by M. C. Beaton
Isabella’s parents had fallen asleep.
“I did not think it important enough,” she whispered.
“Not important!” Lucy hissed. “Not important! And I have had your help in writing those letters to the captain. Who told you?”
“I received a short letter from your brother only this morning. He told me to prepare myself for marriage. That was his way of putting it.”
“And you do not want to marry Harry? But you said that it might work very well, as he promised it would be a marriage in name only.”
“Yes, yes,” said Isabella impatiently. “I suppose I must go through with it.”
Lucy felt crushed. She wanted nothing to spoil her reunion with the captain. But she wished that reunion could take place in Cornwall and not among all the fashionable belles of London.
They stopped for the night at the posting house where Isabella had seen the scandalous bucks hold that party.
Mrs. Chadbury had noticed during the journey how downcast her daughter had become. As she and her husband were dressing for dinner, she said, “I am concerned for our daughter, Mr. Chadbury. She does not want this marriage. I had become used to seeing her bright and cheerful, and I do not like the change.”
Mr. Chadbury’s face hardened. “It is either Lord Harry or she will remain an old maid.”
“But we could have chosen someone else,” pleaded Mrs. Chadbury. “Harry has become so effete and is so insulting.”
“He is overly nice in his attitudes, I grant you that,” said her husband. “But marriage will mellow him. They will settle down.”
“But how can they settle down?” Mrs. Chadbury poked an errant curl back up under her muslin cap. “From what he wrote to us, I gather he is returning to the wars as soon as the wedding is over. His letter to Isabella was not at all tactful, you know. Nothing of the lover.”
“That is at least honest. He doesn’t love her any more than she loves him. It is not unusual.”
“But not in our case. Never in our case!”
He put an arm around her plump shoulders. “We were lucky. Isabella is not as you or I. There is a coldness there, a lack of warmth and affection. She will not change.”
“But she did change—after they left,” pleaded Mrs. Chadbury. “She treats Lucy like a sister. She has been happy this summer, and now that happiness has gone.”
“It is time she grew up,” said Mr. Chadbury harshly. “At least this time in London we will not have to face disappointed suitors. Isabella has brought this on herself.”
Isabella, while this was going on, was standing on the balcony outside the door of her room, looking down into the courtyard. A young lady and gentlemen were standing in the courtyard. Her carriage was waiting, but the gentleman seemed loathe to let her go. He was small and sturdy but quite fashionably dressed. The girl was very young with the prettiness of youth. As Isabella watched, he suddenly knelt down in the courtyard and raised the hem of the girl’s traveling dress to his lips; she put out a shaky hand and rested it fleetingly on his brown curls. She said something. He rose and stood before her and then, looking quickly around, he seized her in his arms and kissed her.
When they drew apart, both faces were illuminated with love. A stern chaperone came hurrying into the courtyard, nodded to the young man, and she and the girl climbed into the carriage. As the carriage moved out under the arch of the inn, the girl looked back at the young man, her eyes full of tears, then she dropped her glove to the ground.
He ran forward, picked it up, and stood holding it as the carriage disappeared from view. Then he kissed the glove and put it inside his coat, against his heart.
Isabella drew back, strangely moved. There had not only been love between the two, but tenderness and respect. That was the way it should be. That is the way it never could be for her.
Isabella’s spirits recovered somewhat in London. Lucy was so excited at the prospect of this mini debut that she constantly had to be reassured about her appearance. Isabella upset her mother by saying she had no interest in what her bride gown looked like, and so Mrs. Chadbury chose a design from the dressmaker and arranged the fittings, hoping against hope that Lord Harry might prove more loverlike on his return.
The wedding was to be a small one, and it was not to take place in church, but in the drawing room of the Chadbury’s town house. Lucy was to be bridesmaid and Captain James was to be the bride-man. Mrs. Chadbury fretted over the arrangements flanked by a cold, uninterested daughter and a grim, determined husband. More and more, Mrs. Chadbury wished they had never arranged this marriage.
