by Amelia Grey
A husband would be an impediment to what she wanted. Freedom to do as she pleased—within reason. No doubt a husband would want her to be as silent as her father had. A husband would restrict her and take away the liberty she’d enjoyed since coming to London.
Isabella sighed as the phaeton disappeared around the corner. It was no wonder Lord Colebrooke thought her up to some kind of trickery. And he probably thought her a lunatic, too. What on earth could have happened to Mr. Throckmorten? She had never been so shocked in her life as when she found the garden empty.
She supposed she was going to have to accept Lord Colebrooke’s explanation about what happened. His assumption as to how the story worked out is the only one that made sense. Not that she would ever admit that to him. Surely no one came into her garden and stole Mr. Throckmorten’s body while she was away.
Had she really suggested that possibility to the earl? And to think he had smiled at her. Smiled! Oh, what he must have been thinking. No doubt he thought her a madwoman in need of chains at Bedlam.
“Oh, good heavens!” Isabella almost groaned aloud as the drapery panel slipped from her fingers. She turned away from the window.
No wonder he didn’t want his sister attending any more of her readings. He thought her a mischievous prankster up to no good.
But, now that Isabella thought about it, perhaps it was best for Gretchen to sacrifice their meetings. After all, the girl had admitted that she had made secret arrangements to meet Mr. Throckmorten in the garden. That was completely unacceptable behavior. Both she and Gretchen would be outcasts in Society if this story was repeated.
Certainly, Isabella wouldn’t tell anyone about today’s unsettling affair, having gone to such great lengths to keep it quiet from all her household. Lord Colebrooke made it clear he wouldn’t breathe a word of this incident to anyone, either.
Nor did she have any fear that Mr. Throckmorten would say a word. Whether Gretchen struck him or he passed out cold from drinking too much, he wouldn’t want anyone knowing he met Gretchen in the garden. Unless he wanted to find himself married to her.
“Well, it’s over,” she said to herself, reaching for her shawl that lay over the back of the wing chair. “I will dismiss the entire incident from my mind. Obviously Mr. Throckmorten was not dead and that is all that’s important. It would have been tragic for him and Gretchen if that had been the case.”
Wrapping the paisley silk around her arms, Isabella decided she would do a better job of watching after the young ladies at her home from now on. It had never occurred to her that one of the girls might use their meetings for a private assignation.
“Should I ever find myself in Lord Colebrooke’s presence again, I shall ignore him.” She sighed softly. “And if I tell myself that often enough, maybe I will be able to do it.”
Isabella walked into the kitchen, hoping to find the kettle warm enough to make tea. She looked around her aunt’s quiet, well-appointed house. Her aunt was such a dear sweetheart to have taken Isabella in when her father had all but abandoned her three years ago. An unusual pang of longing floated through her. It was unlike her to miss her father.
She allowed her thoughts to drift back to her life before coming to live with her aunt.
Isabella was the only child born to Sir Charles Winslowe and his wife Sharon. Because of Sharon’s poor health, they had no social life outside their country estate south of London.
Charles adored his wife and spent most of his free time doting on her. There was little time left to spend with Isabella. As a child, she was seldom allowed in her mother’s sickroom, and when she was, she had to be very quiet. Even the governesses she had over the years insisted she be quiet at all times.
Her mother died when Isabella was twelve. She was sad but never cried where anyone could see or hear her.
Isabella’s father was devastated and mourned his wife until Isabella was fourteen. That spring he went to London and returned home married to a beautiful young lady only five years older than Isabella.
Her father was smitten by his new bride, Olivia, but she didn’t take to Isabella. Olivia was never mean but simply ignored her step-daughter. This was nothing new to Isabella. She contented herself as she always had with reading books, taking walks, sewing, and riding.
When Isabella turned eighteen, Olivia told Charles she was certain if they could travel for a few months she would relax and conceive a son.
Her father knew it was time for Isabella to have a Season so she could make an acceptable match. But to please his wife, Charles sent Isabella to live with his maiden sister in London so he and his wife would be free to travel to Europe.
Isabella had been left with Aunt Pithany only two weeks before the opening party of Isabella’s first Season. It was a complete disaster. Isabella was so shy she did nothing but stand against the walls party after party, seldom speaking to anyone and refusing occasional requests to dance.
Over the course of the Season, Isabella had noticed how capable and self-assured her aunt was. Auntie Pith was a contented spinster with a wide circle of friends and social projects to keep her busy. She was intelligent, well-read, and extremely popular among the ton.
Isabella, who had grown up an introverted child, admired the strength, confidence, and cheerfulness she saw in her aunt, and she became determined to become just like her auntie Pith.
Throughout the next year Isabella pushed herself to overcome the shyness that had plagued her all her life.
At the beginning of her second Season, Charles sent word that Olivia was with child, and they couldn’t return home for Isabella’s nineteenth birthday. She missed her father, but she understood how much it meant to him to have a son.
Isabella was a different young lady for her second Season. She was self-confident and engaging.
