"That’s right, my dear," he murmured. "A kiss never hurt anyone."
The unbidden thought that perhaps he was right popped into Isobel’s head, and she found herself leaning into the kiss, her lips parting just slightly as she relaxed. Lord Francis seized the opportunity and eased his tongue between her lips, gently teasing her. Isobel gasped and pulled her head away.
"Lord Francis," she said. "This must cease immediately."
The hand that cupped her head relaxed, and Isobel pulled away, looking down to realize that Lord Francis now slept deeply, the syrup taking full effect. Isobel moved away from the bed, raising her hands to her hair to tuck in a curl that had escaped from confinement. She jumped as the door opened and Rose entered, carrying a mountain of pillows and blankets.
"Oh!" squeaked Isobel. She raised her hands to her cheeks as she felt herself flush.
"Miss Isobel? Is aught amiss?" asked Rose, looking at her curiously. Isobel wondered if the country-bred lass could tell that she had just been kissed.
"No, no, everything is fine. As you can see, he is sound asleep, and has been these five minutes," said Isobel hastily. She glanced at the bed to make sure that her guest did indeed sleep. "Rose, watch him for a bit, and when Dr. Alvey arrives I will bring him up. Call me if he wakes or has need of anything."
"Yes, Miss Isobel." Rose sat down obediently in the chair by the bed. Isobel pondered suggesting she sit further from Lord Francis, but he seemed to be deeply asleep, and she could think of no good reason to instruct Rose to move. Feeling very conflicted, she exited the room.
Chapter 2
When Isobel returned to the sitting room, still confused by her interaction with Lord Francis, Harriet was there, engrossed now in her embroidery.
"Oh, tell me, my love, about Lord Francis. How does he go on? Is he seriously injured? Will Dr. Alvey be coming to attend him? Perhaps he will stay for dinner. I must speak with Cook."
"Which of your many questions do you want me to answer first, Harriet? And who do you mean will be staying to dinner? Lord Francis will most definitely be staying. In fact, he will be staying for several weeks or more. His collarbone is almost certainly broken and he is lucky not be concussed, but to have only a nasty lump on his head. Dr. Alvey I am unsure of. He is at Paggleham at a bad lying-in. I hope that he can come quickly, for the sooner the collarbone is set the better, but Lord Francis’ injuries are by no means life threatening, so we must wait for him to have time."
Isobel felt a sense of relief to be speaking of normal matters. She put the thought of the kiss firmly out of her mind. Lord Francis would surely not remember the embarrassing moment when he awoke.
"How odd it is to be sure that he should be pitched from his carriage before our very door step. It is such a difficult time of year to be traveling at all, and in such weather in an open carriage argues either great hardiness or great foolishness."
"Well, Cousin, you know these Corinthians. I make no doubt there was some ridiculous bet or other. I am sure his concern for his groom and his cattle would be as naught in the effort to out-do one of his fellows in some absurd wager."
"He is lucky to have had his accident in front of a house the inhabitants of which are so well qualified to nurse invalids. A young lady whose carriage were to be damaged before a single man’s residence would be unfortunate indeed."
"Her misfortune might be greatest in terms of the appearance the world would place on such a happening. The young lady would no doubt be characterized as a hardened flirt and fortune hunter," responded Isobel.
"Well, my dear, Lord Francis is very likely a fortune hunter himself; he is a younger son, you know. An army major on half pay since that monster Napoleon has been banished to Elba, even if he is the younger son of a Duke, is very likely to be hanging out for a rich wife," mused Harriet.
Isobel turned to her cousin, an arrested look in her fine green eyes.
"Can it be possible, Harriet? There have certainly been enough fortune hunters dangling after me in the past five seasons, but none of them would be so bold or foolish as to arrange such a thing. But perhaps he seeks to compromise me, knowing that I have refused many offers, and my fortune is not easily won by just a handsome face and winning manners." Her lips tightened slightly. He had kissed her, after all. Perhaps he had merely been pretending to be under the influence of the poppy syrup.
