Then she would leave town and not marry any of them.
They finished breakfast quietly before retiring to the music room and leaving Uncle Percy to his paper. There were still a few hours before it was socially respectable to be out and about. And they had to wait for Mr. Emerson to come so she could bestow her apparently magical smile upon him.
It was enough to make her want to frown until she developed wrinkles.
Frederica wandered over to the window, but her attention was on her notebook. “It’s a bit far to walk to the Pulsford Hotel, but perhaps if we said we were visiting Lady Farnsworth? She’s at least on Piccadilly.”
Isabella groaned and dropped onto the chair in front of the piano. “If I hadn’t seen Arthur with my own eyes, I’d be convinced that you made up this entire search just to have an excuse to avoid the Duke of Riverton.”
And there was no question that her cousin was doing her level best to avoid the man. In addition to seeking her out in public, he’d been by the house twice more to call upon her. Once they hadn’t been home, and for the other she’d insisted on Isabella’s presence. Even though Isabella had attempted to sit quietly in the corner and work on her needlework, she’d been pulled repeatedly into the stilted conversation.
If those two ever did get married, she hoped they would have children quickly. Watching them alone was almost painful.
“I’m not avoiding the duke.” Frederica looked up from the notebook. “I haven’t had him turned away yet.”
Isabella plunked a few notes, making them deliberately disjointed in response to Freddie’s lie. “And what do you plan to do when he asks you to go riding with him?”
“Why would he do that?” Frederica asked absently. She turned from the window and propped her hands on her hips. “I still can’t believe we haven’t seen him on Bond Street.”
Obviously Isabella’s distraction tactics weren’t working anymore, because Freddie’s mind was quite obviously still stuck back on her previous conversation topic.
Isabella plunked a meandering tune from the piano as she tried to follow her cousin’s conversation. “Why should Arthur be on Bond Street? London is full of officers right now. He could be anywhere, possibly even shipped back to another country.” She tried to distract her cousin once more. “As for the duke, he’ll ask you to go riding because that’s what gentlemen do when they want to court a lady.”
“For the last time, the duke is not courting me.” Frederica dropped her attention back to the notebook, where she’d been listing every officer or soldier sighting since the Yensworth ball. “Besides, even if Arthur has left the city, he’s alive. And as long as he’s alive I’m going to wait for him.”
Isabella twiddled her fingers between two notes, worrying her lip with her teeth. Should she say it? She didn’t want to. But Frederica wasn’t being at all sensible about this situation. Chasing after a man this boldly, and obviously, simply wasn’t done. Even Isabella knew that. And to chase after a man who had told you to find someone else to marry seemed like running after heartbreak. She kept her voice calm and quiet, hoping to break through Freddie’s obsession and at least make her think. “What if he hasn’t waited? It’s been two years. He could have married someone else.”
There was a moment of silence. “He’d have told me.”
Isabella couldn’t stop the wave of sympathy for her cousin. Bella had never been in love—and after seeing what it did to Freddie, she didn’t think she ever wanted to be—but it had to be difficult to have such a strong emotion and no way to express it. Still, facts were facts despite their emotional pain. “He told you to find someone else. Maybe he didn’t have time to tell you why you should.”
Isabella plunked a few more notes before settling into playing an actual song. She certainly wouldn’t put herself up to exhibit for anyone here in London, but she enjoyed playing.
Frederica was quiet for several moments. These were the times when Isabella mourned their loss of personal contact for the last ten years. Letters didn’t require knowing how to handle a person’s moods or how to decipher their silent signals. What was Freddie thinking?
“If he asks to go for a ride, I’ll tell him I’m allergic to horses and send you instead.”
Apparently she was thinking of ways to continue avoiding the duke’s obvious interest. “Your father is already throwing me at half the aristocracy. I don’t need you to finish the job.”
Frederica put the notebook down and crossed to lean on the piano. “Don’t you see? It’s perfect! If we can get the duke to transfer his attentions to you without Father knowing it, I’ll be able to come along with you and keep searching for Arthur! Once I find him it will be the perfect disguise for our secret meetings.”
