by Diana Ballew
“Isabella, you’re already compromised just by my being here alone with you. And don’t say such ridiculous things about marrying just any man to have it over with. Besides, you should have a care for your husband, and not just a case of lustful infatuation. Thank goodness you’re much too sensible to fall for that claptrap talk of ‘love.’ What an utterly absurd notion! Stuff of fairy tales. Still, you should feel more for your future mate than mindless desire.”
“Is that what you feel for me? ‘Mindless desire,’ Your Grace?”
“Well, it is rather intense desire, my dear, but yes, it is mindless as it consumes me. I am rather surprised at how well I lose my finesse around you.”
She stood still and looked at him. She took a slow, deep breath, and he saw her pulling her general’s mantle around herself.
“Bella - “
“No,” she held up her hand and shook her head at him, “I can’t keep doing this to us, can I? You’re right.” She hugged herself, as if suddenly very cold. “We’re just playing a dangerous game. And now it’s time to call it to an end.” She nodded as if he had agreed with her.
“I must thank you, Your Grace, for all of the wonderful things you have shown me and the attention you have paid me. But now I think it best I return to where I belong.”
Rafe stared at her a moment, a feeling of dread coming over him. “Isabella, forgive me. I never meant to cause you any harm.”
“Well, these things happen, don’t they?” He thought he heard her voice crack, just a bit. “I am just sorry things couldn’t have turned out differently. I shall have to make do with the memories you’ve given me thus far, is all.” She attempted a smile, but it was a weak replica, without her usual verve. “Please go now, Rafe. There’s nothing more for us to say, except goodbye.” She averted her eyes from his.
He stood and stared at her a moment longer before wordlessly turning and leaving her standing in her charming little parlor.
Chapter 19
After Rafe left, Isabella retreated to her room and cried, really cried, for the first time since she was twelve and had been told her mother was dead. By morning’s first light, she was cried out and exhausted. She drank only tea for breakfast (a woman’s drink, a woman’s pleasure), earning a frown and tongue clickings from Rolands. Alice had already scolded her for her moroseness while helping her to dress. Even Edwards looked down in the mouth. Apparently, they knew that the duke had left on rather final terms.
“Edwards,” she asked the butler, who was standing ready to serve her, in case she changed her mind about breaking her fast, “would you care to come to Kirkwood Manor and work for me there? I have no butler, you see.” She succeeded in fighting back the tears. She wanted only one butler; she wanted her Easton back.
“I should be honored, my lady. Lord Stapleton said as much when he asked me to serve you here, so long as I pleased you, my lady.”
“Fine, then prepare us to leave as soon as you can. The supplies I’ve ordered should be ready within a few days. Can you manage to pack us up by then?” She wanted to be far away from London. She needed to be home, where surely everything would return to normal. This deep wrenching pain would eventually lessen – it had to.
“You have an engagement this evening, my lady, to attend a soiree with Lord Smythe,” Edwards reminded his mistress mournfully.
“Blast!” Isabella scowled at the plate of cold toast on the table. That was the last thing she wanted to do. It was too late to beg off, unfortunately. She would have to attend and hope that she didn’t see Rafe. One look at him, and she just knew she would fall apart.
Later, she sent Alex and Whit notes, requesting they join her for dinner the next evening, as a farewell party. She told Rolands to prepare something special, so long as it wasn’t seafood or had anything to do with raspberry sauce.
“You look divine, Lady Isabella.” Lord Reginald Smythe bowed over her hand, folded back the hem of her turquoise sleeve, and pressed her wrist to his mouth.
“You are too kind, my lord.” Isabella tried to muster up a smile for the handsome young man with blonde hair and admiring brown eyes, but couldn’t even manage a little one. She wanted only to stay home and hug her pain to her breast. She didn’t know if she could hold up under the sorrow threatening to bow her spirit.
