“I am afraid we must wait some minutes for the ladies to complete their toilettes,” he said with a smile. “I am sure it will be well worth it.”
In the company of his old friend, Eynsford’s air of weary hauteur left him, and the two gentlemen were laughing when the door opened and Isobel entered. She paused a moment in the doorway, taken slightly aback by the sheer masculine beauty present in her drawing room. Her husband, by any measure, was a very handsome man, but he was cast quite in the shade by the marquess. Isobel blinked and smiled, then greeted her guest.
“Lord Eynsford, how pleasant to see you again. You are so seldom in England that I feel honored to have you in my home.”
The marquess kissed her hand gracefully and smiled down at her. She was very beautiful, her auburn hair and sparkling green eyes set off by her dress of white satin and silver net, trimmed with green velvet ribands. He felt a slight pang of envy at the obvious pride and love in Exencour’s eyes.
“I am honored to be here, Lady Exencour,” he responded. “I have been complimenting my friend on his marriage. I was unaware that he had such excellent taste.”
“Flatterer,” said Isobel. “But pray, continue. I have been married more than a year now, and my husband does not compliment me as he was used to.”
“You wound me,” said Lord Francis, putting his arm about her waist. “If that is true, it is merely to prevent you from becoming swollen-headed. You know you are the most delightful creature in England.”
Eynsford surveyed them with a smile. “I see that you have brought my bold companion to heel, ma’am,” he said. “In our wild days in Spain, Francis did not stay with one woman long.”
Isobel seated herself on the settee and patted the place next to her. “Come, my lord, sit by me and tell me of my husband’s time in Spain. I fear he will not furnish me with any but the most innocuous descriptions of his stay in that land.”
This brought more laughter from the men. “I do not dare, my lady,” said the marquess. “Francis would surely have my head.”
Isobel regarded the two gentlemen with pleasure. She was only slightly acquainted with the Lord Eynsford, but was aware of his reputation as a haughty and disagreeable fellow. When they had met on the previous occasions, he had seemed pleasant, if detached, but she now found him at his most polite and engaging.
“Will Letitia be down soon?” asked Lord Exencour, when his merriment had passed.
Isobel frowned slightly. “I am very sorry, but Lady Morgan declines to dine with us this evening. She sends her apologies to you, Francis, and to Lord Eynsford.”
“Why is this?” asked Lord Exencour. “Is she unwell?”
Isobel paused, and gave Lord Eynsford a considering look. “Well, we are among friends, so I will be honest. Letitia is, I fear, quite uncomfortable at meeting any gentleman of fashion such as Lord Eynsford. You must understand, my lord, that Lady Morgan was not well-treated by her husband or her cousin, and has taken a rather strong dislike to the idea of the haut ton. I am sure it is a prejudice that will pass with time, but just now it is very much in the front of her mind. She begged me to make her excuses, and I could not refuse.”
Eynsford was conscious of an unexpected flood of disappointment washing over him, but schooled his countenance.
“What a shame,” said Lord Exencour. “Eynsford was looking forward to renewing an old acquaintance with Lady Morgan.”
“Indeed? When did you meet Lady Morgan?” asked Isobel.
“‘Twas nothing more than a dance at a ball some years ago,” he said calmly. “I recall that she was a delightful partner. What a shame that she should take such a dislike to Society, as she will be greatly missed.”
“Indeed,” said Isobel. “I constantly encourage her to enjoy herself more. I will admit in private that there is nothing in her husband to mourn, but I am distressed to see Letitia allowing his memory to further influence her life. But she seems quite determined, and I must wait and hope that she changes her mind.”
Lord Eynsford smiled. “As do we all, I am sure,” he said. He turned the conversation to other topics, and soon they went into the dining room to eat. He remained a delightful companion, but in the back of his mind was a certain sense of discomfort. He had scarcely realized how much value he had placed on once again encountering Lady Morgan, and he was distressed by the depth of disappointment he felt.