"Oh do not be so silly, my love," cried Harriet. "’T’was only a jest, and a poor one at that. How can you be so ridiculous as to think I was serious in that speculation? Truly, it argues a coarseness of mind and a cynicism in you that I cannot like. That you would even give a moment’s credence to such an idea without any further knowledge of his lordship astonishes me."
"Oh dear, Cousin, I fear that you are right," Isobel replied. "But five Seasons will make a cynic out of any young lady with a particle of sense in her head. Only the very naive, or the very foolish believe that most of the marriages contracted at Almack’s are based on love, or even mutual respect."
"Oh my dear, I do detest it when you speak so. You should be married to a man who will take care of you and protect you instead of burying yourself in those great books and grubbing about in the dirt. I know that you would be much happier if only you would give up this nonsense of living single all your days..."
"Enough, Cousin. You know my feelings on this score too well to continue with this teasing. I‑‑ah, there is Haggock now, perhaps he is come to apprise us of Dr. Alvey’s arrival."
And so it proved to be. Miss Paley went off to the sick room with Dr. Alvey, but the niggling doubt had been planted in her mind. Could Lord Francis be just another fortune hunter trying the oldest trick in the book, and trusting that it would not be recognized because it was usually played by a woman on a man?
However, when Dr. Alvey and Isobel stood looking down at the pale face and blonde hair on the white linen pillows of the huge bed in the Green Room, her doubts were banished. Not even the most inveterate fortune hunter would intentionally cause this amount of damage to himself.
"He has had a draught of poppy syrup, Doctor, for he warmed up well and I felt that the pain might be the cause of the shock," said Isobel.
"Mmph. As usual, you are probably correct. I only wish that most of my colleagues were as good physicians as you, my dear." The doctor was nearly old enough to be Miss Paley’s grandfather and felt no compunction about such familiarities, since he had brought her into the world.
"How heavy a dose was it?" he asked. "Do I dare set the shoulder before he wakes? It would be best for him if I did, but if he comes to as I do it and struggles, it will be worse for him than to be conscious."
"Well, I was careful, since I did not know precisely how severely injured he might be, and whether internal damage might have occurred. But I think that he will sleep if you are quick about it," she replied.
"My child, you insult my skill. I have set the shoulders of more farmhands and carters who have been pitched from wagons and hay wains than you will see in your lifetime. Can I be quick about it?"
Isobel smiled to see her challenge to him taken up so fiercely, and Dr. Alvey turned to his patient. Isobel watched impassively as, with a sickening little click, he twitched the misplaced shoulder and arranged the arm more naturally. Lord Francis did not stir or moan.
"Remove his shirt," said Dr. Alvey to the maid standing to the side. He glanced at Isobel. "If you are minded to be missish, you may go now, and I’ll let Rose help me with the bandages. I must have the shirt off of him to check the ribs."
"And who will of necessity wrap the bandages when you are gone? Until I can teach one of the servants it will be me, so I see no harm in viewing my lord’s bare chest now, well chaperoned by you and Rose."
"That’s quite the thing then. Still, you must teach his groom, or have his valet sent for. It won’t do for you to serve as his nursemaid."
Dr. Alvey prodded and poked at his lordship's chest. "Well, there's a broken rib, but it's not touching the lungs, so
tight bandages will do. See that he remains quiet though, or it could go ill for him," he announced with mingled cheer and sorrow.
Lord Francis slept through the bandaging as well, and Miss Paley left Rose to watch the patient while she and Dr. Alvey descended for dinner. Cook had made a special effort for the doctor, who was well known in the neighborhood for his love of fine food. After a hearty meal, and a little conversation in the large and airy dining room with its fine mahogany table and parquet floor, Dr. Alvey allowed Miss Paley to have her own carriage sent round to take the doctor home. One of the grooms would be dispatched at first light to return his gig, but it was unthinkable that he should have to drive himself home at such an hour in adverse weather.
