by Martha Keyes
She smiled gratefully at his consideration but shook her head. "No, no. I am of the same mind as before. Let us win back Miss Darling's heart." She broadened her smile to reassure him, and the one she received in return was its own reward.
Isabel attributed the added warmth in Mr. Galbraith’s eyes to the welcome prospect of winning back Miss Darling. He took one of her gloved hands in his, bringing it to his lips.
Her heart skipped at the gesture, but her mind brought her feet back to the ground. It was all part of the act.
On no account could she allow herself to forget that.
11
Charles let go of Isabel Cosgrove's hand. He couldn't help but think on the hesitation she had briefly shown. It confused him. The whole thing had been her idea, after all.
It was an idea he was still conflicted about. He wanted to recapture Julia's affection, to rekindle what had been lost when the Season had begun. He wished, though, that it had not been necessary.
Furthermore, he wished that he hadn't been obliged to involve Isabel. It seemed unnatural that it should require anyone outside of Julia and himself to arrange their affairs. It was almost like cheating.
When Isabel had broached the idea, he had been equal parts amused and perturbed. Why she should concern herself with his problems when he had only added to hers was a mystery. She was very obviously a kind and generous person. But the fact remained that his arrival in her life had complicated things immensely for her. And yet instead of resenting him, she desired to help him.
But even if the plan did work, would the result be lasting? Or would Julia leave him behind again for the next charming gentleman with greater fortune? And what would she do when she discovered that it had all been a strategy to reignite her feelings for him?
Such questions plagued his mind as he left Miss Holledge and Miss Cosgrove with a promise to return for a set—two in fact—with the latter.
He was ever-aware of Julia's presence in his peripheral vision, but he made sure never to make that fact apparent. He greeted various acquaintances as he walked in the general direction of Julia and Farrow, with no one the wiser about the nerves which made his cravat feel too tight.
Just as he came abreast of Julia and Farrow, he turned his head in a masterfully-unconscious gesture, his eyes falling upon the two. He feigned surprise and smiled, coming toward them.
"Miss Darling," he said with a polite smile and bow. "Mr. Farrow. How do you do?"
He allowed himself a quick look at Julia, thinking how long it had been since he last spent time with her outside a ballroom. She looked as captivating as ever, one escaped blonde ringlet curling around her neck. She flashed him a smile—not the coy smiles she had been wont to give since their first meeting in London, but one of the knowing smiles he thought for so long had been reserved for him.
But she still stood next to Farrow, and smiles were not his goal.
"Well?" said Julia, raising her thin brows at Charles. "Are you going to ask me to dance or not?"
"My deepest apologies," he said with a slight bow, "but I am already engaged for this set." He looked over in Isabel's direction. She stood next to Miss Holledge who was watching Charles. She gave the slightest nudge to Isabel when she saw him look over.
Charles suppressed a smile, hoping that Julia and Farrow hadn't noticed the prod.
Isabel's head turned slowly, searching for Charles. When her gaze landed on him, the corners of her mouth turned up shyly. Her eyes held the knowledge of their conspiracy, and his responded with their own twinkle.
Whatever she had done differently to her hair, Charles found it gave her a very different look than on the other occasions they had met. She looked distinguished, handsome. Where Julia's beauty was impossible to ignore no matter her expression, Isabel's eyes and smile held the transformative keys to her allure. She was direct—sometimes jarringly so—but her eyes danced in the most intriguing way when she found something humorous.
"If you'll excuse me," Charles said, his eyes trained on Isabel except for a brief glance and bow to Julia and Farrow. He left them behind, making his way back toward Isabel and Mary.
Mary was all admiration for Charles's well-executed role.
"I wish I could have captured her expression when you left her to come here," said Mary in delight. "She looked as though she'd swallowed that outrageous feather she is wearing."
Charles was unsure whether this should make him glad or concerned and decided to ignore it. "I believe that you owe me a dance, Miss Cosgrove."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Mary threw her head back and her arms up. "You must stop being so formal with one another. You are supposed to be engaged, are you not? You must convince your father, Izzy.” She turned to Mr. Galbraith— “Call her Isabel—” and then back to Isabel— “Call him Charles."
Isabel opened her mouth to resist, but Mary persisted. “You don’t have to do so within earshot of anyone but your father, but I think that it will help you feel more at ease with one another if you do so in private, as well. What do you say, Mr. Galbraith?”
He extended a hand to Isabel. "Isabel, then," he said.
Isabel took in an unsteady breath. "Charles," she said, her tone tentative as she laid her hand in his. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Yet more evidence of how vulgarly forward I am."
Charles laughed, and his grip on her hand grew more confident, knowing that she wasn't uncomfortable dispensing with formality.
After conveying Miss Holledge to Mrs. Cosgrove, Charles led Isabel onto the ballroom floor for a cotillion. Whatever hesitations she had been having earlier in the evening, there was no trace of them on her face as they danced. Her eyes met his in the same clear, frank way he had first encountered in the family portrait that fateful evening. From time to time, they would gleam with the twinkle he had come to associate with her.
