with Lady Inglewood.” He shrugged and continued their walk, pulling her gently along beside him.

  His confession did nothing to raise him, or the rest of Society, in her estimation. Though not naïve, Millie preferred not to think of what the upper echelons of Society deemed appropriate behavior. Everyone with wit enough to read a newspaper knew the Crown Prince himself had mistresses and that fidelity was often sniffed at; those with titles and money and the favor of their peers never suffered overlong for their indiscretions.

  That was not a part of society Millie had any interest in joining.

  “Not only did the countess rebuff my every advance, with a fierce loyalty to her husband’s good name, but she carried herself with graciousness throughout my ill-conceived plans. Nor has she treated me with anything other than neighborly kindness since her husband’s proclamation.” Lord Neil’s grin was part predatory, part admiration. “I rather like her. Which brings me back to my point.” He released her arm and stepped away, looking down upon Millie with that same expression on his face. “Whatever my sister has done to persuade you to her side, whatever plans the two of you have made, leave Lady Inglewood out of it or you will suffer the wrath of many a person who esteems her.”

  He bowed while Millie’s mouth fell open in her surprise. “But when you knew about Sir Isaac—”

  He waved a hand to interrupt her. “I care not at all for Fox. Olivia and you can have your way with him.” He turned his back on her and walked back the way he had come, saying over his shoulder, “But you have been warned regarding Lady Inglewood.”

  Interesting of him to come to the defense of a woman who had rejected his advances.

  Millie stared after him, trying to puzzle out Lady Olivia and her brother. They were a strange pair. If she did not need Lady Olivia’s influence, her sponsorship back into the bosom of Society, Millie would pack her trunks that instant and return home.

  But her mother might not allow Millie to return. The acceptance of the nobility, the repair of their family’s status, was all that mattered to Mildred Wedgewood, formerly Lady Mildred, daughter of a viscount, granddaughter to an earl and duke. If Millie ruined their last chance to rise once more into an exalted sphere of titles and wealth, fashion and sophistication, her banishment from her mother’s life would leave her quite alone in the world.

  Why had Emmeline ruined everything by running off with that horrid Welsh barrister?

  Returning to her room, Millie rang for her maid. Not only did she need to dress for an afternoon of quiet, but her maid would have to accompany her, and they would need to bring a dress for her to change into for dinner. Lady Inglewood had even instructed Millie to bring “something to work upon.”

  Despite Lord Neil’s warning and Lady Olivia’s temper, Millie anticipated the time with the countess almost happily.

  The image she inked on her box had begun to take shape the previous afternoon, while she’d puzzled over her chance encounter with Sir Isaac. She could easily pack up the things she needed to continue that work within the box itself. No matter what Lady Olivia wished, or Lord Neil warned, Millie would permit herself to enjoy an afternoon with someone who hadn’t sneered at her favorite artistic pursuit.

  Although Lord Neil’s warning meant reevaluation of her plans, yet again. No flirting with Sir Isaac, no betrayal of Lady Inglewood, yet she must satisfy Lady Olivia’s demands.

  If she knew why Lady Olivia wished ill on the baronet, perhaps it would help matters.

  As she slipped a gown the color of her favorite pansies over her head, Sarah helping, Millie found herself looking forward to the afternoon immensely. Lord Neil’s warning had come as a relief. She had no wish to hurt Lady Inglewood. Not when the woman had been kind.

  Sarah packed a small bundle of Millie’s things for the evening, then accompanied Millie down to the ground floor of the large house to wait for the promised Inglewood carriage. That was another thing; the countess did not expect Millie to walk in order to wait upon her. Lady Inglewood was thoughtful.

  If only the countess had the same connections as Lady Olivia. The sort of connections that would make Millie’s mother happy. Then Millie might prevail upon Lady Inglewood to help her.

  As the carriage bearing the Inglewood crest of red birds on a yellow field appeared, Millie brushed away those ideas. Most likely, if Lady Inglewood knew of the Wedgewood family’s shame, she would turn up her nose at Millie. Many members of the nobility and aristocracy as kind and gracious as Lady Inglewood had already done so.

