“He is not a prince! He is more like a frog.”
Her mother laughed. “Well, he certainly was a convincing Frog the other evening, when he dressed up and came to the dining room.”
“Mama! You know what I mean.”
Her mother settled back against her cushions. “Indeed, I do. But do not be too quick to judge him based on his reputation. Lady Kildaren told me the other evening he had been severely maligned as a young man.”
“I know. He told me the story himself.”
“Well then, why not give him a chance? He appears to like you very well. You can see that when he looks at you.”
“I have other reservations about him, Mama. Besides, you know I have vowed never to marry again.”
Her mother smoothed the bedspread and studied it for a moment. “I hope you know, my love, that your papa’s actions in marrying you off to Axbridge were not supported by me. I would never have wished for a marriage in name only for my daughter.”
“I know that, Mama. You could not go against Papa’s wishes. I understood that.” She grimaced. “It was strange that Axbridge wanted to marry me after he suffered that stroke. I was never a – a real wife to him.”
“It lifted his spirits to have a beautiful young girl installed in his home when he was unwell.”
“Indeed. A pretty decoration,” she said in a brittle voice.
“That is why I hope you will grasp happiness with both hands if it comes your way again. Life does not often give one second chances. You are still young enough to marry again – to love and be loved… to not just be a pretty decoration in someone’s home.”
“But if I marry again, then I will have to submit to the rule of my husband. I am not inclined to put myself in that position again.”
“But not all men want to rule their wives, my dear!”
“Papa did.”
Her mother sighed. “Cousin George does not, however. If I can take a chance on marriage again, then why shouldn’t you?”
“Mama! Pray tell! Has Cousin George proposed?”
Her mother’s cheeks pinkened. “He has, my dear. We do not plan to announce our betrothal, though, until the snow has thawed, and our guests have left Chernock Hall. We will be married in a month’s time in the village church after the Banns have been read.”
Isabel leapt from her chair and embraced her mother, kissing her on both cheeks. “I am so happy for you, Mama! What splendid news. Cousin George will make you a wonderful husband. When did he propose?”
“Last night – after everyone else had retired.”
Isabel smiled, but after a few moments, a furrow appeared between her brows. “But, Mama! How can I possibly accompany you to London now? You will wish to be alone, after your wedding. I must return to Axbridge Park forthwith.”
“No, indeed! That will not do at all. You see, Lord Fenmore supports Cousin George’s stance on campaigning for the end of slavery and has offered him a seat in Parliament – one of his rotten boroughs. Parliament opens in November, and I will welcome your company in Town as Cousin George will be very busy with Parliamentary affairs.”
“Oh, I see!” Isabel’s frown lifted. “I am delighted Cousin George will be petitioning for the end of slavery. He is very dedicated to the cause. I wish that Mr Bateman shared his dedication – however, he does not shun the company of the Wetherbys. In fact, he appears to seek them out.”
Her mother sat up in her bed. “I am sure Mr Bateman is merely being polite to the Wetherbys, my dear. He and Cousin George witnessed a terrible incident when they travelled to the Caribbean a few years ago, and I know they are both very strongly opposed to slavery.”
“Well, Mr Bateman has a strange way of showing it! What was this incident?”
“It is not my story to relay, my dear. Perhaps Cousin George will tell you about it one day.”
The silence stretched between them and her mother frowned. “You have always been one to wear your heart on your sleeve, my love. Do not judge others based on how you would behave in a particular circumstance. Good manners dictate that Mr Bateman acknowledges the Wetherbys in his host’s home. To do otherwise, would be in very poor form. Particularly as Cousin George is finding it increasingly difficult to behave politely towards them, and has taken to avoiding their company! He is very much like you in that regard, my dear – he wears his heart on his sleeve as well. I believe Mr Bateman is merely papering over the cracks by being polite to them.”
“He said something similar to me the other day.”
“Well then, my dear, you see how it is.”
Isabel nodded. “I had better find out if Monsieur Martin requires my help in the kitchen today. The under-cook is still unwell.”
She kissed her mother on her cheek again, and squeezed her hands, before leaving the room. However, when she reached the hall, she remembered she had wanted a particular book from the library, so instead of walking to the servants’ entrance in the hall, she made her way to the library and opened the door.
She stood stock still. Lord Fenmore and Miss Hamilton were locked in a passionate embrace in the middle of that grand apartment. She had not expected to see anyone in the library at this early hour of the morning. Clearly the betrothed couple had thought the same thing and had decided to steal some time alone. Her stomach clenched into a knot at the unexpectedness of the amorous tableau before her, and she struggled to breathe.
Without a word, Isabel exited the library and headed for the servants’ entrance. She had just reached the hidden door when Mr Bateman stepped out of the Little Parlour, situated to the side of the hall. He took one look at her face, and drew her into the small reception room.
“What is the matter, my dear?”
“N-nothing!” And she burst into tears.
He pulled her into his arms, and let her weep all over his superfine coat. After she had snorted and gulped for a few minutes, he pulled out a white handkerchief, and, pushing her away from him, mopped her cheeks and eyes.