Chapter 10
After dinner, the trio of Eynsford and Lord and Lady Exencour continued to the theater, where their presence attracted a certain amount of attention. Lady Exencour was renowned for her dashing sense of fashion and her two companions were well-known members of the Corinthian set; thus anyone who pretended to sartorial elegance was interested in their appearance. They looked quite striking, with Isobel’s auburn head and white and silver gown setting off the gentlemen’s blondness and dark evening clothes.
“I say, Eynsford has returned to England,” observed Horace Worth to his mother, the Dowager Countess of Twytham. “He is unbending amazingly, too; he ain’t the sort of fellow to be seen enjoying himself, but I swear I just saw him laugh.”
The Countess put up her lorgnette and observed the Exencour box. She snorted. “It’s that Isobel Exencour,” she said. “A shameless minx. You think she’d be content with catching young Wheaton and his fortune, not that she needed it with all that money of her own. Then his brother died, and she’ll be a duchess someday. Now she seems intent on enslaving Eynsford.”
Horace sputtered. “That isn’t fair, Mama. She and Exencour are very happy, by all accounts, and I know he is a friend of Eynsford’s. Did you know Lady Morgan is staying with them? I saw her the other day; she is still very lovely.”
His mother turned her glass on him. “Don’t even think about it, Horace,” she said. “You have to marry money, not some penniless widow with two children, no matter how pretty she is.” She turned back to the Exencour box. “Now, between those three there’s more money than in the Bank of England. Unfair, I call it.”
During the interval the Exencour’s box filled up alarmingly. Many of the visitors wished to greet the viscount and viscountess, but the majority were there to hail the return of Eynsford to England. Any number of fashionable bucks crowded the box and several mothers seized the pretext of the slightest acquaintance with Isobel or Eynsford’s mother to display their blushing daughters. Isobel watched in amazement as their charming companion turned into a bored and cynical Tulip of Fashion, eyeing the intruders coldly and dispensing caustic comments. More than one hopeful miss wilted under the considering look he directed at her from behind his quizzing glass.
In the carriage during their ride home Isobel asked her husband about his friend. “For he was entirely delightful when we were alone, but he seemed to live up to his reputation as a haughty fellow when others approached us,” she said.
Lord Exencour smiled. “Phillip is a good sort. I have known him for many years; he was a brave officer and is an extraordinary diplomat. But he was deeply affected when he inherited the title some years ago; the world suddenly beat a path to his door, and it has made him cynical.”
Isobel smiled. “And yet he is so very pleasant when he is with friends,” she said. “Francis, I have an excellent idea. Would not he and Letitia make a delightful pair?”
Lord Exencour groaned. “Isobel, your friend is widowed barely two months and you are already planning her next wedding? What became of the Isobel Paley who thought marriage a trap?”
Isobel laughed and took her husband’s hand. “She has learned what a delightful thing a good husband can be. You can vouch for Eynsford’s character and I can see for myself how very kind he is. Think how delightful it would be for Letitia. He is wealthy, charming and humorous, and they both have a dislike of Society. And how handsome they would look together!”
“Now you have only to overcome the objections of the principals, for you have quite convinced me,” said Lord Exencour. “However, as Letitia swears she will not marry again,
particularly a gentleman of fashion, and Eynsford spoke to me only yesterday of his doubts that his heart will ever be engaged, how do you hope to accomplish the thing?”
“It will be difficult, but not impossible,” said Isobel. “I vow, I owe it to Letitia to settle her happily; for are we not indebted to her for our current state of bliss?”
“Indeed we are, my love,” said Exencour. “But I do not think Eynsford is the man for her.”
“We shall see,” said Isobel. A small silence fell as she pondered.
Exencour sighed. “I see I shall be much neglected until your plot bears fruit,” he said in a put-upon tone. “I suppose this is how it is when a marriage begins to turn sour.”
This produced a laugh and the hoped for kiss from his wife. All thoughts of Letitia and Eynsford faded from Isobel’s mind.
Eynsford had returned home in a curiously abstracted mood. He chose not to retire immediately, but repaired to his library, a bottle of brandy at his side and his dog at his feet. His long, slim fingers fondled the hound’s silky ears, and deep brown eyes met those of lapis blue.
