"Indeed, Lord Glencairn, I do not believe that I can support the task of creating the dream of another. My powers are far more modest than his lordship represents,” she replied, with a glare at Lord Francis, who appeared to be blissfully unaware of her displeasure.
Lord Glencairn would not be said nay to however, and he carried all before him with his enthusiasm for the project. In spite of her protests Isobel could find no gracious way to refuse her assistance. Lord Francis made it quite impossible when he volunteered to help in any possible way with tasks that a lady might not wish engage in herself, such as dealing with workmen and vendors of materials.
As their party strolled back through the gardens towards the strains of the country dances issuing from the drawing room, very different emotions filled the breasts of the walkers. Lord Glencairn felt an innocent joy in the prospect of realizing his late wife's dream, and Lord Francis an unholy glee at the prospect of being able to spend a great deal of time with Miss Paley at his leisure. Isobel’s feelings were virtually indescribable, being composed as they were of a complex mixture of intense irritation with Lord Francis, frustration with the demands on her time that the design of the folly would entail, and a touch of interest in the project and the chance to exercise her artistic skills as well as her knowledge of antiquities. A small measure of happiness, firmly squelched, also intruded at the realization that the work must necessarily place her a good deal in Lord Francis’ way.
The impromptu dance continued with unabated enthusiasm despite the heat as the trio reentered the Castle. Lord Francis disappeared momentarily to fetch Isobel a lemonade, and she stood with Lord Glencairn fanning herself, when Harriet appeared.
"My dear, there you are. I have been looking for you these five minutes I am sure. Only fancy, I have just met Mrs. FitzCollum, and found out that she is a cousin of mine, though the relationship is not close. I believe that her mother and my uncle’s wife were connected‑‑that would be the Downforths of Yorkshire, you will recall, and now I find her here. So surprising, for I was sure that Maria had been closer to her family than to have let the connection go. But here we are acquainted again, and I vow it is charming. Is it not delightful, Lord Glencairn?" she asked, coming to a rather abrupt period, and regarding his lordship brightly.
Glencairn covered his confusion about the exact subject of Harriet’s question by concurring heartily, and changing the subject.
"Delightful indeed, dear Miss Walcott. Hrrrmmph. Most charming. And another delightful thing has occurred this evening. Miss Paley has agreed to assist me in the design and construction of a folly on the shore of my ornamental lake. Is it not the very thing?"
"An ornamental lake?" Harriet inquired. "I believe that I have not yet seen it, perhaps I can beg your arm to the bottom of the garden so that I may view it, for I am not, you know a strong walker, I find that none of the Walcott females are, but a folly! You are indeed ambitious Lord Glencairn, but then I am sure that you could not have found another person more capable of assisting you in realizing your ambitions than Isobel, why her attainments in the field of..."
At this very inopportune moment, Lord Francis rejoined them with the requested glass of lemonade. Isobel, fearing her cousin’s next revelations, made haste to take a sip and fall into a choking fit. But once this had been prolonged as long as her thespian capabilities would permit, Harriet, for once refusing to be diverted into expatiating upon the unfortunate case of the cousin who had died as a result of choking, resumed her sentence as though nothing had occurred,
"...Isobel's attainments in the field of Roman antiquities, so very distinguished and scholarly, you know, although of course she dislikes very much to have it spoken of, still we are among friends here, and I am sure that dear Lord Francis and Lord Glencairn will not reveal these matters, for after all, it is perfectly acceptable for a young lady to be involved with landscaping, such a charming use for your studies, much more the thing than for you to be grubbing about in that dirty hole in the ground and supervising the workers, who I am sure are not in the least respectable." Required at long last to draw breath, Harriet appeared to be on the verge of embarking upon yet another peroration, when Lord Francis, with ill-disguised mirth in his eyes, held up a languid hand.