Reggie, as Lord Smythe said he was called, continued to flatter her all during the ride to the small party. By the time they alighted from his carriage, she had a headache from trying to keep her attention on him. She felt a touch of pity for the man who was being quite charming in his attempts to woo her. She allowed him to take her arm as they walked up the steps and were ushered inside their hostess’ house, one Lady Joanna Clark.
“Lady Joanna, allow me to introduce Lady Isabella Fitzhugh.” Reggie smiled and bowed to the willowy blonde dressed in a daringly low-cut gown of pink tulle over white silk.
“Welcome, Lady Isabella. I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, my lady.” Isabella wondered briefly at the look that the other woman was giving her. Was she jealous she was with Lord Smythe? “Your home is lovely.” She looked about the tasteful entry and then around the equally elegant drawing room they followed their hostess into. The house was decorated in shades of royal blue and ecru, with elaborately carved burled walnut wainscoting and furnishings.
“Thank you, Lady Isabella.”
Isabella quickly scanned the other attendees, sighing with relief upon not seeing Rafe. Reggie, as he insisted she call him, introduced her around, then all found seats as an Italian soprano, tall and thin with a long nose and a sour expression, took her place beside the polished harpsichord to perform for them.
Soon, Isabella was engrossed in the music, oblivious to any around her. She didn’t notice a late arrival slip into the room to stand near the back. She didn’t realize how many sidelong glances she was receiving from the other guests as they looked from her to the dark lord skulking in the rear of the room. She certainly didn’t see how he frowned when Reggie leaned close to her ear to whisper how excellent the singer was, nor how his hands fisted when her escort kissed her hand after she had given him a genuine smile because of her delight with the music. Of course, every other person in attendance noted it with varying degrees of interest.
Isabella sighed when the performance came to a close and applauded heartily. The woman’s voice was absolute perfection, truly.
“You enjoyed yourself, my lady?”
Isabella nodded absently when Reggie offered to fetch her a cup of punch when they stood after the completion of the musical performance. She managed a real smile when he kissed her knuckles before moving to the refreshment table. She may not had have much musical talent, but she certainly admired those who did. Lisbeth would be gnashing her teeth in envy when she heard that Isabella had actually been to an intimate performance by so celebrated a singer.
“I see you have made yet another conquest, my lady. It certainly didn’t take you very long.”
Isabella stiffened, hearing the voice she both loved and hated at the moment. Goodness, the fates were cruel to have them cross paths so soon. Her heart, which she had thought was dead until now, began to thump painfully in her chest, and her throat felt tight. She stared straight ahead, refusing to turn and look at Rafe as she was afraid what she might do at the sight of his handsome face. Surely she would cause a scene as she would either cosh him one or kiss him.
She had finally managed to push his rejection from her mind for so short a while, brief moments really, and now it was all crashing back down on her. His voice was contemptuous and cold, and she wanted to slap him. After all, he had rebuffed her. What gave him the right to sound so awfully wounded?
“Is he more willing to oblige you, my lady? Do you think he will suspend his honor when you so prettily beg him to take you?”
Isabella sucked in her breath, hardly able to believe the harshness of his words. How dare he question her in such a crude fas
hion! Did he honestly think Reggie could have the same effect on her that he did? Did he really think her so wanton that she was only after the experience and didn’t care with whom it was? The bastard!
“You say nothing, my lady. Am I to assume my words have hit their mark? Did I make you so hot for it, you will now share your charms with any who asks?”
“Of course you are right, Your Grace.” She was amazed how cool and detached her voice sounded to her own ears as cold fury washed over her. If he wanted to be so cruel, then she would happily play his game. She only hoped she could inflict on him the same gripping anguish he was causing her.
“Your efforts indeed left me wanting. He is quite attentive thus far, quite congenial. I’m sure he will not pretend such noble ideals only to make himself feel so much more superior. No, Reggie is at least more honest than that.” She paused, wondering why she was doing this, why she was even bothering to verbally spar with him, but unable to stop. “Yes, until this moment, it has been a very pleasant evening, and I have quite regained my perspective, thank you for inquiring, your most benevolent grace.”