"How do you do that?" he said when he encountered it for a third time.
"Do what?"
"With your eyes," he explained, looking into them with curiosity.
Her smile faltered, and she blinked in quick succession as if something were in her eyes.
He smiled at her reaction, realizing that he had made her feel self-conscious. "It's as if they're laughing."
She laughed on an exhale. "How traitorous of them."
"Yes," he said, "they can be very expressive." He watched a slight blush seep into her cheeks and, not wishing to cause her discomfort, continued, "But I'm not sure whether I'm the object of their amusement or simply an ignorant witness to their mirth."
The dance took them apart before she could answer. He continued watching her, though, as if her eyes might betray the answer. What he knew of her told him that she was far too kind to laugh at him to his face, even if it was only with her eyes.
She turned back toward him, and they interlocked hands, placing the two of them shoulder to shoulder.
"You must promise not to look," she said, holding his eyes, "for I fear Mary will give you a sound thrashing if you do."
"I promise not to look," he vowed in a solemn voice.
"I was thinking," she said in a low voice, "how neglected Miss Darling's partner must feel. I believe she has yet to look at him or speak to him. She seems preoccupied with something—or perhaps someone—over here." Her eyes teased him.
He fought the impulse to look for Julia. In his curiosity over Isabel's behavior, he hadn't noticed that Julia made one of the set.
Was she regretting how she had treated him? He knew that she would certainly not relish believing herself to be replaced in his affections by someone she would no doubt look down upon.
Such sentiments didn't endear Julia to him. Nor did the memory of a similar ballroom scene where, not long ago, he had been the partner she ignored. The memory tainted the possibility that she was perhaps rethinking her actions.
He realized that Isabel was watching him and that he was frowning. He smiled, not wishing her to think that it was her he was displeased with.
Isabel's head tilted to the side. "You are probably right."
"I most often am," he said with a teasing side smile and a wink.
She cocked an eyebrow at him as they shifted dancing positions. "Is that the first thing you would have me know about you, then? That you are always right?"
"Not always," he countered. "Most often. But surely that would not be the first thing you would know about me?"
"No," she said. "Mary is a very good source of information, you know."
He threw his head back and laughed. "How frightening! I am equal parts curious and hesitant to hear you expound on that. What information have you had by her?"
“Almost none, in fact,” she replied. “I was only teasing.” She tilted her head to the side, considering. “But I imagine she could tell me a whole host of things if I were to ask. Your favorite color, your middle name, your greatest fears. Things of that nature.”
He laughed again. Her words sparked a curiosity in him—what assumptions had Miss Cosgrove made about him from the little time they had spent together?
"And what, then, do you feel you already know of me, even without the help of Miss Holledge?”
She looked hesitant, and he half-smiled. “I, for instance,” he continued, “know that you are more familiar with cant phrases than most ladies would admit to.”
Her mouth twisted to the side in a half-guilty smile. “I have been known to use a cant phrase or two every now and again. All taught to me by my brother Tobias.”
His half-smile expanded into a full one. “The mark of a real brother, I think.”
She watched him with a strangely soft light in her eyes. One corner of her mouth turned up. “I, on the other hand, have learned that your brows make you look far more threatening than you truly are.”
He scowled dramatically and then smiled. “They have proven a useful tool, but I’m sure they have also held back a number of people from seeking my acquaintance.”
“Well,” Miss Cosgrove said, “surely such pudding-hearts are better kept as strangers.”
Charles shot her an impressed look as his mouth twitched. “I hadn’t expected to be favored so soon with a demonstration of cant expressions. I am pleasantly surprised. Your father failed to mention such a valuable skill.”
Miss Cosgrove laughed aloud. “That is because I am very careful not to demonstrate it in his presence. It would draw an unending string of censure about my multitude of failings.”
Charles frowned. His own experience with Mr. Cosgrove had not shown him to be particularly tender-hearted, but hearing how he had spoken of his daughter and how he seemed to treat her shed an even less complimentary light on the man.
“Well,” he said, “if that is so, I find that he is much mistaken in his own daughter.”
Miss Cosgrove colored up slightly and smiled with a small shrug. “I have learned to accept that how he views me is a reflection upon him rather than upon myself.”
Charles’s brows shot up.
“What?” Miss Cosgrove said, observing his reaction. “You don’t agree?”
“No, it’s not that,” he said. “Only that I had not expected such wisdom from the lips of someone who had just used the phrase ‘pudding-heart.’”
She laughed and shook her head. “Well, I am convinced that a robust knowledge of cant may come in useful. If my father turns me out when this is all over, I take courage in the knowledge that I could successfully impersonate my brother at need. We are very much alike.”
Charles smiled. “I should like to meet him, then.” And he meant it.
But her words had troubled him. Did she truly worry that her father would impose such a fate on her?
The final figure of the dance completed, he pressed her hand between his just before letting go to bow. Rising from the bow, he looked her in the eye. "I won't let ill befall you, Miss Cosgrove. Even if I must abduct and marry you against your will."