"I am sure that Miss Paley’s qualifications to design Glencairn’s folly are all that you describe, Miss Walcott, and a great deal more," he said. "But perhaps Glencairn and I should quiz her on this matter at another time, and return to the dance. For after all, there is always time to talk, but dancing requires musicians, and we are positively neglecting them at this moment." He bowed gracefully to Isobel and offered his arm, which she took thankfully, glad to abandon the dangers of conversation to join the set that was just forming. A few moments later, she was astonished to see Lord Glencairn and Harriet also join the dance.
The evening ended without further assaults on Isobel's peace of mind, though she found she had a great deal to think about during the carriage ride home. As Harriet prattled on about the pleasures of the evening, her companion had reason to ponder Lord Francis' behavior. His behavior was most particular, and he seemed to gain a certain amount of pleasure from teasing her on her scholarly attainments. She resolved to tread carefully in the next few days and give his lordship no more chances to pry into her interests.
Chapter 27
The next morning, Isobel sat in what she referred to as her library, though it was not nearly as large or well stocked as its equivalent at Kitswold. Her home in Scotland could not properly be called a manor house; she had deliberately sought out her property with an eye to archaeology, not comfort. Rather than building an elaborate house, which would have required a large staff, and her time to supervise them, she had instead extensively modified the existing farm house, so that the appearance was that of a cottage ornee; a rather small, but very cozy and charming, house which could be managed by a man, a maid, a between stairs maid, a cook, and a groom for the stables. Although she had been willing to accommodate the inconvenience of having only two sitting rooms, one for morning and one for evening, Isobel had added space to the house to allow herself a miniature library, and had indulged her fancy in decorating it, so that it resembled somewhat the interior of a bandbox, with walls gorgeously papered in silk, and bookshelves and a desk of a very light and refined design. Two thickly stuffed and softly upholstered chairs waited to envelop the lazy reader in pink velvet, their matching ottoman’s beckoning the weary of foot. The entire effect was both frivolous and restful, and Isobel enjoyed her room immensely.
This fine morning she had resisted both the lure of the diggings and a ride on Epona to puzzle over some coins unearthed at her site. Although they were much worn and covered in dirt, she was certain they were of Roman origin. She pulled a glass from her desk drawer and began to examine them in detail, searching for the telltale signs that might date them.
"Lord Francis Wheaton," announced the manservant, standing in the door of the library.
"Drat the man," said Isobel aloud, and immediately pulled some papers over the coins. Lord Francis stood in the door of the library, surveying the room through his quizzing glass. His lips quivered, but he gave no sign of having heard her, merely strolling over to her desk.
"What a lovely room you have here, Miss Paley," he drawled. "I detect the hand of a lady of exquisite taste. If your talent with follies matches your talent with libraries, Lord Glencairn will be an envied fellow."
Isobel rose and attempted to direct his lordships attention to the two chairs. For once he was lax in his manners, and hovered over her desk.
"What have we here?" he asked. "A glass? What are you surveying in such detail as to require a glass?" he asked, a touch plaintively.
"My eyes are somewhat weak," lied Isobel spiritedly. "I require the glass for reading."
Lord Francis appeared amazed. "That such lovely eyes as yours should be weak astounds me, ma'am. You hide it remarkably well; one would never guess, believe me."
"Thank
you," said Isobel, at loss for anything else to say. "Pray, sit down and tell me why you are here, Lord Francis."
The smile widened. "Why to discuss the folly, of course, Miss Paley. What other reason would I have? It is very important to me that Lord Glencairn be presented with a lovely folly, and I trust that between the two of us we can manage the thing."
"Ah yes, the folly. Lord Francis, I must say I have a bit of a quarrel with you as regards that structure."
"A quarrel? With me? About the folly? What can we possibly have to quarrel about, Miss Paley?" Lord Francis was dumbfounded.
Isobel drew in her breath. "You have over‑represented my skills to Lord Glencairn," she said. "I do not feel my abilities are equal to the scope of this project."
"On the contrary, Miss Paley, I am sure that you are perfect for this endeavor. Not only do you, by your own admission, have some experience in this area, but your fine feminine instincts will be most suitable, as the folly is, after all, a memorial to Lord Glencairn's late wife. And I am sure that your knowledge of antiquities will result in a structure which is not only beautiful, but also historically sound."