All the handsome young men who ignored her previously waited in line to dance with her. She enjoyed their attentions and accepted it graciously. After the first week of parties, she noticed the shy, quiet young ladies who stood on the perimeter of the room just as she had stood the year before. They were seldom asked to dance and never invited to the best parties.
Isabella decided if she could change, they could change, too. She would help them. She invited two of the young ladies for tea the very next day. They had a wonderful time reading poetry and a horrid novel with her. The next week Isabella added another lady to her guest list and the next week another.
By the end of the Season, Isabella’s afternoon group had grown to a dozen. Isabella realized that what most of the ladies needed was to feel a part of a special group and not be treated as though they were not marriageable.
Her goal was to lift the confidence levels and social status of these young ladies who were more diamonds in the rough than diamonds of the first water.
Isabella poured weak tea into a cup and headed back to the parlor. Less than a month ago she received another letter from her father stating that his son wasn’t well and he couldn’t travel home for Isabella’s third Season. She must remain with her aunt.
Isabella had expected something would come up to keep her father away and was fine with it. She was happy in London and didn’t want to return to country life. She had made friends and had a full life where she didn’t have to be quiet. Whenever her father returned, Isabella did not want to leave London and join him.
Everything was going well until this afternoon when she discovered Lady Gretchen Colebrooke standing over Mr. Throckmorten. Isabella thanked the saints that the man was able to get up and walk away. She didn’t relish the thought of a man being killed in her aunt’s back garden.
A few minutes later, while Isabella was drinking her tea, she heard the front door open. Auntie Pith and her maid walked into the parlor. Her aunt had an ivory-colored gown draped over her arms. A big smile spread across her round face.
“Here it is, dear. Look, you were so right to insist I go after it today. It’s the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. I do believe it’s the b
est work Mrs. Hollyfield has ever done.”
Isabella touched the dress with fancy gold stitching around the scooped neckline and full capped sleeves. She smiled. “It’s quite exquisite, Auntie, but I think it might be cut a little too low.”
“Oh, botheration, Isabella, I don’t know why you try so hard to be an old woman. You are young and beautiful and you should act like you are. It’s perfectly acceptable to show a respectable amount of your bosom.” Auntie Pith cleared her throat and smiled. “Especially when you are trying to catch the eye of a gentleman.”
The face of Lord Colebrooke etched across Isabella’s mind, and suddenly her undergarments felt too tight. She remembered his scent, the feel of his breath on her cheeks as he stood so close their noses almost touched. She remembered how charming he looked when he was trying to hold back a smile.
Isabella set her cup on the table and mentally shook herself. “But remember, I’m not trying to catch anyone’s attention.”
“Yes, you are, young lady. It’s past time you married.”
“You above all know I’m not interested in obtaining a husband.”
“Balderdash.” Auntie Pith beamed with pride as she gave the gown to her maid and said, “Susan, take this upstairs and place it on my niece’s bed. We’ll be up shortly to dress for the evening.”
Auntie Pith turned back to Isabella. “There is no doubt that you will catch every young gentleman’s eye tonight.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because you need a husband to take care of you, young lady. Lest you forget, dear girl, this is your third Season. This one does not need to end without a match.”
“What will happen if it does? Will I then be considered a spinster? If so, let it happen quickly so I can be on my own, where I can finally be able to make some of my own decisions.”
A hurt expression spread across her aunt’s face. “Have I not given you plenty of room to make your own decisions about the parties we attend, your clothing, and your Reading Society?”
Isabella smiled and took hold of her aunt’s hand. “Yes, and you have been so wonderful to me. You are a very special person. That’s why I want to be like you.”
Auntie Pith patted her cheek affectionately. “But you are not like me, Isabella. You are young and beautiful and you need a husband and children.”
“You have done quite well without either.”
“But we are not talking about me. We’re discussing you. I know it is only that the right gentleman has not caught your fancy.”
Suddenly Lord Colebrooke crossed her mind again. Why couldn’t she get him out of her thoughts? Yes, he was handsome and his brashness made him intriguing, but he had the temperament of a wild boar.
Auntie Pith took off her cloak, gloves, and bonnet. “No doubt if your father were here, you would already be wed. I remember that during last Season, no less than three gentlemen expressed interest in making a match with you. Any one of them would have made you a perfectly charming husband.”
“But I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is now.” Why would she want a husband who would restrict her life? As a spinster she would answer to no one. But to her aunt she said, “I’m certain the three who offered were more interested in my dowry than me.”
“That’s not true. Viscount Traywick has no need of your dowry.”
“Well, if I should fall in love with him, I’d be happy to marry him, but why would I want to marry without love?”
“Of course, falling in love would be better, but that usually comes with time, Isabella. You marry because it’s expected of you. You should be looking forward to marriage.”
“The only thing I’m looking forward to is being old enough to be off the marriage mart.”
“Good heavens, I don’t think your father would allow that to happen.”
“Then it’s my good fortune that Papa has not returned and insisted I marry.”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on your father.”
“I’m much happier here with you than I ever was at home.”