Just then, Reggie approached them, a puzzled smile on his face. “Devonshire, how good to see you. You know the Baroness, of course.”
“Oh, indeed, I know Lady Bella quite well, actually.”
Isabella clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes as she whirled around to face him. He had incredible gall! He had repeatedly refused her and yet now inferred, in front of Lord Smythe, that he had taken her up on her offers!
“Yes, you think you know me quite well, don’t you, Your Grace? After all, you hid at my estate for weeks!”
Rafe scowled at her. “That is not something I will allow you to bandy about, madam. By mentioning it you show your crass country upbringing.”
“Now look here, Your Grace!” Reggie looked from Lady Isabella to the duke. “I think you owe Lady Isabella an apology.”
Rafe snorted and turned his blazing eyes on Reggie. “Be warned, Smythe, this is none of your concern. What is between the lady and me is quite private.”
“Then why are you discussing it so publicly?”
“It is because he lacks the propriety you obviously have, Reggie. He is crude, and I am finished with this conversation. Would you take me for a stroll in the garden, my lord?” Isabella managed to give her escort a tight smile, doing her best to ignore Rafe and his glowering presence. She needed to remove herself lest she begin screeching at the man!
Reggie looked from her to the duke, then down at the cup of punch in his hand. He smiled victoriously as he handed the drink to Rafe, took the lady’s hand and walked her to the back of the room and out the doors to the veranda.
“It is a lovely evening, don’t you think?”
Isabella wished she were alone. “Yes.” Heavens, how could he have been so cruel to her? What had she done to deserve such contempt? Was it only because she was with Lord Smythe?
“Come, Lady Isabella, let me show you the roses yonder. They are especially fragrant, and it will soothe your senses.”
“Hmm? Yes, I do like roses.” Isabella allowed Reggie to take her arm and walked with him over to an area marked with an arbor. Beyond were a dozen or so rose bushes, their red blossoms appearing black in the night, and she could smell the heady aroma. They walked through the archway.
“So very lovely.” She fingered one silky petal. Did Rafe really believe those things he had said? If so, then it was true – he didn’t care for her.
Suddenly, Reggie leaned down and kissed her bare shoulder.
Isabella jumped back, startled at the caress. “My lord -” She caught movement from behind Lord Smythe and her eyes grew wide with alarm. Oh, dear! Rafe was striding toward them, his long legs eating up the distance, a thunderous expression on his face.
“I am sorry if I was too forward, Lady Isabella.” Reggie mistook the frightened look on her face. “I meant no disrespect.” He frowned, seeing her looking over his shoulder. He turned.
Rafe’s fist connected directly with Smythe’s chin and he smiled with satisfaction as the other man crumpled to the ground. He tossed Isabella an arrogant look, then turned and walked just as purposefully back to the party, leaving her there, staring after him incredulously.
Her two gentlemen co-conspirators arrived early for the farewell dinner, both obviously curious as to why Isabella was leaving ahead of schedule. She told Alex and Whit only that it was clear their plan hadn’t worked and she had best just go home. They gave each other knowing looks but were tactful and asked no more questions of her. Whit, being his utmost charming self, even managed to elicit a few weak smiles from her throughout the evening.
Isabella was exhausted, not having slept much the night before. She had kept replaying the scenes with Rafe over and over in her mind, unable to fathom his thinking. He had been angry and hurtful, and she just didn’t understand it. It was painfully clear he now held her in contempt.
Her guests did not linger long, seeing her practically falling asleep during dessert. They promised to come and visit her before Christmas, which at least gave her something to look forward to. But, still, that was months away. She would miss them, her very sweet gentlemen who had tried to help her so much.