And then to her further distress, Lord Rupert Fitzjohn came to call. Summoning her husband’s support, she received him, bracing herself for recriminations. To the Chadburys’ delight, he was quiet and courteous and said he had merely called to pay his respects and to apologize for his angry behavior to Isabella.
Isabella came into the drawing room at that moment and stopped short at the sight of Lord Rupert. He rose and bowed before her and said quietly, “Do not look so afraid. I am here to apologize for my harsh words.”
“Then I, too, must apologize for my behavior,” said Isabella quietly.
“That is over. As you are now safely engaged, may I beg your parents to allow me to take you for a drive? The weather is fine, and I have an open carriage.”
Isabella hesitated, but Mrs. Chadbury, happy that Lord Rupert had shown himself to be so gracious, said, “I am sure a breath of air would do Isabella the world of good.”
At that moment Lucy came tripping into the room, and Isabella said, “I am sure Lucy would enjoy a breath of air as well, Lord Rupert.” She introduced Lucy to Lord Rupert.
There was nothing else Lord Rupert could do in his new gracious role but to take them both. Noticing that Isabella appeared to be very fond of Lady Lucy, he set himself to please, and so a pleasant drive ended with them all having ices at Gunter’s and with Lucy wondering why she could not like Lord Rupert when he was trying so very hard to be pleasant.
Lucy had told Lord Rupert that they were going to the playhouse that night. She regretted it later when she saw Lord Rupert that evening in a box opposite, and sure enough, he presented himself in the Chadburys’ box at the interval and made Isabella laugh by saying that the play, which was a historical one about Roundheads and Cavaliers, was so tiresome it made him never want to see anyone buckle his swash again.
Oh, he was easy to listen to, he was kind, he was courteous, and he was charming, and Lucy did not like him one little bit. She did not like his thick sensual lips or his brown eyes that gave nothing away.
Lucy was to attend her first London ball at a Lord and Lady Chomley’s. She did so hope that Lord Rupert was not going to be there. Lucy tried to tell Isabella of her dislike, but Isabella only looked at her in amazement and said Lord Rupert was behaving like a true gentleman and that there was nothing about him to dislike. So Lucy kept her thoughts to herself and prayed nightly for the return of her brother.
But soon the terrors of her very first ball drove all thoughts of Lord Rupert from her mind. She listened carefully to Isabella’s schooling. “Now, Lucy, we will go over it again. I shall play the gentleman. Now I take your hand and squeeze it and say, ‘Your beauty inflames my senses.’ ”
Lucy’s eyes lit up. “Oh, do you really think someone would say that to me?”
“The gentlemen are quite capable of saying anything. To such a warm compliment, you gently but firmly withdraw your hand, turn your eyes away, and then unfurl your fan with a snap—like so—and fan yourself rapidly. Try that. Ye-es, but not so obviously angry. Elegantly cool, I think. Now, ‘Your freshness, your youth, Lady Lucy, make all others at this ball look jaded.’ What do you do?”
“He has not taken my hand?”
“No, and the compliment is presented in a light airy manner.”
“You are funning, sir.”
“No, no, this kind of compliment you must learn to take. If the gentleman is old or ill-favored, you
say quietly, ‘Why, thank you, sir.’ If, however, the man is handsome or you have an interest in him, you proceed to flirt. You unfurl your fan slowly and look at him over the top of it with your eyes teasing a little and you say, ‘I’faith, sir, you turn a pretty compliment. You obviously have a deal of practice that I lack.’ To which he may say, with his hand on his heart, ‘But it is not an empty compliment, Lady Lucy. I mean what I say. Your very freshness, like a budding rose, makes stale compliments impossible.’ ”
“And what do I say to that?” asked Lucy helplessly.
“You lower your fan and drop your eyelashes. You have pretty eyelashes, Lucy. You lower them long enough for him to admire and then you say with a bantering note in your voice, ‘I am sure there are much more interesting things to talk about than my poor self, sir. Have you seen the play?’ ”
“Oh, I don’t like this,” said Lucy. “Playing games. Why should I put myself out when I am not interested in any of them?”
