"Alas, no, though I would love to hear of your impressions of the frieze. You must write me a long letter. I came to London only for a few days; you know how much I dislike the city. I had to meet with my mother’s solicitor, and I took the opportunity to visit the library and Lackington’s, but I leave later this afternoon."
"What a pity," said Isobel, honest disappointment on her face. "I do love London, and my friends here, but I also long for someone with whom I can share my other interests. But if I must make do with letters, so be it."
"Sometime you will have to come to Oxford and spend a few days, Isobel. Then we can compare our work in peace. I wonder that you can keep your thoughts straight amidst the noise of London." Alexander shook his head.
Isobel smiled. "Oh, I can appreciate gaiety, as well as a Roman coin. Though perhaps not as lasting, a waltz with a handsome gentleman is also a great pleasure."
"That leads me to the reason for my visit," said Alexander. "How well do you know Lord Francis Wheaton?"
He was astounded to see Isobel turn a fiery red and drop her eyes. "What is going on, Isobel?" he asked.
She turned away, waving one hand airily. "I am acquainted with Lord Francis, Alexander, but nothing more." She bit her lip, as she pondered the remarkable turn her acquaintance with Lord Francis had taken in the past days. Only an hour before she had received a carefully worded note from him, requesting an assignation for the following day. She had been startled by the feelings of excitement the mere thought of it had stirred in her.
"He gave me to understand that he spent some time at Kitswold," said Alexander. "Did I not hear him correctly?"
"Oh, yes, that," said Isobel, dragging herself back to the sitting room in Clarges Street. "He did spend some weeks at Kitswold, after he foolishly overturned his curricle outside my front door," said Isobel "But, after all, how well can one know someone who is a convalescent?"
"Well enough for him to learn of my new interest in Roman ruins in Scotland!" retorted Alexander. "I hardly suppose that you took your paper up to his sickroom to share it with him, so you must have had some discussions with him."
"Don’t be nonsensical," said Isobel. "He interrupted me in my library while I was preparing the manuscript, and I was so startled that I was unable to secure it. I had to give him some sort of excuse for what he clearly deemed bizarre behavior on my part."
"Well, I was very surprised when he asked me about it," said Alexander.
Isobel’s eyes grew wide. "He asked you? When did you see him?"
"Not a half hour ago, in Bond Street," said Alexander.
"You didn’t tell him that it was my paper, did you?" asked Isobel, not quite sure what she hoped he would say in response.
Alexander shook his head. "No, I didn’t do that, though I was hard pressed for a moment. I’m not an accomplished liar, Isobel. I’m very much afraid that Francis seemed skeptical of my explanation that I published some papers under the name Marcus Paley."
"Oh, you did not tell him about Marcus, did you?" breathed Isobel.
"I had to," said Alexander frankly. "The paper will appear under that name, and Francis seemed just curious enough to go searching for it. Tell me, Cousin, how well do you know his lordship? And don’t try to fob me off, I could tell he had a more than casual interest in you," he added, when he saw the stubborn look that was descending on Isobel’s face.
"As I said, he spent some weeks at Kitswold, and I have, of course, seen him in London. We have danced a few times, and he paid me a morning call." Isobel refused to meet Alexander’s eyes.
"And that is all?" he asked.
"Oh, you are being remarkably persistent, you horrid thing," said Isobel. "Perhaps Lord Francis has shown some interest in me. But I have no intention of encouraging him."
"Why not?" asked Alexander. "I haven’t spent much time with Francis since we were at school together, but he was always a very sound fellow. Intelligent, kind, and thoughtful as well. I told him when we met today that it was a pity he went into the army rather than pursue his scholarly inclinations."
Isobel shook her head. "He seems to be all that a proper gentleman should be, but I am not interested in the married state, as you know. I have done my very best to discourage his lordship, and as for letting him know about my other interests—a thousand times, no."
"Well, I’d be careful if I were you, then," said Alexander. "My explanation about Marcus sounded weak even to my own ears, and Francis is no fool. He may ask you some questions."
