by Martha Keyes
So, Isabel had absented herself from the weekly assemblies.
As she looked around the sparsely decorated room to see who was present, she noted a number of acquaintances. Mary was not among them, but that was no shock. The Holledges always arrived shortly before the doors closed at 11. Until then, Isabel would have to content herself as best she could with the civil niceties required of her.
Cecilia was soon surrounded by a bevy of people, and Isabel moved away from the group to stand near her mother. She watched as Lord Brockway approached Cecilia.
Lord Brockway was one of Isabel's few friends. He was a bachelor with a kind heart, a pleasing countenance, and a great regard for Cecilia. With his light brown hair, brown eyes, and Roman nose, he was considered handsome. Agreeable manners, wealth, and title made him one of the most sought-after bachelors in London. But Cecilia had come to expect flattery and conversational fencing in her suitors, and Brockway was not one to engage. This had set him at a great disadvantage.
At times, Isabel found herself wondering how such a decent and genuine man could wish to form an intimate connection with someone as frivolous as Cecilia. Such uncharitable thoughts toward her own sister made her feel guilty, but there was no denying that think them she did.
She watched as Lord Brockway asked Cecilia to dance while two other gentlemen feigned anger at the prospect of being deserted.
Cecilia's cheeks were becomingly flushed—she had never needed rouge to achieve the effect, though she insisted on using it despite that—and Isabel watched as she delightedly handled the situation, leaving the two men laughing and smiling as she stepped onto the floor with Lord Brockway.
They glided apart and then together again and again. Cecilia knew how to please, how to throw the type of arch glances at her admirers which kept them coming back with more and more determination to win her approval. But whatever Cecilia was saying to Lord Brockway in the moments they had for talk, it seemed to frustrate him. Cecilia began to look piqued.
Isabel frowned. Cecilia's attempts to provoke Brockway into showing the spirit displayed by her other admirers was never received well by him. His bow was stiff as the dance ended, and he conveyed Cecilia to her mother with a sober expression. He turned to Isabel and took out his pocket watch.
"Miss Cosgrove," he said. "I believe supper is about to be served. Would you care to accompany me?"
She glanced over at Cecilia who was taking the arm of Lord Roffey, so Isabel smiled at Lord Brockway and agreed.
"Well, my lord," said Isabel gently as they walked. "What is amiss?"
He looked at her, and his mouth turned up into a wry half-smile. "I have never been good at masking my emotions."
"Is it Cecilia?" asked Isabel with frankness.
Lord Brockway frowned and sighed. "Try as I might, I cannot seem to understand her. Perhaps she is simply beyond my abilities to understand—a being on a higher plane than I."
Isabel chuckled. "Cecilia takes pains to appear more complicated than she is. She is like the rest of us, though—in search of approval and admiration."
Lord Brockway doubled back. "Surely that search has long been satisfied? She might have her pick of all the bachelors in this room."
"True," said Isabel, her head tilted to the side. "But that is often the case, is it not? We pursue what we think will make us happy, only to find that happiness eludes us still?"
His gaze was directed at the floor. "I would gladly spend the rest of my life in pursuit of her happiness, you know."
"I believe you would," said Isabel, watching her sister laugh gaily at a comment of Lord Roffey’s. She turned back to Lord Brockway. "And it says a great deal about you. You are admirable."
"Would that your sister felt that way," he said. "Sometimes she seems to share your sentiments—she speaks to me candidly and without affectation. There is sincerity in her eyes. But other times—just now, for example—she seems artificial, and at those times it is clear she finds me lacking. But I never know which Cecilia to expect."
He paused for a moment as he handed Isabel into her seat. He sat down beside her and said, "She has given me reason to believe that my suit is not unwelcome, though."
Isabel thought it quite likely. Any man in possession of title, fortune, or a handsome face would be a welcome addition to her entourage. She didn't know just how encouraging to Lord Brockway her sister had been, but she felt that a word of caution might be warranted.
"Cecilia is," she struggled to find the words, "well, she has been cosseted and coddled her whole life, to be quite honest with you. My parents have great expectations of her—they always have had—and I think it has created confusion in her about what will make her happy. Though she has never admitted it, I believe she feels terrified of disappointing my parents.