Auntie Pith opened her mouth as if she was going to reprimand Isabella, but what she said was, “Let’s see what we have planned for tonight.” She picked up a stack of invitations. “The first party we’ll attend will be at the home of Sir Henry Vickery, and from there we’ll go to Lord Gleningwold’s. That should be a delicious affair with all the right people there.” She looked up at Isabella. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve heard that the Earl of Colebrooke has returned to London to find a wife. No doubt he’ll be there.”
“Really,” Isabella said, trying to sound calm, but just thinking about the man caused heat to rise in her cheeks.
“I’ll be sure to see that introductions are made.”
Don’t bother. We’ve met.
“He’s always been a bit of a rogue.”
He still is.
“I met him once and he doesn’t deserve the reputation he has. He’s charming and the most pleasant gentleman you’ll ever meet,” Auntie Pith continued.
Surely you jest.
“Two years ago he was probably the most sought-after gentleman without a title.”
You can’t be serious.
“I’ve heard he’s changed since his father and brother were killed and he became the earl. He’s settled and ready to put his youth behind him.”
You obviously don’t know how much he’s changed if you thought him charming and sought-after.
“I think you’ll find him most attractive and suitable.”
“Over my dead body.”
“What was that you said, Isabella, I didn’t quite understand you?”
Isabella realized she must have spoken aloud and quickly cleared her throat.
“I think we best get busy or we’ll miss everyone at the first party.”
“So right.”
Auntie Pith turned away, but Isabella remained where she was for a moment.
Her aunt was probably right. Sooner or later she would be formally introduced to Lord Colebrooke. A more unpleasant man she had never met. And she’d never met one who intrigued her so much she couldn’t get him off her mind.
***
Daniel closed the door to the family’s London home with more of a bang than he had intended. He removed his hat and gloves and left them on a table. He didn’t believe he’d ever felt so duped, and he was certain he’d never met a lady as clever as Miss Winslowe.
What nerve the chit had to try to pull such a stunt with him. Did she think him witless? She must. Why else would she have concocted such an outlandish scheme? And he almost fell for it. What could she have hoped to gain from making him believe Gretchen had killed Throckmorten? What kind of sick game was Miss Winslowe playing?
All it would take was a word from him and no one in Society would have anything to do with her again. She should consider herself damned lucky if he decided not to mention her name to one or two of the dowagers in Town.
Parker appeared from around the corner, and Daniel handed the butler his coat. “Is my sister still in her room?”
“Yes, my lord. She hasn’t been out of it since you left.”
“Find her maid and have her tell Gretchen I’ll be right up to see her.”
“Yes, sir.”
Daniel might as well inform Gretchen that she didn’t kill anyone, and that she must never speak to Miss Winslowe again. But he wanted a drink first, so he headed for the parlor.
He couldn’t believe he’d actually gone over to Miss Winslowe’s house thinking he might find a dead man. The entire incident was absurd, and he had played right into the lovely lady’s hands. She was probably passed out from laughing at him right now. He probably wouldn’t have believed her if she hadn’t had such a fetching face.
He poured himself a splash of brandy and downed it like a sea-drunk sailor downing ale. One thing was certain: Miss Winslowe needed to be watched. Carefully. There was no telling what she might come up with next.
Daniel’s job was to see that
whatever happened, it didn’t involve his sister.
Miss Winslowe wouldn’t have any trouble finding a suitable husband. Aside from being a troublemaker, she had many desirable qualities. Gretchen’s chances of making a match were slightly diminished because of the spectacles she had to wear, and it would be impossible if she became embroiled in scandal broth.
A few minutes later he went upstairs and entered Gretchen’s room. She was sitting up in bed, pillows propped behind her head.
“Oh, Danny!” she cried when he rounded the doorway into her bedchamber. “Thank heavens you’ve returned. What’s going to happen to me?”
He walked over to her and sat on the edge of the bed. He smiled at her, realizing he had not been much of a brother to her lately. With his father’s and brother’s deaths, she was his responsibility, and he’d left too much to his aunt. He wouldn’t leave London again until Gretchen was properly wed.
“Nothing as serious as we were led to believe by Miss Winslowe.”
“But I killed Mr. Throckmorten.”
“No, no, Gretchy, you didn’t. I don’t want to hear any more talk like that come out of your mouth. Mr. Throckmorten was not in Miss Winslowe’s garden, dead or otherwise.”
Her eyes rounded in hopeful confusion and her sobs quieted. “Are you sure?”
“Very.”
She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and sniffed. “Where is he?”
“No doubt he’s at the nearest pub or club continuing to drown himself in liquor.”
“How do you know this?”
Daniel told Gretchen how the garden was empty when he arrived with Isabella and what he believed happened to Throckmorten. He insisted Gretchen failed to strike him and that he had just passed out from drinking too much. He left out the part that he planned to pay Boswell Throckmorten a visit as soon as he finished talking to her.
“Oh, Danny, I’m so glad he is not dead. I didn’t want him to be dead.” Gretchen threw her arms around her brother and hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy you’re home. I told Isabella you would know what to do. Thank you.”