Isobel chuckled. "I don’t think you need to worry about that, Alexander. I very much doubt that Lord Francis will be concerned with such things the next time I meet him."
Alexander threw his hands up in the air. "I would ask more questions, but I don’t think I care to know the answers. I have no idea what you are up to, Isobel, but have a care. Lord Francis does not deserve to be trifled with, and, while I am always happy to aid you in your scholarly pursuits, I dislike having to cover your tracks."
Isobel bit her lip. "I am sorry, Alexander," she said. "I didn’t think he would remember that paper. I promise you that I will be more circumspect in the future. Please don’t be angry with me. Will it help if I promise to make sure Lord Francis does not bother you again? "She reflected that, at least for now, Lord Francis’ thoughts when he was near her were fully occupied with other matters.
Alexander sighed. "I can never be angry at you, Isobel." He took her hands in his again. "What a pity that such a fine scholarly mind must be hidden from the world. I only came to you because I thought you should know that I told Francis that I was Marcus Paley. Now we need to be quiet about the whole thing, and hope he puts it behind him."
"Indeed, we must hope that," agreed Isobel fervently.
Chapter 22
Some two weeks had passed since the day on which Letitia had been claimed by Lord Morgan and Lord Francis had proposed to Isobel, events that had turned her heart and her life inside out. The effects of Letty’s absence were easily apparent; trips to the modiste were sadly flat without Letty's excellent taste and humorous comments, and she no longer had a companion to walk with in the park, for Harriet did not care for that form of exercise. Although Isobel had received a letter from Letitia reassuring her as to her and the children's health and safety, she sensed the misery seeping from Letty’s words.
She peppered Mr. Askworth with requests that he explore every avenue that might relieve Lady Morgan of her husband's obnoxious presence, though her long-suffering solicitor’s responses, regrettably, never changed.
But it was Lord Francis who occupied Isobel’s mind in a truly intrusive way. The physical relationship between them, which she acknowledged she had entered into through a mixture of pride, desire, curiosity, and poor judgment, had altered her feelings in ways she had never imagined and did not clearly understand. She reluctantly admitted to herself that she had grown more attached to him than ever as her treacherous body had developed a mind of its own; the very thought of Lord Francis could produce spine tingling shivers of desire whether he was present or not. She attempted to squelch any thoughts that her emotions were becoming increasingly engaged, but their denial grew more and more difficult. He might be all that was admirable, charming, and physically stimulating, but marriage could not provide a woman with as much security as control of her own fortune, so she would allow nothing more to come of it.
All in all, Isobel was glad that the Season was almost over. The round of parties and entertainments had become unbearably dull, and she looked forward eagerly to the change of activities and scenery that would occur when she travelled to Scotland. She concentrated her energies on preparations for the trip and planning her summer's excavations at the ruins so conveniently near her property in Ballydendargan. In this way she avoided thinking of poor Letitia and was able to convince herself that the intrusive Lord Francis was merely a stimulating diversion.
These activities had occupied Isobel so thoroughly, along with concealing the true nature of her
relationship with Lord Francis, that her attendance at parties became infrequent, but when she received an invitation to an al fresco entertainment at Lady Cranebank's, she decided to attend. The Cranebank's estate, located in Merton, was known for its lovely gardens and wooded walks, and an afternoon outside would be preferable to paying calls. In addition, it would be an opportunity to say farewell to many friends she would not see again until the following spring.
The day dawned fair with gentle breezes, and Isobel and Harriet departed for the Cranebank's picnic in a flurry of muslin and lace. Isobel had chosen to be driven in her barouche, and she raised a frivolous lace parasol to shield herself from the sun.
"Well, my dear, I don't know why you bother with that," lamented Harriet. "You know very well that soon you will be outside in those ruins of yours every day and your complexion will be quite destroyed. I am distraught every year when I perceive the ravages that your work inflicts on your skin! I will have to take an entire trunk of lotions with me in hopes that I can repair it."
Isobel laughed. "I am a sad trial to you, am I not?" she asked. "I will do my very best to wear a hat at all times this year, but I fear that at times I must discard it, as it can so easily block my vision. I would much rather find a Roman coin than preserve my complexion."