“Her happiness is tangled up in satisfying their wishes for her future, and it has led her to believe that her primary goal should be to not only meet but to exceed everyone's expectations of her. I don't know that she has truly considered what makes her happy apart from receiving the admiration of others."
"Do you mean to say," Lord Brockway said slowly, "that I am reading too much into her encouragement?"
"I couldn't say that for certain,” Isabel said. “I believe at least you are a category unto yourself among her admirers. I don't think she knows what to do with your genuine concern for her—not when she is surrounded by adulation, flirtation, and superficial compliments. It remains to be seen whether she will realize the value of your affection. Only she can decide such a thing."
Lord Brockway was silent for a few moments, and Isabel watched him, hoping her words had not been too harsh. Brockway raised his head, and his eyes searched out Cecilia, seated next to Lord Roffey, one of her boldest suitors.
"I must do what I can to help her understand my earnest regard for her," Lord Brockway said with his jaw set determinedly. “It is my greatest wish."
Isabel smiled bracingly. "I know you would do everything in your power to make Cecilia happy. And if you believe she could make you happy, I wish you every success. For I am concerned with the happiness of you both, you know."
He smiled gratefully.
When supper was finished, Isabel looked to find Mary. Isabel had found her to be a loyal friend with more common sense than she had expected from someone so drawn to gossip.
"Oh," said Mary with an intrigued smile as she came upon Isabel. "You have news."
Isabel cocked her head to the side, and her eyes narrowed. She shook her head and sighed with a smile. "It is uncanny how well you can read people!"
Mary raised her brows mischievously and linked their arms, drawing Isabel toward a nearby window.
As Isabel related the events of the past two days, Mary listened with rapt attention. Her brows went up as Isabel revealed who had been the mysterious man in her father's company. And when it was revealed that her father had wagered her hand in marriage, her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes widened so much that Isabel broke into laughter. Mr. Galbraith's visit to renew his offer of marriage was met with surprise followed by a nod of approval. Hetty's appearance and the ensuing drama lit the familiar fire of curiosity in Mary's eyes.
But upon hearing of Isabel's conversation with her father, her expression grew grim.
Mary was silent for a few moments after Isabel finished. She looked at Isabel as her jaw moved slightly in thought.
"Never would I have thought these words would pass my lips, but I believe you did right to refuse Mr. Galbraith." She looked at Isabel with a suddenly wary expression. "We are speaking of the same Mr. Galbraith, are we not?"
Isabel closed her eyes to summon her patience. "Do you know another?"
"Yes, in fact," said Mary. "There is that ancient widower who walks around rapping the ankles of young gentlemen he disapproves of with his purple cane. His name is Galbraith, too."
Isabel's eyes widened. "Oh dear! I suppose I should feel more gratitude that he is not the Galbraith I'm referring to."
"I believe you should, Izzy. I mean, good heavens! Mr. Galbraith offered for you—twice! Dark, handsome, enigmatically charming Charles Galbraith." Eyes glazed over, Mary gazed forward at nothing in particular.
"Do try to focus, Mary," Isabel said in irritation.
"Right," Mary said, giving her head a little shake. "As I was saying, I suppose you did right to refuse him. Everyone knows he is forever enamored of Julia."
Isabel swallowed before straightening her shoulders and looking back at Mary. "Then why would he offer for me?" she said baldly.
"Pique," said Mary with a shrug of the shoulders. "They're at loggerheads, I hear. Miss Darling's been seen in the company of other gentlemen quite frequently in recent weeks, and Mr. Galbraith has been less than pleased. I believe they had quite a quarrel the other night at the Rodwell's rout."
Isabel chewed the inside of her lip. So they’d had a falling out before Mr. Galbraith had come to her home? The knowledge that she may have been a tool for revenge or retaliation made her stomach drop.
"But it is of no account, really," continued Mary. "The predicament we face is how to satisfy your father's demands." Mary folded her arms, tapping a finger on her upper arm. "Let us reconsider. Would it be a waste of breath to suggest that you contemplate Mr. Galbraith's offer?" She smiled with clenched teeth as if she knew what reaction to expect from her friend.