Isabella frowned and banged the keys harder than necessary. “And if I don’t want the duke’s attentions?”
“You’re already miserable, so what difference will it make?”
Truth was truth, even if Isabella didn’t want to admit it. There wasn’t really a reason for both of them to be miserable. Frederica’s possible delusions were making her so happy. Did Isabella really need to crush them under the bootheel of good sense? “Arthur will never go along with it.”
“I can convince him.” Freddie sighed. “Once I find him again.”
For her cousin’s sake, Isabella hoped the man was worth finding. What would it be like to care about someone else that much? She knew what it meant to love your family enough to sacrifice for them, but for someone else? Someone you chose?
Someone who had chosen you?
Frederica pulled a chair over and sat next to Isabella, resting her head on Bella’s shoulder. It hindered Bella’s playing, but since they were the only two to hear it, it didn’t matter much if her mediocre song got a little worse.
“Have you met anyone you actually like?” Freddie asked. “I mean, I know you can’t declare a preference yet, but once the vote is over, what’s stopping you?”
“Besides the fact that I’m living a lie? I can’t afford to be myself with any of these men. They’re all infatuated with a pretty painting and your father’s devious misleadings.”
Isabella shifted into a slow dirge, the gloomy notes fitting her mood as she thought about the moment at the Yensworth ball, in a side room with the duke and her unconscious cousin. She’d been herself at that moment, more concerned about her cousin than her ruse.
Despite their easy conversation the man had still called on Frederica. If that wasn’t proof that London wasn’t ready for her to put down the façade, she didn’t know what was.
“Everyone’s living a lie, Bella. It’s London. Do you think all of those men who’ve brought you flowers have their life together?” She laughed. “At least one of them is barely holding on to his rooms at the Albany because he’s gambled away so much of his allowance this quarter.”
“All the more reason to return home before seeking to establish my future.” Isabella ran a finger over the jeweled necklace at her throat. It seemed to choke her with the lies she was allowing her uncle to spread like unchecked weeds.
Frederica thrummed her fingers on the piano in time with the song. “What do you think spinsters do with their time?”
Isabella forced herself to grin at her cousin. “I hear they meet weekly for cribbage.”
“Ew.” Freddie’s nose scrunched up. “That doesn’t sound like much fun. I suppose I should try to adapt myself to it, though. In case I can’t find Arthur again.”
“Or . . .” Isabella drew the word out to get Frederica’s attention. “You could grab the future that’s practically landed in your lap, for reasons neither of us can fathom, and become a duchess.”
Frederica sniffed. “The very fact that we have no idea why he’s bestowed his attentions on me proves that he’s not in his right mind. It would be difficult enough handling the pressure of being a duchess. Can you imagine being a duchess to an insane duke?”
Isabella’s playing grew soft, but her voice grew even softer.
“He’s a nice man, Frederica. I don’t think he’s insane.”
“You marry him, then.” Frederica huffed over to a chair and plopped herself down with a book.
Heavy footsteps approached the door to the music room. Had Mr. Emerson arrived earlier than expected?
Isabella looked to the door to see Uncle Percy rubbing his hands together, a smile so broad it was almost scary.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to adjust your plans, my dear. You’re going to be at home today.”
Frederica frowned while Isabella slumped at the pianoforte.
“But, Father, we can’t be at home two days in a row. It would be strange. People might think Isabella is desperate.” Freddie hugged her notebook to her chest, eyes wide.
Uncle Percy waved his hands around. “So don’t be at home for anyone else. But the Duke of Riverton is coming to take you for a walk, girl, and you will be available when he calls.” He adjusted his waistcoat. “I thought he was impossible to entice, so I hadn’t even planned on sending Isabella after him. See that you keep his attention long enough to collect his vote.”