Harriet shook her head in dismay. "You will never be married if you continue this disastrous fascination with antiquities! Why, only fancy, I had thought that Lord Francis Wheaton would come up to scratch, but it seems that he has quite given up on you, for he has not come to call for more than two weeks now, and I do miss him sadly, for he is such a companionable gentleman. The two of you looked so lovely together, and I had my hopes set on you marrying, but now it seems that it will not be, and I had so wished..."
Isobel felt helpless under the flow of words. She had not told Harriet of Lord Francis' proposal and her refusal of it, as she knew that their marriage was one of Harriet's fondest wishes, and she had not cared to dash her hopes and face the ensuing cascade of recriminations. In addition, the notion of Harriet discovering their clandestine trysts did not bear examination.
"Come, Cousin," she said. "You must know that Lord Francis has more to do than dance attendance on us in Clarges Street. I am sure you will encounter him sometime soon and you may be assured that he still holds you in esteem."
"It is not his feelings towards me that I care about, though of course he is always a perfectly delightful companion; so interesting and thoughtful," said Harriet. "It is how he feels about you that concerns me, and I fear that the odd quirks in your nature, or your levity about serious matters, has discouraged him, for I was quite certain that he would propose to you anytime these past weeks, and now his absence from Clarges Street would seem to indicate that perhaps he has decided against it, which I would be very sorry for..."
Since Isobel most certainly could inform her that Lord Francis’ feelings were engaged in more ways than one, she was relieved when the carriage drew up to the Cranebank’s property, and Harriet's ramblings on the nature of Lord Francis' state of mind were replaced with exclamations of delight at the beauty of the setting. They alighted from the carriage, greeted their hostess, and joined the party with every anticipation of a delightful afternoon.
Isobel surveyed the delicate tables and spindle-legged chairs distributed about the well-groomed lawn. Women dressed in delicate pastel muslin gowns drifted to and fro like apple petals on the breeze. Gentlemen in morning dress, their pale colored pantaloons contrasting with dark coats, escorted them. Isobel circulated among the crowd addressing a laughing remark here, a concerned inquiry there, and making small talk with her friends. Harriet seated herself at one of the tables and embarked on a lively gossip with a pair of women of the same uncertain age, their lace capped heads shining in the sunlight, ribbons lifting gently in the air.
After some time circulating among her fellow guests, Isobel felt a desire to be quite alone, and she slipped away from the throng congregated on the grass to enter a pretty little wood that had been designed by some long-gone landscaper to offer an escape from the sun of the lawn. Ancient oaks filtered the light, and bluebells bloomed in the shade along the footpath. She enjoyed the hush after the bustle of the party. Only a short way into the wood a bench had been placed in a clearing, providing a place to view a charming statue of Cupid and Psyche. Isobel seated herself, and let her mind drift off to plan her summer’s work in Scotland.
She had not been there long when the stillness was broken by the sound of voices and a party of two ladies and three gentlemen entered the clearing. Sir Jason Partney, Lord Francis Wheaton, and Mr. Thomas Alcorn were accompanying Miss Brooks‑Walsham and Lady Jane Spencegill on a stroll through the wood. Isobel felt a brief stab of jealousy at the sight of Lord Francis, his head tilted slightly to catch the words Eliza Brooks-Walsham, the dashing beauty he escorted, but she quelled it firmly to smile at their party.
"How can it be that such a beautiful lady sits here unaccompanied?" lisped Sir Jason, an exquisite young man whose lavender pantaloons and exceedingly high shirt points declared his pretensions to dandyism. "Do join us, Miss Paley. It will not do for you to deprive the rest of us of your company."
Isobel glanced at Lord Francis’ face, which was studiously bland. She smiled at the group, but shook her head. "How kind of you to invite me, but I am only resting for a moment, and then I will rejoin Miss Walcott, who must be wondering where I am."
"Miss Walcott was pleasantly engaged with her friends when we departed a few moments ago," said Mr. Alcorn. "I must add my pleas to Sir Jason’s. Please join us, ma’am, and we will cast all others at this gathering quite into the shade."