Isabella sighed. “I hope I have not turned you into a rebel, Lucy. Any young girl’s role in life is to please men. There is no other. To show yourself indifferent to the beasts—I beg your pardon—to the gentlemen, is impolite. Society will feel if that is your attitude, why not stay at home and knit. I played by the rules. I flirted and charmed, and I thought Mama and Papa would be content. But, no. You must, it seems, marry as well. Be thankful, Lucy, that it is still two years before your official come-out. All you have to do is enjoy yourself.”
“But how can I enjoy myself if I am constantly to be on the watch, wondering what to say and who to say it to?”
“Practice, Lucy, and then it becomes second nature. Oh, there is the sound of a carriage arriving. Perhaps Lord Rupert is called to take us on a drive.” Isabella ran to the window. She returned, saying, “No, only old Mrs. Fanshawe, come to call on Mama.”
“And that disappoints you?” demanded Lucy sharply.
“Yes, it does,” said Isabella candidly. “Lord Rupert is so friendly and such easy company, and I need have no fear of him for I am engaged to your brother. I see you are about to lecture me, Lucy, and I will not have it.”
“I was only going to say that if you encourage the attentions of Lord Rupert for whatever reason when you are engaged to Harry, all you will do is add to your reputation of being a heartless flirt.”
“Lucy!”
“Well …” Lucy looked miserably at her hands. “I cannot be other than fond of Harry although he has changed. He is my brother.”
“I am not doing anything wrong, Lucy,” pleaded Isabella. “If my parents see nothing wrong with my going on an occasional drive with Lord Rupert, then why should you? I have only been on one drive with him, and you were present.”
“Yes, that is true. I am a bear, Isabella, but there is something about that man I cannot like.”
Isabella knew that Lucy would at least be guaranteed some success at the Chomleys’ ball. For the news of the finding of the Tremayne diamonds had quickly spread to London, and Lucy was now an heiress. Also, Isabella considered Captain James too old for her friend and hoped Lucy might find someone nearer her own age.
Just before they were to descend to the carriage that was to take them to the ball, Lucy found she was homesick. A noisy gale was rattling through the chimney pots of London and booming along the narrow streets. The sea would be pounding at the cliffs and blowing across the moorland. She missed her parents’ undemanding company, and she even missed the creaking inefficiency of the castle servants. But her parents would be arriving soon, and Lucy gave herself a mental shake and realized her homesickness had been brought on by the sound of the wind and by nervousness over this, her first London ball.
A few streets away, Lord Rupert Fitzjohn was receiving last minute words of advice from his elderly roué of an uncle, Mr. Ajax Duvalle. Mr. Duvalle thought that Lord Rupert meant to try to wed the fair Isabella himself, not guessing at the desire for revenge that still burned under his nephew’s showy waistcoat. Lord Rupert knew that his uncle in his time had been the darling of the ladies and so had appealed to him for help in attracting Isabella.
“Now I told you before, m’boy,” said Mr. Duvalle in a shaky old voice, “that the ladies are easily frightened out of their wits by any show of lust. Tenderness and respect will get them every time. Isabella must feel safe with you, then you throw in the odd sad longing glance and risk the odd pressure of the hand for which you immediately apologize. You can stammer in confusion if you like.”
“If I got her in my bed, I’d soon change her tune,” growled Lord Rupert, and Mr. Duvalle held up his hands—the palms stained pink with cochineal—in horror.
“You don’t even think such things when you are courting. There are plenty of ladies of the town to inflict your lusts on. Can you shed tears at will?”
“Me, blubber? No!”
“Then use onion juice. The press of a hand, the eyes filled with manly tears, the broken whisper of what might have been—these are your weapons. Your dress is wrong.”
“What!”
“That’s an ugly, pushy, mushroom sort of waistcoat, m’boy. Vulgar waistcoat never won fair lady. Plain white for evening. Go and change. Trust me. You smell rank. When did you last have a bath?”
“I don’t hold with baths.”
“Have one now and get your servants to scent the water.”
“Damn, I’ll be late.”
“If the fair Isabella is as frightened of men as we have decided she is, she will be all the more glad to see someone as safe as you when you eventually arrive.”