“Why does her face haunt me, Foxer?” he asked. The hound looked silently at him, and placed its wet nose in his palm.
“She is more beautiful than most women, I grant you,” said the marquess. “But I danced with her only once. I suppose she would not even recall my name if she saw me now.” The dog licked his wrist.
Eynsford smiled bitterly. “Indeed, it would be wonderful if she did know me, for I was much less cynical then.” He resumed stroking the dog’s ears, each stroke pulling the hound’s eyes closed, an expression of bliss on its face. It seemed to soothe the man as well, for the hard expression left his face and he looked oddly young and vulnerable.
“She was very beautiful and charming, wasn’t she?” he asked the dog, who whined in reply and settled his chin on the marquess’ feet. Eynsford refilled his glass with brandy and sat back, turning the glass in the candlelight, watching the flames glow in the amber fluid. He sipped thoughtfully and the dog lay silently, looking up at him. Suddenly the man put the glass down with a snap, startling Foxer, who sat up and nosed under his elbow.
“You are right, I am a fool, and, unbelievably, a sentimental fool. The lovely Lady Morgan fills my thoughts, and yet, how am I to pursue a lady who not only is not dazzled by my title and fortune, but will not even meet me because of them?”
The dog wagged its tail and yipped encouragingly.
“You encourage me in my infatuation, Foxer?” said the marquess. “Perhaps you are right. Exencour thinks highly of her, and any woman who would turn down an introduction to the Marquess of Eynsford must have a remarkable character. I shall see what I can do.”
Foxer eyed him thoughtfully, and then, judging the excitement to be over, settled on the hearthrug with a hearty sigh. The marquess gazed into the flames, a thoughtful look on his face.
Chapter 11
In less time than might have been imagined, Letitia was settled in her house in Kensington. Isobel, once she had given way, was determined that Letitia should be as comfortable as possible, and a small army of tradesmen and servants descended upon the house, measuring, cleaning, and sewing until all was in readiness. A few pieces of Letitia’s own furniture had been brought from Morgan Park, some small pieces had been purchased, and Isobel pressed other items on Letitia as loans.
“When I sold my house in Clarges Street after I married Francis, we had no need for so many furnishings, and yet I could not bear to part with some of them,” she observed. “You would be doing me as great a favor as I am doing you, for I am sure they will come to harm stored away.”
The end result was gratifying. The house, while small by the standards of the haut ton, was well-suited to a widow and her children. There was plenty of space for a nursery and play room, while still allowing Lady Morgan a drawing room and a morning room. There was a small dining room, should she wish to entertain once she came out of mourning, and well-situated bedrooms. The house was gracious and airy, the rooms well proportioned, the furnishings elegant, the street quiet. Letitia felt that she finally had a home of her own.
She had been fond of Bainstall Court, but it was her parents’ house, and Morgan Park was an ancestral estate, belonging to her husband, inherited by her son. For the first time she felt able to decorate as she pleased, and though she could afford no extravagances, the results were delightful. She soon settled into a quiet routine, walking each day with Jamie and Emily in Kensington Gardens, supervising her small staff, visiting the lending library, and entertaining the few friends who came by to visit.
Her life would surely have seemed dull to Isobel, who was accustomed to managing her own estates, conducting archaeological research, and attending parties each evening, but Letitia found it perfect. Her disposition was naturally retiring, and the years of her marriage had been full of strain; the simple routine of running a small house to her own satisfaction appealed to her immensely and restored her spirits.
Isobel was her most frequent visitor, and she found Letitia one day in the morning room, perusing a letter with a perplexed look on her face.
“Isobel,” she said, “you will scarcely credit it, but I have received a letter from Bainstall.”
“From your cousin?” said Isobel. “I thought he washed his hands of you when you were so foolish as to come to stay with me. Whatever does he want?”
“I am not completely sure, as he makes little sense, but I think perhaps he is contemplating my re-marriage.”