Isobel looked again at Lord Francis, wishing to avoid any appearance of particularity, but he merely smiled in return. Feeling that any further remonstrance would only make her appear ridiculous, she joined the group as they proceeded into the woods.
With the imperceptible ease of good breeding and good manners, Lord Francis relinquished Miss Brooks‑Walsham’s arm to Sir Jason, and to her surprise Isobel discovered that as the path narrowed, she and Lord Francis made the third of three couples.
"Lady Cranebank is very fortunate in the weather. An al fresco entertainment must always entail risk, but here we have the picture perfect spring day," she said.
Lord Francis inclined his head gracefully. "And picture- perfect company in which to enjoy it," he replied gallantly.
Isobel chuckled. "Humbug!" she said roundly. "But this is indeed a delightful entertainment. I must say that I much prefer to enjoy the gardens here, rather than recreated in some stuffy ballroom."
You are fortunate enough to be one of the few women in London who shines in any setting, ma'am," said Lord Francis.
"Come now, Lord Francis," said Isobel briskly. As she was determined to be more natural with him now that they had embarked on a liaison, she hoped to dissuade him from his evident belief that he needed to pay her endless compliments. "While it is very kind of you to speak so flatteringly to me, I do quite well without it. Pray, let us speak on less tedious topics."
Lord Francis raised his eyebrows, wondering briefly how many of their previous conversations Isobel had judged to be tedious, but didn’t argue the point. As they had walked, he had deliberately allowed them to lag behind the other couples, and he now allowed his arm to slide out of hers, and move down below her waist, gently stroking her hip and drifting lower to caress her firm bottom.
"I hoped that there would be an opportunity to draw you aside, so I employed my skills at scouting military terrain to identify a location where we can be quite private," he murmured.
He glanced off to his left, and steered her gently towards a very narrow, ungraveled path that led deep into the shade of the woods. "Ah, there it is," he said. "I fancy that none of the others will take the risk that this may be muddy or rough, but I have reconnoitered most carefully, and judge it to be safe for even the most delicate of kid slippers."
Isobel glanced up a
t him quickly, and he saw the desire in her eyes. "You don’t mind, do you?" he asked softly.
She shook her head, and he could see from the rise and fall of her chest that her breath was coming faster.
"I didn’t think you would," he said, his voice full of promise.
Two could not walk the path abreast, so Lord Francis went ahead, extending a hand to Isobel. Soon it appeared to end in a dense shrubbery, and Isobel paused, confused.
"It’s but an illusion, my dear," said Francis, drawing her off to the right, where the tiny path continued on stepping-stones. They followed it until it turned, sloping gently downhill, where it met another wall of green. They walked through the narrow opening in the shrubbery to emerge in a little hollow completely shielded by greenery. A trickle of water seeped over some rocks and into a small pool, and a statue of a nymph fleeing a satyr stood at the edge of the water. A carved stone bench was placed in a flat area, providing a view of the pool and the entrance to the hideaway. Ancient oaks stood guard over the scene, their presence reassuringly solid.
"Someone designed the perfect hideaway for a child, or for lovers," he said. "Although the subject of the statuary would seem to indicate the latter. I think no one will follow this path, and if they do, we will hear them long before they find this spot."
He turned toward Isobel, pulling her close, and wrapping her in his arms, pressing her hips tightly to his. His golden head lowered to hers and he tenderly kissed her eyelids, then allowed his lips to drift down her cheeks before pressing them to hers. She opened her mouth eagerly, sucking his tongue in, and tangling with it in pleasure. Francis bit gently at her lower lip, and then allowed his mouth to travel down her neck, licking and sucking and nibbling as he went.
Isobel shivered in delight, as his hands began lifting her foaming muslin skirts. She felt the air on her silk stocking clad calves, and then the tickle of the deep flounce of broderie anglaise at her skirt hem as it grazed her knees. He slid his hand up her thigh, past her garters, to caress her bare skin gently. She squirmed against him, feeling the now familiar moistness at the juncture of her thighs, and the longing that accompanied it.
A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance Page 18