He started to leave the room but turned around at the door. “And you”—he pointed to Isabella—“leave the duke alone. If it became known that he was bestowing favor on you, the other men would leave. And then where would your family be?”
Isabella resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at her uncle’s retreating back. Just because she was starting to feel like a helpless child didn’t mean she had to act like one.
Griffith waited in the drawing room of Lord Pontebrook’s house in Ford Street for the third time in a week. This time, however, he had a plan. Obviously he hadn’t thought through his earlier attempts to court Miss St. Claire. Simply showing up and expecting his title and presence to make it happen was not only arrogant but foolish in that it left entirely too much to chance.
So today he had a plan. A plan to remove the distractions and interruptions. To ensure his success, he’d made his plans through Lord Pontebrook and had been gratified to receive a positive response, that Miss St. Claire would be pleased to go for a walk with him. At least men knew how to conduct a straightforward business agreement. Every attempt he’d made to connect directly with Miss St. Claire had met with nothing but chaos, mostly at the hands of her cousin. Miss Breckenridge was nothing but trouble. Beautiful and intriguing trouble, but trouble nonetheless.
With his long legs, walking alongside most people was a nuisance, and he avoided it whenever possible. Courting Miss St. Claire without the presence of Miss Breckenridge had provided sufficient inducement, however, and he’d become willing to deal with a woman’s slower pace.
The door behind him opened, and he turned to see Miss St. Claire strolling sedately into the room, a slight curve to her lips. Not enough to show an overabundance of enthusiasm but enough to make her the picture of beatific grace. Behind her was Miss Breckenridge, who looked as if she’d been dragged into the drawing room by her coiffure.
Griffith bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss St. Claire.” He bit back a sigh. “Miss Breckenridge.”
“Your Grace.” Miss St. Claire curtsied and stepped closer, hands clasped at her waist. “We are honored that you wish to take us for a walk.”
Us? Surely she meant her and her maid. Because he had been very deliberate not to mention Miss Breckenridge in his communication with Lord Pontebrook. “Of course.”
Her brown eyes widened. “It is agreeable if Miss Breckenridge joins us, isn’t it? I’m very concerned about her health if she’s forced to stay indoors for another day. I’m afraid she’s accustomed to the fresh air of the country, and her constitution would benefit from a bit of exercise.”
“Of course.” He was repeating himself, although what else could he say when she’d couched her request in such a manner? If he were going to marry this woman—and he was starting to have considerable doubts in the wisdom of his selection—they were going to have to learn how to say more than two words to each other.
Now in addition to walking slowly he was going to have to find a way to ignore the distracting Miss Breckenridge.
As the trio stepped into the hall, two maids were waiting by the door. Griffith lifted his eyebrow at the abundance of chaperonage.
Miss St. Claire turned a stiff smile to Miss Breckenridge. “Father would insist we take both of our maids, you know. In case something should happen. Besides, this way they can visit with each other as they walk behind us.”
Miss Breckenridge’s narrowed gaze indicated she too was suspicious of her cousin’s consideration of the servants.
Lord Pontebrook strolled into the front hall. “Off on your walk, I see.”
Griffith inclined his head. “Yes, we shall make quite a merry party.”
The man narrowed his eyes in his niece’s direction. “You are all going?”
“Yes.” Miss St. Claire spoke without meeting her father’s gaze. “Isabella is in need of exercise as well.”
“I am delighted to escort you both.” Griffith gave a slight bow to both women. He wasn’t, but he didn’t like Lord Pontebrook’s attitude. Did the man think that his niece’s presence would keep a man from finding value in his daughter? Obviously Griffith was already aware of Miss Breckenridge’s existence, so the very fact that he’d contacted the man about his daughter should have set the matter to rest.
“Yes, of course you are.” Lord Pontebrook smiled, though it didn’t look like something his face was accustomed to doing. “Who wouldn’t want to spend the afternoon in such lovely company? Perhaps you can join me for tea when you return. We’ve some important issues up for vote in the House this term.”