“Your what?” squealed Isobel. “Do not be ridiculous. As though you would be thinking of another marriage now, especially to someone of his acquaintance! If you wish to marry again, I will help you to find a husband.”
“Such as Lord Eynsford?” asked Letitia mischievously.
Isobel colored slightly. “Am I so obvious? ‘Tis only that he is so very handsome, kind, and rich, and I think you would deal extremely. But of course it is your choice to make, Letitia. But surely you would prefer a husband I found to one of Bainstall’s choosing!”
Letitia shook her head with a smile, and then looked back down at her letter. “Perhaps I wrong him, but do listen to this: ‘You will be surprised to hear from me, Cousin, as you must be aware of my disapproval of your actions. I was grieved when you refused the shelter of my home for the frivolous enticements of London and Lady Exencour’s companionship. But I am pleased to learn that you have moved out of her home and into one of your own and therefore attempt again to provide you with the guidance you need. Despite my distrust of Lady Exencour, her husband, with the exception of his unbecoming levity and his indulgence of his wife’s odd notions, is accounted a reasonable gentleman, and may have been able to advise you how best to go on.’” She looked up as Isobel gave a gurgle of laughter.
“I must tell Francis,” she said. “He will be honored. Pray, continue.”
Letitia smiled and resumed her reading. “‘However, as head of the family I am responsible for you despite your flouting of my wishes, and I therefore put pen to paper to counsel you.’”
“How vastly accommodating of him,” observed Isobel. “Your cousin obviously has a passion for organization.”
“I think he means well,” said Letitia, a doubtful note in her voice. “He did not expect to inherit the title, as my father was still quite young when he died and it was not inconceivable that he would yet father a son. I fear his new consequence has gone to Bainstall’s head.”
“So it seems,” said Isobel. “What does Lord Bainstall counsel you to do?”
“That is what I am wondering,” said Letitia. She picked up the letter again. “‘I recommend to you, dear Cousin, my friend Archibald Wolfe, Bishop of Mainwaring. He is currently in residence outside of London, and I have asked him to call on you in hopes that he may be able to guide your footsteps while you are far from me. He is a worthy man, a widower these two years, with a sober turn of mind and a good understanding. I trust you will make yourself agreeable to
him. I believe it is unnatural for a woman to be long without the guidance of a man, and I trust that Dr. Wolfe will be able to influence you in a positive way.’” Letitia looked up and met Isobel’s eyes, which were brimming with mischief.
“Why, Dr. Wolfe sounds ideal for you, Letitia,” she said. “A sober gentleman, able to cure your willful ways. I am sure he will make you a perfect husband.”
“So I am not wrong in thinking that he means this Dr. Wolfe as a suitor?” said Letitia. “It seemed very plain to me, and yet I could not imagine that Bainstall would be seeking to marry me off already. Why, Alfred has been dead only a few months.”
Isobel picked up the letter and looked at it curiously. “I would venture that the impropriety of a young woman living alone offends him more than the impropriety of a widow being courted,” she observed. “And a bishop’s courting will not involve much romance, I would imagine. You would do better to consider my candidate, Letty,” she teased.
Letitia responded to this sally with a smile, but still looked vexed. “This puts me in a very uncomfortable situation, Isobel. Dr. Wolfe will surely present himself here, and I will be obliged to be polite to him. I find the situation most distasteful.”
“I am in complete sympathy,” declared Isobel. “You must do your best to drive him away. Believe me, if you behave with a great deal too much levity, and perhaps betray that you have more learning than simply a smattering of French and the ability to paint watercolors, he will conceive an instant disgust for you. I cannot imagine what Bainstall has told him of you, but whatever it is, it cannot be accurate, as your cousin has no idea what sort of person you are.”
“I wonder what sort of person Dr. Wolfe is?” said Letitia. “He is a bishop, after all.”
“Surely you cannot mean to take him seriously?” said Isobel. “If I knew you wished for suitors I could have produced a dozen eligible, charming, and wealthy men who are not bishops. Your beauty is still remembered, you know.”
An Honest Deception Page 6