"You credit me with far more knowledge than I possess, Lord Francis," continued Isobel. "It is kind of you to think so highly of me, but my awareness of Roman architecture is of the sketchiest. I suggest you find another to design Lord Glencairn's folly."
"You are indeed modest, Miss Paley. However, I have seen the folly you supervised for Lady Grosbridge, and I am very certain that it shows a skill and awareness of design that is breathtaking. You have assuredly absorbed more that you are aware of from your exposure to the works of Alexander and Marcus Paley." Lord Francis waved his quizzing glass gracefully at Isobel.
Isobel stared at him. "You have seen the folly I designed for Lady Grosbridge?" she asked.
Lord Francis inclined his head. "Why, yes," he said blandly. "On the way to Glencairn I spent some few nights at her estate. Lady Grosbridge is a particular friend of my mother's, and she was pleased to renew her acquaintance with me, the more so as she has a lovely daughter of marriageable age. I inspected the folly on my second evening there. Lady Grosbridge told me of your great attention to detail and historical accuracy. It is a fine structure, and I am sure your efforts for Lord Glencairn will be as remarkable."
Isobel bit back a caustic rejoinder and a waspish desire to inquire as to whether Lord Francis had inspected the marriageable daughter as well as the folly. Her tormentor was viewing her with a politely inquiring expression on his face, and it would hardly do to accuse him of taking an inordinate interest in her doings. The marriageable daughter might, after all, have been the attraction at Grosbridge rather than the folly, a thought with which she was not entirely comfortable. She managed a gentle laugh.
"I am flattered by your estimation of my poor efforts," she said. "I would like to oblige you if I could, but I am afraid I am far too busy to devote the time to the folly which it would deserve."
"But what can you have to do that would be more amusing than this? This charming cottage cannot need the care that Kitswold requires, and you cannot spend the entire summer gardening and riding. I know you are too active and intelligent a woman for that, Miss Paley. Unless of course Miss Harriet was not confused last night, and indeed meant that you were supervising the workers at Alexander's dig?" Lord Francis' face expressed surprise.
Isobel perceived that Lord Francis had backed her into a corner. She had either to admit that she was supervising the excavations, or spend many hours designing a folly for Lord Glencairn, hours that would take her from her work and force her into Lord Francis' company. She tried to gauge from his face exactly what he might or might not know, but saw nothing there but a gentleman waiting for a reply to his question. At that moment she could have strangled Harriet with pleasure.
"Of course I am not," she replied. "Harriet, as always, mistakes my drawings as more active participation than I am capable of. She is so proud of me that she overrates all my doings, which is excessively kind of her, but rather misleading. If you are quite sure that you need my help with Lord Glencairn's folly, I will be happy to oblige."
Lord Francis' lazy smile grew wider. "I am gratified that you will be participating, Miss Paley. If you have no objections, we can begin now. I have brought some surveys Lord Glencairn had done of the site a few years back; perhaps you would care to view them?"
Before Isobel could respond, Lord Francis rose and strode over to her desk. He swept aside the papers that covered the top of it, and placed on it the roll of drawings he was carrying. Isobel hurried after him.
"What is this?" he asked, looking at the exposed top of the desk with his quizzing glass. "These appear to be ancient coins, Miss Paley."
Isobel colored, from anger rather than embarrassment. The man was altogether too annoying.
"Do they?" she asked disingenuously. "I found them near Alexander's diggings, and thought perhaps they were old. I was going to send them to him, but I seem to have lost track of them in the muddle of my desk. How forgetful of me!"
Lord Francis appeared to be much amused. "How feminine of you," he said. "A man would keep much better track of these coins, which, I very much suspect, are of Roman origin. I will aid you, Miss Paley, by sending them on to your cousin; I had intended to write to him any time these past few weeks." He picked up the coins.
Isobel gasped. "Lord Francis, that is not at all necessary," she said. "I would not want to impose upon you, and I too need to write to Alexander."
"It is no imposition," said Lord Francis with a gallant air. "I would be happy to oblige you so. Do not trouble yourself over the matter."