Isabella slept that night, but only restlessly. She was up early the next morning, anxious to conclude the last of her errands and shopping before lunch. Pleased to have succeeded, she returned home only to find three boxes had been delivered while she’d been out. Just as she thought, one was from each of her gentlemen. From Alex, she received the topaz jewelry. From Whit, there was a lovely double strand of pearls. The third box, which was larger than the other two and was from Rafe, contained a melting lemon ice. She cried again, standing in the entry, Edwards nervously looking on.
“We could kill him and she’d never know.”
“Bloody stupid young sod, of course she’d know. That damned, charming little Lisbeth you like so well would tell her. She reads the gossips.”
“We could beat him again, this time into a truly bloody pulp.”
“Damn me, puppy, you seem a bit more upset than meself.” Alex eyed his friend suspiciously. “Are you sure you didn’t fall for her, too?”
“Damn his black hide!” Whit slammed his fist on the table at White’s, causing some of the contents of their glasses to slosh over. A waiter was instantly on hand to mop it up, then stepped back into the shadows, completely unnoticed by the men. “He’s broken her tender little heart! And,” Whit shook his finger in Alex’s face for emphasis, “you can be bloody sure his is breaking as well.”
“I just want to break his goddamn nose.”
Whit laughed.
Alex scowled in return. “Shut your mouth or I’ll break yours, you drunkard.”
“I’m not drunk, yet. It’s a prediction I made when I first figured out that the two were enthralled with each other. She’d have a broken heart and Rafe a broken nose.” Whit stopped laughing as suddenly as he had started. “Damn, it’s not so funny now.”
Isabella was due to leave in the morning and both men were desperate to contrive of some way to make themselves feel less guilty over the way things had turned out. They’d meddled and helped to bring about this calamity. They’d encouraged and assisted the girl in her pursuit of Rafe. They couldn’t stand the thought of their Isabella now so unhappy, but they couldn’t seem to find anything to do about it.
“It’s us that deserves a beating. We never should have encouraged her.”
“That’s what I said in the beginning, boy-o! But would either of you listen to me?”
Whit glared at his large friend. “So you were right, so what? How exactly does that help us now?”
“Damned if I know,” Alex grumbled and tossed back half of his whiskey.
Rafe was drunk, again. He was quite sure it had been four days since he’d refused her and she had again turned him away, and three since he clipped poor Smythe. He, of course couldn’t be entirely sure, but was fairly certain.
The pain was worse this time, what with knowing she was still so close by. At least, he tried to convince himself that was why he could find no respite. He sat in his study, almost done with another bottle of brandy. The whiskey had run out at teatime, blast it.
The door opened and in strode his mother.
“Hello, Mother. Do you know what day it is, by any chance?” He was surprised that his words didn’t slur. Apparently, he wasn’t as drunk as he’d thought, damn it to hell.
“You’re a bloody sad thing, my only son.” Her voice was as cold as day-old ashes on the grate. “Here you have managed to ruin your life and hers, and you sit a pathetic mess, unshaven, drunk, and self-pitying.” She placed her hands on her hips and looked at him with enough disgust that he winced. “I wash my hands of you if you are so stupid as to not realize that you are in love with the girl.”
Rafe slammed his hands down on the desktop and stood slowly. “There is no such thing as love,” he shouted at Anne. “If there was, then Father would have said he loved you!”
“He did, you dolt! He just never said it in front of you.”
“Of course he would say it to you, but it didn’t mean anything. It was only to please you. They are empty words.”
Mother snorted. “If they were empty words, if there is no such thing as love, then why did he give up his mistresses when I asked? Why did he never take another?”
“What?” Rafe sat down heavily and set down his cup. “You knew about his mistresses?”
“Of course I knew, you stupid boy. A woman isn’t married to a man for several decades without knowing what is in his heart. I could tell the very day he took the first one.” She stepped forward and turned up the lamp on the desk. “I allowed it for a short time. I knew it was only a physical yearning, that she had only caught his fancy. Finally, after a few others, I told him to set them aside.“ She shrugged at Rafe’s astonished expression. “He did and never looked astray again.”