Griffith lifted a single brow in Lord Pontebrook’s direction. The man’s daughter and niece were about to become the first unrelated females ever publicly associated with Griffith’s name, and he wanted to talk politics?
“All the issues are important.” Griffith had to believe that. If he didn’t, he’d hole up at Riverton and never come to Town. Duty to family and country were the only things that could entice him to live in the crowded and dirty city for even part of the year.
“Yes. Yes. Of course.” Lord Pontebrook clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I think the votes are there for the Corn Laws.”
“There are still some changes to be made to that resolution, but yes, I think it will pass.” He’d rather it didn’t, but he wasn’t inclined to go into detail about that at the moment. Somehow Griffith had trouble believing the taxes on corn and wheat were Lord Pontebrook’s highest priority.
He glanced at the ladies to see if he could escape yet, but they were still on the other side of the hall, tying the bows on their bonnets.
“They’re drafting the apothecary law as well.” The viscount’s chest puffed out a bit. “High time we put some regulations around those people. We can’t have just anyone telling people they know how to heal what ails them.”
Griffith had seen early drafts of the proposal but had mixed feelings about the entire thing. Until he made his own decision, he wasn’t about to discuss the merits and drawbacks with someone he didn’t have complete trust in. Especially considering that the apothecary laws weren’t scheduled to even be discussed in the House of Lords for several more weeks, much less voted on.
“I believe the ladies are ready to depart.” Griffith inclined his head toward Lord Pontebrook and then used his ducal privilege to rudely walk away from the man. While he could never be anything but a perfect gentleman when ladies were present—his mother would have it no other way—he was more than aware of the entitlements of rank when in the presence of other gentlemen. To do otherwise would have left his life in havoc. Everyone wanted the ear of a duke.
Miss St. Claire said something that made Miss Breckenridge laugh, and the light, tinkling sound bounced off the walls of the cavernous front hall. This was why Griffith had wanted a sedate, seasoned woman. Young debutantes like Miss Breckenridge would leave his current peacefu
l routines in shambles.
He escorted them out the door. Miss St. Claire’s earlier calm was replaced by a look of eagerness, even though she avoided meeting his gaze. Miss Breckenridge had no trouble leveling her gaze at him, though her expression looked as if a walk with him was the last thing she wanted to be doing.
Probably because it meant she couldn’t receive any more callers this afternoon. Didn’t girls such as she spend the first few weeks of the Season collecting as many admirers as possible before, hopefully, culling the herd down to a few select favorites?
The sun was bright, despite the haze of the city, and Griffith rolled his shoulders—simply escaping the confines of the town house in Ford Street gave him an extra modicum of freedom.
“Shall we walk toward Berkeley Square?” Miss St. Claire’s spirits seemed buoyed by the outdoors as well, and the park she wanted to walk to was no short jaunt. That boded well for his hopes that she would be satisfied with a life set mostly in the country.
Miss Breckenridge frowned, and her turbulent sea-colored eyes narrowed at her cousin. “Why would we want to go there?”
“Why, because of the trees, of course.”
Chapter 9
Isabella made a conscious effort to keep from her facial features the thought that her cousin had a few attics to let. If the duke was interested in Frederica, he didn’t need a reason to question her faculties.
“You wanted to see them, didn’t you?” Frederica continued. “You said it was one of the things you wished to see the most on your first trip to London.”
“Yes. The trees.” While it was true that Isabella had expressed a great desire to see the trees while she was in London, there wasn’t any real urgency to the desire. She was going to be in Town for weeks, probably months. There would be plenty of time to go to the park in Berkeley Square.
Apparently they were going to go today, though.
As they began to walk down the pavement, Isabella tried to separate herself from the potential couple. Frederica was determined to return to where she left off with Arthur Saunderson, and if the man returned her affections, Isabella would be the first to approve the match. But if he didn’t, if life as an officer of war for the past two years had altered him, then Frederica needed an alternate plan.
An Inconvenient Beauty Page 9