After seeing the doctor safely off, Miss Paley went back up to the Green Room to check on her guest before retiring. In the arms of the poppy he continued to sleep, and since that was what he most needed she instructed Rose to call her if he grew restless, feverish or delirious.
The morning broke very fine, welcome after nearly a week of rain, and Isobel looked forward cheerfully to an afternoon ride in the park after the sun dried the ground. As she entered the sick room, Rose, dozing in an overstuffed armchair, leapt to her feet.
"I’m that glad to see you, Miss," she said. "His Lordship is plaguing me for a carriage to be sent to take him home."
"You may go, Rose, and get some proper rest," Isobel said with a smile. "I fear that His Lordship will be unhappy to hear that Dr. Alvey has said that he must on no account be moved for at least a month, and I wish to spare you the first flush of his disappointment if it should be intemperately expressed."
"A clever reminder, ma’am." came a light, husky voice. "I should be a very churl now to do aught but thank you for your hospitality."
As Isobel turned towards the bed to respond, Lord Francis caught his breath. He had vague memories from the night before of a lovely woman speaking comforting words to him, but he had not expected the vision now presented to him. The sunlight streaming through the draperies lit up Isobel’s piquant face and sparked on her shining hair, simply dressed with a topknot spilling curls down her graceful neck. She was dressed in a morning gown, as appropriate for the country, but cut by the hand of an excellent modiste, and the white muslin with turquoise sprigging and ribbons made her eyes glow in her beautiful face, while a happy smile curved her delicate lips.
For her part, Isobel looked critically at her uninvited guest. In the light of the morning he looked much different from the pale invalid of the previous evening. The heavy-lidded grey eyes were piercing in the chiseled face, and now that the swelling in his lips was receding, she could see that they had a firm yet sensuous set. The picture was rather spoiled by the bandage covering the gash on the forehead, but it was clear that Lord Francis was a handsome man indeed, and she found herself wondering about the physique covered by the bedclothes. During the bandaging she had noticed that his chest was well muscled and lithe, giving every indication of an athletic bent. She wrenched her thoughts back to the present situation.
"Indeed you would, for you have taxed both my capabilities and those of our local physician to their utmost with your injuries," she said. "It is absurd to even consider racketing about the countryside in a chaise with a broken collar bone and ribs, and a near concussion. I fear that you will have to resign yourself to some weeks of residence here at Kitswold. You will no doubt wish to send for your valet. I believe my stables are perfectly capable of accommodating your team, and my grooms are expert. I know how fussy gentlemen can be about their cattle, and it was a very sporting vehicle that you overturned in the road yesterday."
"Two body blows in one phrase, ma’am," responded Lord Francis. "First you assure me that I shall be an invalid for a month, and then you cast aspersions on my skill as a whip. How shall I ever recover from my injuries in such company?"
"Your tongue has certainly suffered no ill effects, sir. It is merely my wish that your stay should be as comfortable as possible, and that you should suffer no unnecessary worries that may slow your recovery. As for your horses, you are the very picture of the type of gentleman who would fret over the care that your horses were receiving."
"And I am again a churl for questioning your motives ma’am," said Lord Francis, a bit sheepishly. "Well, I shall act on your kind offer. Could I trespass on your kindness a few moments longer and ask that you write a pair of letters for me? I fear that my scribblings, never very neat, will be completely indecipherable now."
Paper was brought and Isobel settled down at an elegant desk to act as his lordship’s scribe. His gaze lingered warmly on her as she bent to her task, the very picture of refined womanhood. The first letter apprised his father, the Duke of Strancaster, of his injuries and direction.
"And you need have no fear, dear father, for my well being here at Kitswold House, for I am cared for by a lady whose competence as a nurse is surpassed only by her beauty, elegance and refinement. Miss Paley is a paragon of English womanhood...."
"I cannot write such arrant nonsense, Lord Francis," Isobel interrupted with a laugh.
"To characterize my remarks as arrant nonsense, when the admiration and sincerity in my compliments are boundless, Miss Paley, is unkind." Lord Francis’s face was impassive, but Isobel felt that a hint of humor lurked in his eyes.