"An utter waste," said Isabel.
Mary said nothing, but her brows were raised in doubtful hope.
Isabel sighed. "You honestly advise me to marry a man who offered for me—a woman he didn't know from Eve—in a fit of pique, when he is still in love with that angelic creature?" With a raise of the brows she indicated Miss Darling.
"Yes, I see why you might hesitate." Mary's mouth twisted to the side as she considered the problem.
“Besides,” said Isabel, “you have only just said that I did right to refuse him.”
But Mary wasn’t listening. She straightened suddenly. "Izzy, do you think you might persuade your father you have accepted Mr. Galbraith without actually doing so?"
Isabel stared blankly at her.
Mary's mouth turned up into a mischievous half-smile. "Well?"
"Perhaps," Isabel said with an impatient roll of the eyes, "until he spoke with Mr. Galbraith. And even failing that inevitability, to what purpose, Mary? It is ridiculous to even discuss. He would surely discover the hoax."
"How should he?"
Isabel's jaw slackened in disbelief.
Mary said nothing, waiting for an answer, and Isabel put a finger to her cheek in feigned thought. "Well, I should think that the lack of a wedding might be problematic, do you not? Not to mention the absence of settlement talks or the banns being read. But perhaps I am being overly-particular." She dropped her hand and looked at Mary in consternation. "Good gracious, Mary! I had relied on you to help me."
"Well, I think it's a famous idea," Mary said in her own defense.
"Yes, perhaps in one of your outrageous novels, but not in real life, my dear."
"Oh, what are novels but suggestions for how to live our lives in a more thrilling way?" said Mary, undeterred. "Besides, all we need to do is make him think—only temporarily—that you're engaged to be married. Just until we can find a distraction which will bring him not to care the snap of his fingers—” she snapped her fingers with flare, “—for a marriage with Mr. Galbraith."
"Mere child's play, in fact?" Isabel said with a bite to her voice.
"Think, Izzy. Why does your father so wish for this marriage?"
Isabel thought for a moment. "I can't say how much of it is the prospect of being rid of one of his daughters—for I especially am a great trial to him, I can tell you—and how much is due to the connection with Mr. Galbraith. I imagine that my father is uncomfortably in debt, and a familial connection to the respected Galbraith name would give him more credit with his debtors, shouldn’t it?"
Mary nodded at the practical reasoning. "Well, then we must find you a husband with a greater connection than Mr. Galbraith. One who is not already in love," she added.
Isabel scoffed at the suggestion, but suddenly her eyes lit up, and she put her hand on Mary's.
"Or," she said, drawing the word out and pausing as she pursued the idea in her head. She turned in her seat to look gravely at her friend. "Not a word must pass your lips, Mary, for this was said to me in strictest confidence."
Mary nodded solemnly, and Isabel wondered for a moment what other secrets Mary housed in her head full of gossip. She could keep a secret when it was warranted.
"Lord Brockway is completely smitten with Cecilia,” Isabel said. “He means to offer for her, but fool that she is—" she shook her head "—I don't know that she will accept him."
"Lord Brockway?" Mary said, staring at Isabel with raised brows.
Isabel nodded.
"I knew that there was something between them, but I hadn’t imagined it to be so serious.” She narrowed her eyes at Isabel. “You think she would actually refuse Lord Brockway—the most eligible bachelor in London?"
Isabel's only response was a comprehending grimace.
Mary shrugged her shoulders. "I wash my hands of you Cosgrove women!"
Isabel laughed. "No one would blame you if you did. But please don't. You know Cecilia, Mary. She wants to be worshipped and flattered and flirted with. Lord Brockway loves her too well to appeal to her vanity in such a way, and it puts her off."
"Well I like him all the better for it. Cecilia needs a vase of water to the face," Mary said waspishly, rushing to add, "Figuratively, I mean."
Isabel repressed a smile. "You know I agree with you. But if only we can make her see the value of the match, it might be enough salve for my father's wounds when he discovers that I am not to marry Mr. Galbraith after all."