  She stepped up into the carriage and the groom handed Sarah up behind her. Sarah, one of the few who knew how terribly Emmeline’s betrayal had cost all of them. Thank goodness for Sarah and her loyalty.

  “This promises to be a lovely afternoon, miss,” Sarah said, her eyes on the window and not on her troubled mistress. “The Inglewood servants are most accommodating. Last time we visited, they let me sit about drinking tea like I was a fine guest myself.”

  Millie sighed deeply, reflecting with gratitude how much Sarah meant to her. “I am glad to hear it. I hope you pass as pleasant an afternoon as I shall.”

  When Emmeline had left in the night, it was Millie who had gone to tell her betrothed. Lord Carning, the spoiled grandson of a duke, third in line for the title, hadn’t been pleased. He had been inebriated. And he also had made highly inappropriate remarks and advances upon Millie. Only Sarah’s quick-thinking had kept Millie from being another reason for her family to hang their heads in shame.

  But that was in the past. The day was fine and golden. She rode in the carriage of an earl. Sarah hummed a simple, reassuring tune.

  In a very short time, Millie could restore her family’s honor and make everyone forget all about what Emmeline had done, and what Lord Carning had tried to do.

  * * *

  The night had passed horrifically. No other word came to mind when Isaac attempted to understand what had gone wrong, why his dreams had been littered with the gasps and moans of the dying soldiers. He had taken something for sleep, at the advice of the apothecary, and sleep had come, but with more vivid nightmares than he had experienced in months.

  So he found himself out walking most of the day, ignoring his responsibilities, and trying to fill his mind with light rather than the darkness of his memories.

  He trudged about his lands, counting trees, inspecting the location for the proposed dam to keep his tenants’ farms from flooding, and then he’d made for the beaches of Inglewood. His property did not border the sea anywhere, but it was an easy thing to cross into Silas’s estate. He wandered for a time beneath the birch trees, reflecting on the happy afternoons of his childhood.

  The shadows withdrew with each passing hour he spent away from the emptiness of his home.

  Though he disdained the company of others, Isaac equally hated being alone. Before the war, social gatherings had filled him with energy, and he had looked forward to every opportunity to be among friends and neighbors.

  But of late he wished to keep out of sight. People looked at him, expecting him to be as before. More than his arm had gone missing in battle, though. He had lost the desire to laugh at the oddities of li
fe. He did not care for vapid conversation, for insignificant topics, for doing nothing, and being proud of an indolent state.

  Isaac settled upon a large rock overlooking the beach. The rock marked the beginning of the earl’s gardens, sitting beside the path that led up the hill and into the manicured hedges and flowerbeds where Esther spent many a morning painting. With his back to his friend’s house, Isaac breathed deeply of the sea air. The waves rolled gently up to the beach, then tucked themselves back again. They were a comforting sight, their soft roars soothing.

  Not at all like his nightmares.

  Perhaps he ought to sleep on the beach one night and see if it cured him better than the apothecary’s powders.

  There was little of late to provide him joy in his life. Isaac needed to take a greater swath of the darkness out of his soul, cast more of it away. There was purpose in making his estate financially stable once again, and Silas had helped with many ideas that would see Isaac successful in that pursuit. But there must be more. Must be something he could do that would fill the shadows of his heart with life and the will to move forward again.

  A thought came to him—the memory of Miss Wedgewood’s laughter. It had surprised him, when she had laughed the day before, as though her heart knew the happiness his lacked. Yet she’d admitted, quite freely, that her circumstances were not ideal.

  It was a shame, really. A woman with such intelligence, with that endearing set of dimples, trapped with a spiteful Lady Olivia. It still pained him that he had stolen her enjoyment of the Barnes’ dinner party with a few ill-conceived words. He used to speak so well. Used to guard his tongue. Of late, he said whatever thought came into his head, almost without realizing it.

  Thinking on Miss Wedgewood would not get him anywhere that afternoon. He needed to help himself first. But where might he find something—someone—that brought a sense of belonging?

  When the answer came, Isaac allowed himself a smile. Though he did not wish to discuss business with Silas, or have Essie fuss over him, there was a member of his family he knew would lift his spirits. His nephew, Little Isaac. And Essie had said the nursery door was always open to Isaac for visits.