Isabella did mark his absence at the ball and her eyes kept straying to the door. Despite her bad reputation as a cold-hearted flirt, she still had plenty of partners for she was an heiress, and heiresses were never completely snubbed even when they were engaged to be married. Lucy, she noticed, was proving very popular. She was dressed in correct white muslin, but her youth and gaiety were very attractive.
Lucy came up to her at one point and asked Isabella who was taking her into supper. “Oh, someone or other,” said Isabella airily, not wanting to tell Lucy that she had kept the supper dance free in the hope that Lord Rupert would arrive. He was so easy and undemanding.
And then when she had just finished a quadrille, Lord Rupert was there, bowing before her and asking hopefully if by any chance she had a dance left free.
“The next one,” said Isabella gaily, “and so you may take me to supper.”
The dance was a country one, so there was little opportunity for conversation. When they were seated at supper, Lord Rupert asked her in a low voice if she had heard from her fiancé.
Isabella’s low-voiced reply that Lord Harry was expected soon startled Lord Rupert. He must work quickly. He turned his head away from her slightly and said in a stifled voice, “If I had not been such a crass fool … I have grown up since then.” He allowed his voice to tremble. “But how serious I am become,” he added. “What a way to entertain a beautiful young lady!” He began to tell her some amusing stories of London society supplied to him by his uncle and was pleased when he succeeded in making her laugh. Soon they were talking like old friends. Lucy watched them uneasily and wished that her brother would arrive soon. Isabella was wearing a headdress of white silk flowers. As Lucy watched, Lord Rupert said something and Isabella blushed, although her eyes were sparkling, and then to Lucy’s horror, Isabella extracted one silk rose and gave it to Lord Rupert. Perhaps Isabella was only flirting again, thought Lucy feverishly.
Where, oh, where was Harry?
Lord Harry and Captain James had just arrived at Tregar Castle. Lord Harry found his mother supervising her packing. “Oh, there you are,” said the countess gaily as if her son had just returned from a ride instead of from the wars. “You are just in time to escort us to London on the morrow. Not that old gown, Nancy, throw it away.”
The countess had acquired a lady’s maid at last, a weather-beaten old crone who was related to one of the elderly footmen. Lord H
arry eyed the shuffling, mumbling old woman with disfavor, but his mother seemed to find nothing amiss. “It is of no use taking piles of old gowns to London, Harry, when I mean to order a whole new wardrobe. What it is to be rich! We are not staying with the Chadburys. We have taken a comfortable town house near the Park.”
“With London servants?” inquired Lord Harry hopefully.
“Of course not. Would you have us deprive our old servants of a trip to London? I am quite surprised to see you. You were so rude to poor Isabella at our ball that I had quite decided you really meant to cry off.”
“Perhaps,” said Lord Harry. “But I was not going to throw up the chance of some more leave. Captain James and I have a month, that is all.”
“Well, it is now your decision. If you don’t want Isabella, I shall quite understand, for I am sure she don’t want you.”
For some reason this made Lord Harry angry. “How can you be so casual about it all, Mama?” he said crossly. “She will need to break the engagement anyway, not I.”
“Oh, she’ll break it all right if you tell her you don’t want her. Of course poor Sophia will be annoyed, for they will have to coerce some other fellow into wedding the girl.”
“If I did not know Isabella Chadbury to be a hardened flirt, then I could find it in my heart to be sorry for her,” said Lord Harry.
“Pooh,” said his mother. “What a milksop you are become! The girl has plenty of money. What more does she want?”
“Perhaps a little love?”
“She gets enough of that from her parents. I told Sophia this age, you spoil that child, and you will live to rue the day.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Chadbury might think you have ruined Lucy, allowing her to become such a slattern.”
“Fustian. Lucy takes after me, and I am as neat and clean as a new pin,” said his mother, wrapping a soiled negligee closer about her. “Is Godolphin with you?”
“Yes, James is with me. We are hungry, Mama.”
“Then go and find something to eat. All you have to do is ring the bell.”
“When did a bell in this castle ever work? The wires have been broken for years.”