Isabel looked at Mr. Galbraith, her enjoyment at an end. It had been too easy to forget that it was all a charade as they pivoted around the dance floor.
But his words brought her back down to earth with uncomfortable force.
He still felt honor-bound. Nothing she had said had convinced him otherwise. And while she could admire his strong conscience, she loathed that he felt any obligation toward her. She could think of few fates worse than being married to Charles Galbraith while he pined for Miss Darling in secret.
And all because of a night of folly and jealousy.
"That won't be necessary," she said, forcing a smile as she shook her head. She couldn't let her disappointment interfere with their goal.
He offered his arm to her. "And this you know by virtue of some special powers you are possessed of?" He cocked an eyebrow at her as he escorted her off the floor.
"No," she said baldly. "I know it because you are going to marry Miss Darling, of course." His mouth opened, and she rushed on, smiling to relieve any suspicion he might have of the true state of her mind and heart. "And if the frequency of her glances in our direction are any indication, she is fast desiring that outcome as well."
Mr. Galbraith made a motion to turn his head but seemed to catch himself at the last second, his eyelids clenching shut as he grimaced.
Isabel swallowed watching the effort it took him not to look at Miss Darling. The sooner they could arrange things between Mr. Galbraith and Miss Darling, the better. For her own peace of mind and for Mr. Galbraith's. She didn't know how long she could maintain the act. But the better she played her part, the sooner it would all end.
She didn't need to look to know that Miss Darling's eyes were still on them as they arrived at the refreshment table. She took in a quick breath and looked at Mr. Galbraith.
He was watching her with a curious expression as he ate a wafer. He offered her one, and she shook her head with a polite smile. One of his brows went up, but he gave a small shrug and bit into the wafer she had refused. A stray piece stuck to his lip.
At first, she thought he hadn't noticed. But the piece was far too large to remain unnoticed. He paused for a moment and then continued chewing as if nothing were amiss.
She took her lips between her teeth to keep from smiling.
He pursed his lips, but the wafer held on. His brow went up. "What?" he said in a pompous voice. With his thick brows and dark eyes, he could look quite intimidating.
Her lips still firmly between her teeth, she quickly shook her head with eyes wide in feigned innocence. "Nothing."
How long would he leave the wafer?
"Oh," he said. "For a moment you looked at me as though something were amiss." He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it at the corner of his mouth opposite the wafer. It clung desperately to his lip. He looked at her, his eyebrows up as if in a challenge.
Her mouth twisted to the side, and she took in a slow breath, but she couldn't resist any longer. "Oh, for heaven's sake!" She put up a hand and pulled the wafer from his lip.
He looked at her hand. "Ah, yes, thank you." He took the piece from between her fingers, and then placed it in his pocket, giving it a soft pat. "I was saving that for later. Lady Chadwick's wafers are always the first of the refreshments to go, you know. In fact...." He took two more and slipped them into the same pocket.
She laughed, and his mouth broke into an answering grin, transforming his entire face.
"Ah, there it is."
"What?" she said, her mouth still stretched in enjoyment.
"Your smile." He offered his arm to her. "Come, I believe the next set is forming."
If this was her only opportunity to enjoy time with Mr. Galbraith, then she would make the most of it. She could manage the emotional toll later i
f it meant spending just one evening being smiled at the way he had just done. After all, she might need the positive memories to get her through whatever would come next.
She took in a deep breath and smiled, placing her arm in his.
12
As she walked to the church, a footman following discreetly behind, Isabel wrapped her pelisse more tightly around her as if the constriction might erase the memory her shoulders and waist kept from the night before. Spending so much of the evening with Mr. Galbraith—or Charles as she had agreed to call him—had produced a mélange of conflicting emotions. The close contact was desired—and yet so far from occurring under desirable circumstances.
She had known a small sense of victory as she watched Miss Darling react to his attentions to her. When she had pointed out the triumph to Charles, he hadn't seemed unduly concerned. But perhaps he was simply more adept at carrying out their charade. Or perhaps he couldn't allow himself to hope?
He had seemed to enjoy himself well enough as they had danced together, as had she. But her enjoyment was no counterfeit. It was genuine, tainted only by those nagging moments when she remembered that Charles was putting on a show, just as Mary had ordered him to.
Despite that, Isabel had determined to play her part well—a part that she found far too natural. Conversing with Charles felt instinctual. But over the course of the evening, she was brought back down to earth. Soundly.
She had sincerely hoped that Charles had given up the unfortunate belief of having some sort of duty toward her. But his comment at the end of their first dance had dashed such hopes. "Even if I must abduct and marry you against your will."
She couldn't allow it. Cecilia must marry Lord Brockway. She must be brought to see reason—for her own sake and for Isabel's.
Isabel picked up her pace, hoping to outrun her dreary thoughts, and soon pulled open the door to St. James's, telling the footman to wait outside. She had made it a practice to attend services twice a week. If ever she needed wisdom and inspiration, it was now.