"To embarrass me so when I am doing you the favor of acting the scribe is also, my lord," she countered.
"Ah well then, if you must have your way. ‘You need have no fear, dear father, as I am well cared for here at Kitswold House by the Hon. Miss Isobel Paley. I hope to be recovered sufficiently in some three to four weeks to set out for Strancaster and spend Easter with you and Mama, before removing to London for the Season.’ Does that suit you better Miss Paley?" he inquired mischievously.
"Thank you," she murmured, scribbling rapidly.
The second epistle was directed to a friend in Leicestershire whom Lord Francis had planned to join for a house party, and where his valet was no doubt awaiting his arrival with some concern. The note was brief and directed that gentleman’s gentleman to make haste to Kitswold.
The letters completed, sanded, and sealed, Isobel turned to her guest. "Is there anything else I may do for you?" she inquired.
"If it would not be too much trouble, may I have some books to read?" Lord Francis asked. "Lying here waiting to mend will be a tedious business, and I can only sleep so many hours in one day."
"Certainly," replied Isobel, her eyes lighting up. "I have an extensive library. What sort of books do you care for?"
Lord Francis hesitated. His mother and sister tended to read what he considered to be foolish romances, but he did not wish to offend Miss Paley, and any book would alleviate his boredom.
"Please, choose something that you think I would enjoy," he answered.
"I have some excellent histories of Britain, and also Spain, where you have spent some years. Perhaps you might enjoy those. I also have Horace and Plato; I presume you read Greek. I will have Rose bring you a selection. You must tell me what you enjoy best among those I send you, and I will make sure you have a plentiful supply." Isobel beamed at him. Anyone who enjoyed reading, she reflected, could not be completely without merit.
"Thank you, Miss Paley. You are most generous." Lord Francis watched as she whisked herself out of the room, a quizzical look on his face. His request for books had seemed to bring a great deal of pleasure to Miss Paley, and her library obviously extended far beyond the novels considered proper reading for a young lady.
Isobel spent a pleasurable hour in her library choosing books for Lord Francis; she lingered over the task far longer than she had intended and was startled to realize the forenoon was nearly gone and there were household duties to be attended to before she could go out for her long awaited ride. She called a footman to carry the books up to the Green Room and hurried to her study for her daily meeting with the housekeeper. Once the accounts had been reviewed and the matter of accommodations for
his lordship’s valet settled, Isobel was free of obligations. She rang the bell for her maid, and headed to her room to change into a riding habit.
Isobel’s room, like the rest of Kitswold House, was furnished with taste and charm. Straw-colored draperies for window and bed contrasted attractively with cornflower blue and white coverlets and upholstery. A deep Aubusson carpet deadened sounds and cushioned the feet.
"The blue habit if you please, Babbidge," Isobel requested, and soon she was fastened into a close fitting navy blue riding habit made of serviceable wool. Trimmed in passementerie, it quietly set off her fine figure and made a frame for her shining curls.
"Won’t you wear the shako hat, Miss?" asked Babbidge. "That habit is so plain, a bit of dressing it up won’t hurt, even in the country."
"On such a fine day, how can I resist the shako?" laughed Isobel. "’T’is a shame to waste it on my brother, however, who is the only person of fashion that I might meet on my ride." Nonetheless, she put on the rakish looking military style hat with its large, curling ostrich plume, to her own and the maid’s admiration.
The sunshine was warm as she walked out to the stables where her mare was waiting. While the grooms saddled the horse, Isobel went to see how Lord Francis’ team fared.
"It’s myself that is sure that them horses has the luck o’ the devil, Miss," opined one of the grooms. "The leaders were barely touched, with only a graze on the fetlock of one and a scraped knee on t’other. The wheelers are a little worse off, with a strained tendon on the left hind of the one, and a puncture from the shaft above the knee on the other. But nothing serious, and no infection setting in. Poultices, stall rest and hand walking’ll sort them out. His Lordship’s groom has been out today already to have a look at that team. Fine horseman he is, too."
A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance Page 2