"It's risky, Izzy.” Mary’s mouth twisted to the side as she considered the proposal. "I hesitate to make the minx the center of any plan. Selfish, flighty little thing! But it might just serve."
“Well,” said Isabel, “I think I must try.” After all, what was the alternative?
“Cousin Mary!” Mr. John Burke appeared behind them, smiling and putting out a hand toward Mary.
"Ah, John!” she said. “I can always count on you to ask me for the quadrille." She gave him her hand with a smile and glanced at Isabel. "Let us find a fine gentleman to join Izzy on the floor. We four shall put all the other dancers to shame."
Isabel demurred. "Oh, no, please. Go on. It will give me great pleasure to watch you. In fact, I see my mother just over there—I think I shall join her for some orgeat."
"Orgeat over dancing, Miss Cosgrove?"
Isabel turned toward the voice.
Mr. Galbraith stood just behind her, making his bow. "Might I persuade you to reconsider?" He flashed a teasing smile. "I warn you that I shall take offense if you refuse."
Without even looking, Isabel knew Mary's eyes were on her. Her cheeks tinged with pink.
Mr. Burke laughed. "She hesitates, Mr. Galbraith. Over orgeat, no less. A blow to your ego!"
"No, no," said Isabel with a laugh. "I happen to be one of the dwindling few who likes orgeat. But I would be happy to join you for the quadrille. There is small likelihood of the orgeat running out while we dance, so it can wait." She made a small curtsy to Mr. Galbraith and took his arm, determinedly ignoring her nerves.
They followed Mary and Mr. Burke to the ballroom floor. Isabel swallowed and tried to maintain her smile when she saw who had also joined the set. Opposite them were Miss Darling and her partner, the same man Miss Darling had been laughing with earlier. Mary shot a significant look at Isabel.
Mr. Galbraith was a good dancer and an engaging partner. He was attentive to Isabel and his conversation amusing. The figures of the dance, though, often required them to interchange partners with the couple across from them. When Isabel chanced a quick glance at Mr. Galbraith and Miss Darling, there was a palpable intensity between them. Mr. G
albraith looked grave with his brows drawn together, Miss Darling arch and provoking.
"Do you recall," Mr. Galbraith said to Isabel in a low voice when they were reunited, "Hetty speaking of the gentleman responsible for her situation?"
"Farrow, was it not?" she said.
"Yes," he answered shortly. "He is the man you were just dancing with."
He indicated Miss Darling's partner with his eyes.
Isabel looked at Mr. Farrow and then back at Mr. Galbraith who nodded his confirmation.
Isabel thought back to their time with Hetty at St. James's. When Hetty had revealed the name of the baby's father, both Mr. Safford and Mr. Galbraith had looked shocked. Mr. Galbraith's reaction made much more sense if Farrow happened to also be the new gentleman who had taken his place in Miss Darling's affections.
If the truth came out about Mr. Farrow, though, was Miss Darling likely to continue her romance with him? She might well realize her error in bestowing her charms upon a man like him, and she and Mr. Galbraith might share a happy ending together after all.
If that was the case, it resolved any remaining question in Isabel's mind about her decision to refuse Mr. Galbraith. If she had accepted him only for things to turn sour between Mr. Farrow and Miss Darling, Mr. Galbraith would have sorely regretted it. What a miserable outcome that would have been!
When she was next joined to Mr. Farrow in the dance, Isabel took the liberty of observing him. He was not watching her. His eyes were on Miss Darling, and there was a victorious air in the way he watched her as she danced with Mr. Galbraith. Every movement he made was charged with self-assurance. And while he adhered to the strict standards of Almack's in his dress, he still managed to set himself apart.
His hair looked windswept, though in a manner too calculated to be natural, and his cravat was tied in a similar mix of haphazard order. It was his confident smirk, though, that completed the persona. She could see how easy it would have been for Hetty to fall victim to him if he had been intent on charming her.
She sensed he might be one of those people who could be very engaging with those they favored while making their dislike felt keenly by anyone not fortunate enough to find themselves in their good graces; someone whose disfavor would be very unpleasant.