Isobel watched in horror as her coins disappeared into Lord Francis' pocket. She could hardly get them back now without manhandling him. Of course, Alexander would merely send them back to her, but there would be weeks of delay before she would see them again.
"Is something the matter, Miss Paley? You look perplexed."
Isobel looked up to see Lord Francis' gray eyes fixed on her, an odd expression in their depths. She looked away, attempting to cover her frustration.
"Not at all, Lord Francis. Thank you for doing me this service."
He bowed. "It is my pleasure. And now, perhaps we can broach these drawings? I am sure you will have many brilliant ideas on the proper placement of the folly."
Isobel resigned herself to an hour of going over the surveys in detail. Soon, despite herself, she became interested in the project. Lord Francis proved to be not only knowledgeable, but interested in hearing her opinions on the matter. He agreed with her that the folly should be placed with its back to the lake and should be sited so as to be appreciated from the terrace of the house, and, if at all possible, the rooms which faced the lake. They were so much in agreement that she felt quite charitable toward him, until she remembered the coins in his pocket.
Isobel watched Lord Francis as he rolled the surveys up again, and she found herself admiring his hands, with their long slender fingers, and her mind turned to the recent use he had put them to. As she gazed at him, he glanced up, and their eyes met. Instantly Isobel felt a prickling in her breasts, and she looked away hastily.
“Is there any other service I may do for you, Miss Paley?” he asked.
Isobel was suddenly aware, as she had not been previously, that they were quite alone in her library. The servants were far too well trained to bother her when she was in her sanctuary, and Harriet had left the cottage earlier to visit a neighbor, and she did not expect her to return much before tea. Her heart began to beat more quickly, and her hands briefly fluttered at her side.
“Whatever do you mean, Lord Francis?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I thought perhaps you wanted something from me.”
“What could I possibly want from you?” she asked lightly.
He slowly slipped the roll of papers into their leather sheath. “I will be on my way, then,” he said. He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss on it, the tur
ned towards the door. As his hand touched the doorknob, Isobel found her voice.
“Lord Francis, wait a moment,” she said.
He turned and looked at her, his grey eyes cool. “Yes, Miss Paley?”
“Perhaps you could do me a service,” she said quietly.
He placed the roll of drawings on a table by the door and approached her. “Oh? What would you have me do?”
Isobel eyed him thoughtfully, and he grinned. “Is it something very special?” he asked.
“It’s just that I am so very...warm,” said Isobel. “The heat today is almost unbearable. Do you think that you could help me to feel cooler?”
He eyed her thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” he said. He drew closer, and he rested his hands on her shoulders lightly. “Is this dress making you uncomfortable?”
Isobel closed the distance between them, pressing herself up against him. “It’s almost unbearable,” she murmured. “And you must find that coat terribly constricting.”
His lips quivered. “I suppose I could do without it,” he said, and slowly peeled the elegant garment off, dropping it on the floor. Isobel raised her hands and ran them over the sheer white linen of his shirt, savoring the feel of his muscles under the material.
“And now, could you help me with my dress?” she asked, her voice plaintive.
“With pleasure, Miss Paley,” he responded. He turned her so her back was to him and delicately undid the tapes of her bodice, gently lowering it to reveal her breasts, their rosy nipples already springing to life. Isobel gave a wriggle of delight.
“What do you want me to do next?” he asked, his voice very quiet in the stillness of the room.
Isobel turned back towards him, and took her breasts in her hands offering them up to him.
“You may kiss them,” she said. “I think I would enjoy that.”
“Would you?” he asked. “Then I suppose I must obey you. My only wish is for you to be happy.” Very slowly he lowered his head to her breasts and slowly took the tip of one in his mouth, sucking it gently, while he reached up with his hand and gently grasped the other, squeezing and stroking it until it lengthened and hardened. She gave a gasp as she felt her excitement building, and Francis laughed softly in the back of his throat. He gently took the other breast in his mouth, teasing it until it matched its twin, the nipples hard and rosy from his attentions.
A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance Page 22