“Come now, my dear. What has so overset you?”
“I – I walked into the library, and I saw Lord Fenmore em-embracing Miss Hamilton.”
“Ah,” he said.
“I – I did not believe that I would react so. In fact, I was well on the way to believing I had accepted their engagement with equanimity.”
She gave a shuddering breath, and Mr Bateman pulled her back into his arms. He sighed into her hair, and she stood up straighter. “I – I’m sorry, sir. I had no intention of weeping all over you. I am not, in general, a watering pot. I think it is just the disappointment of – of lost hopes and dreams. It is not easy to give them up.”
“It is far better to be disappointed in love, than never to love.”
“Mary Wollstonecraft?”
“Indeed.”
Their eyes met and held for a long moment, then Isabel took a careful step back. Withdrawing from his embrace, however, left her strangely bereft.
“I – I will see you in the kitchen,” she said, before rushing out of the room, as though the hounds of hell were on her back. In his arms, she had felt completely at home, as if they were a safe haven that could protect her from the cares of the world.
How could she be so fickle as to mourn the loss of an old love the one moment and yearn to be held close in the arms of another man the next? It just went to show how emotions could not be relied upon when it came to ordering one’s life. If she were foolish enough to trust her ever-changing feelings in regard to making important decisions, she would suffer immensely. Reason must be her yardstick. And reason dictated that she keep her life free from romantic entanglements.
Besides, she had other fish to fry when she arrived in London. The Abolition of the Slave Trade Act had been passed in 1807, but the movement to abolish slavery had suffered since England had been at war with France. Now that her cousin was petitioning against slavery on a public platform, she could focus again on her anti-slavery writings, and do all she could to assist the campaign.
>
As a young woman, her mother had been a subscriber to one of the provincial committees of the Abolition Society, and Isabel had grown up without consuming sugar due to her mother’s activism. She would make Cousin George a perfect wife.
It was a pity, however, that her mama would not accept that married life was not for everyone. To have even suggested that Isabel should give Mr Bateman a chance was nonsensical. Her mother’s lapse in judgement must be due to the fact that as a soon-to-be married lady, she wished the same state for her daughter. But marriage was not for her. It was a frightening trap and she would never be imprisoned in it again.
Chapter Eleven
The sun was out! Isabel smiled at the view beyond the kitchen windows. True, it was a weak and pale sun, but it was a relief to see. The sooner the house party broke up, the better it would be for her. Between avoiding Mr Wetherby’s unwelcome advances, maintaining a dignified front in Lord Fenmore’s presence, and trying to keep Mr Bateman at an appropriate distance, she had had her fill of the male occupants of the house.
“I believe the roads will be passable soon.”
Her back stiffened as Mr Bateman entered the kitchen, sporting a noticeably damp spot on his coat from all her tears. She cringed in embarrassment, and paused in the act of rolling the dough into shape for the French loaves she was making for breakfast. “Indeed. I am sure the Wetherby men will be delighted.”
“They do seem eager to be gone.”
“One would think they were the only ones to have their travel plans disrupted.”
Green rushed into the kitchen at that moment. “Your ladyship. Sir! Such an uproar as there is upstairs! Mr Chernock is still abed, and so is Mrs Beresford, so I thought I should seek your assistance.”
“What is the matter?” Mr Bateman asked.
“It is Mr Wetherby, sir. He cannot find some papers in his bedchamber, and he has accused Agnes of stealing them. She was making up the fire in his room, when he started to rant and rave. She is in such a state. If he had accused her of taking a trinket or some such thing, I could understand. But papers! The girl cannot even read!”
Mr Bateman frowned. “When did the papers go missing?”
“He did not say. Just that he brought them to the Hall, and now they’re gone.”
“Did he say what the papers were for?”
Green shook his head. “No, sir. Only that they are very important.”
“I will speak to him.” With a brief nod in her direction, Mr Bateman strode out of the kitchen, Green following more slowly in his wake.
Isabel returned to kneading her dough, and Monsieur Martin, who had remained silent until now, rolled his eyes and said in a long-suffering voice: “Les Anglais…”
Becky came into the kitchen a short while later and Isabel handed the dough over to her and went upstairs. Mr Bateman may need her assistance in dealing with what was, in essence, a domestic crisis. Raised voices drew her across the hall and through the adjoining saloon. She entered the drawing room to find Mr Wetherby and Captain Wetherby talking loudly over one another. Mr Bateman was listening to them, while Green stood off to one side, the usually composed butler wringing his hands in distress.
“It is a scandal that such a thing could happen in a gentleman’s abode!” Mr Wetherby shouted.
“Calm yourself, sir.” Mr Bateman’s manner was conciliatory. “I am sure it is a simple misunderstanding.”
“But where are my papers? That girl probably used them as kindling for the fire because she was too lazy to make it up properly.”
Green swelled to alarming proportions and his face suffused with blood. “If I may say so, sir,” he said, “my housemaids have been properly trained, and know how to use a tinderbox –”
“I do not care for your opinion,” Mr Wetherby snarled.
Green composed his features, and stepped back, allowing Isabel the opportunity to break into the conversation. “I am sorry your papers have gone missing, Mr Wetherby. Green will institute a search for them and I am sure they will be recovered.”
“They had better be! I need to take them to London with me.” He stalked from the room, and Captain Wetherby, with the briefest of bows in her direction, followed closely on his heels.
“I will meet with the housemaids, and we will search the house,” Green said shakily.
Isabel hastened to reassure him. “I am sure he has simply misplaced them.”
The butler left the room, and she sank onto a sofa. “The sooner the snow melts, the better it will be for everyone. When do you think the Wetherbys will be able to leave for London?”
“Within the next two to three days, I imagine.”
“Will you also be leaving then?”
“Wishing to speed me on my way, my lady?” His mouth twisted in a wry smile.
Isabel studied her hands. He had an uncanny way of reading her mind. “I am sure Lady Kildaren will be delighted to leave.” Composed once more, she risked looking up at him. “You were originally only meant to stay here a couple of nights, if I recall?”
“You did not answer my question.”
She bit her lip. “Sir, I failed to answer your question because I was trying to be polite!”
“Oh, don’t stand on ceremony with me, my dear.”
“I am not your dear!”
“Aren’t you?”
“Sir!”
“My lady?”
“You – you – I don’t know what to make of you. I find you very unsettling. So, yes – I would like to speed you on your way.”
“Well, that’s a start. I like plain speaking. I would advise you to remember that in our future encounters.”
“There aren’t going to be any future encounters between us, Mr Bateman.”
A quizzical smile tugged at his lips. “But how can we avoid them? I have a close association with your cousin, and your mama is soon to be his bride. You will be staying with them in London?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, you will have to grow accustomed to my company, however unwelcome it may be.”
Isabel clenched her hands together. She had not thought that far ahead. Of course he would be a regular visitor to Cousin George’s house.
“I see.”
“I wonder about that sometimes.”
She stood, and said sharply, “I beg to differ, sir. I see my way forward.”
He crossed to her and studied her face as if he were learning each feature by heart. “There are none so blind as those who will not see. And for some reason, my dear Lady Axbridge, you are determined not to see.”
“I do not practice self-deception.”
“Perhaps you do not deliberately deceive yourself. But you are afraid of life. You have locked away your emotions somewhere and expect philosophy and learning to fulfil you instead.”
She raised her chin. “I think that is a sensible way to live. Emotions are deceptive. Why allow them to have full sway over our lives?”
“Can there not be a balance between reason and emotion, my dear? Does one have to outweigh the other?”
“To know one’s mind is far easier than to know one’s heart.”
He straightened the cuffs on his coat. “I believe we could deal very well together, but only if you wish for it. I will not persist in pressing my attentions on you. However, should you have a change of heart you have only to tell me. But you will have to tell me plainly.” A stern note had entered his voice. “I will not respond to coy hints or vague innuendos.”
Isabel contemplated the carpeted floor. What did he mean? Was he offering her a carte blanche? She was a widow, after all, and therefore not bound by the conventions governing an unmarried girl. If she wished to have a discreet affaire with a gentleman there were ways of going about it without causing a scandal. But she did not wish for that at all.
He tilted her chin up with his thumb and gazed down at her. “My intentions, my adorable little sceptic, are strictly honourable.” Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips and ki
ssed it. “Give it some thought,” he murmured, before releasing her and leaving the room.
Isabel sank back onto the sofa, and stared straight ahead. He had all but declared himself. True, he had not gone so far as to ask for her hand in marriage, but he had implied that he wished to do so. He had spoken no words of love, of course, and she would not have believed him if he had.
They had spent a lot of time in each other’s company over the past few days, probably more time, if she counted the hours of forced proximity, than many betrothed couples would have together over the entire length of their courtship; but they were still virtual strangers. What made him so certain that he wished to marry her?
It must be that he desired her, and knew that he could not suggest an affaire to his closest friend’s stepdaughter. She had recognised the look in his eyes, the look that so many men had when they saw her for the first time. Her blonde beauty attracted them. It always had. She stood up and walked across to the gilded mirror which hung on the opposite wall and studied her features.
Her large, blue eyes, ringed with surprisingly dark lashes and eyebrows, looked critically back at her. Her complexion was creamy, her nose straight, and her lips, curved in a self-mocking smile, were full. If she studied herself objectively, she was beautiful. But her beauty had never brought her any happiness. Instead, it had brought her to the attention of an aging peer, who had stopped at nothing to possess her.
Fortunately, he had been unable to possess her in the physical sense, but she had felt soiled by the marriage, ashamed to have been sold like an object, a possession, to a man who believed she had a price... He would never have wanted her if her looks had been commonplace.
Would Mr Bateman want her for his wife if she did not look the way she did? No. For all his talk of the two of them dealing well together, he was in all likelihood only interested in her physical attributes. She frowned when she remembered how much she had enjoyed discussing philosophical matters with him. And he did have that marvellous sense of the ridiculous… She drew herself up short. Perhaps they had a little more in common than mere physical attraction.
A Marchioness Below Stairs Page 8