Trevor managed to keep his expression serious for all of two minutes before she caught on.
“You’re joking,” she said with a shake of her head. She put her hands on her hips. “Really, Your Grace, was that altogether necessary?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps not, but you must allow that it was amusing.”
“For you, perhaps,” she said huffily. Then, to his surprise, she softened. “Your Grace, do not think that I do not appreciate the reluctance you feel for joining the rest of your family in London. I do understand what it is like to be estranged from one’s family. But I have my own reasons for being here and I hope that you will not make my chore here any more difficult than it needs to be.”
He wasn’t sure how he knew, but Trevor sensed that it had taken a great deal for her to admit to understanding his plight. “Thank you, my lady. I hope that we will be able to rub along well enough together.
“Which reminds me,” he continued, removing the list of tasks he’d written out for her and handing them over.
“What’s this?”
“I have written out a list of the things I think you should see to fully understand how much work it takes to oversee an estate like this.” He felt like a schoolboy proffering his first love note. An actual blush was stealing into his cheeks. Gad. “You need not accompany me for all of these, but I do not think you can get a true feeling for the estate without at least knowing about these things.”
She didn’t unfold the paper but instead clutched it in her hand as if it were a lifeline keeping her from being carried away into the open sea.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a slight curtsy. “I will look at this list later, after I have spoken with my maid about our extended stay here. Might I assume that we won’t begin our tour until tomorrow?”
Grateful for her cool tones, Trevor nodded. “Yes, tomorrow. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go see to some estate business.” Feeling rather like a coward, he hurried off to his study, where he might reflect upon the bargain he’d just made.
Four
As soon as she reached her bedchamber, Isabella unfolded the page the duke had given her and began reading through the list of tasks he would require of her before he would consider making the trip to London.
She might have known from the first that it wouldn’t be as simple as requesting his presence in London and having him accompany her back to town. He was the grandson of the Dowager Duchess of Ormond, after all. It was foolish to imagine that the tendency toward manipulating others would have skipped his generation.
But when Isabella read the list, she wondered if he might have gotten a dose of insanity as well. Not only did the man expect her to visit the tenant farms with him, assist him on a visit to the weavers’ cottages, and sit beside him as he performed the duties of local magistrate; he also wanted her to accompany him to a doubtless provincial dinner party at the home of the local squire. She was, it seemed, to get an up-close view of life as a local farmer, whether she liked it or not.
What would she wear, for goodness’ sake? These were hardly the sort of events Madame Celeste designed Isabella’s gowns for. Though, now she thought of it, Madame Celeste must fashion some gowns for practical use. Surely not every gently bred lady who visited her establishment was in search of a ball gown.
Isabella felt quite out of her element. As she was sure the duke wished her to be. It was clear enough to her that he thought her just as frivolous as every other member of the ton. Perhaps it was her turn to show him that not all London ladies were so disagreeable as the dowager. Indeed, she’d need to prove that to him if she wished to convince him to return to London with her.
Failure was not an option.
After all, if she didn’t come back to London with him by her side the dowager would see to it that Perdita’s marriage to Coniston was well and truly stopped. And Isabella of all people knew how important it was to her sister to make that match work. No, no matter how much she might wish to throw the list of tasks back in the duke’s face, she had to see to it that she performed each and every task to his satisfaction.
When she was finished, he’d be begging her to take him up to London.
Her plan roughly sketched out in her mind, she decided to work on the other tasks the duke had asked for her to assist him with.
After a brief chat with Templeton, who agreed to send a notice to the Yorkshire papers advertising for a governess, and penning a letter to Perdita asking her to inquire among their friends for likely candidates, Isabella found herself in the unusual position of having nothing to do.
When she was in London she could always find ways to amuse herself. Reading or visiting friends or shopping. Her tour of the estate did not begin until tomorrow. And she felt strangely at loose ends here in this unfamiliar country house. Her previous visits to country houses had been for house parties. Which were, as a general rule, brimming with opportunities for amusement.
She was debating the wisdom of donning a walking dress and indulging in a hearty country walk when a knock sounded on her bedchamber door. Watching as Sanders opened it, Isabella was surprised but pleased to see Eleanor and Belinda.
“Hello, Lady Wharton,” Belinda said with a careful curtsy. “We thought perhaps you might wish to join us for an outdoor artistic endeavor. Though Eleanor says you probably won’t, as you are much too elegant for such a thing.”
“Belinda,” Eleanor hissed, “that was not what I said—”
Isabella watched with a pang in her chest as Eleanor’s pale complexion turned rosy. Could she and Perdita ever have been so young? she wondered. It was hard to remember it. And yet there was something familiar about these two sisters, something that made Isabella want to shield them from the hurts and embarrassments that awaited them in the world outside their little village.
Giving in to the impulse to put the girl at ease, Isabella broke into her protest. “I would love to join you. Just let me change into something more suitable.”
The surprise and pleasure in the girls’ faces told Isabella she’d done the right thing. Inviting them into her chamber, she asked Sanders to bring her the green sprig muslin and stepped behind the screen in the dressing room to change.
“I am so glad you thought to ask me,” she called over the screen. “I was debating whether to go to the library, but I didn’t wish to disturb your brother.”
“Oh, he doesn’t spend much time in there during the day,” Belinda said loudly, as if Isabella were in another room. “He spends most days in the estate office.”
Waiting for the maid to finish buttoning her gown, Isabella frowned. “Doesn’t he have an estate agent for that sort of thing?”
“No,” Eleanor said. “Papa preferred to do things himself and Trevor does as well.”
Her gown finally fastened, Isabella stepped out from behind the screen to find Eleanor fingering the silk of one of the gowns neatly hanging in the open wardrobe. When she saw Isabella she snatched her hand back as if she’d been swatted.
Oblivious to their guest’s emergence, Belinda was seated at the dressing table powdering her nose with Isabella’s enormous powder puff.
“It’s all right,” Isabella told Eleanor. “You can touch them. They’re just clothes.”
“They’re lovely clothes,” the girl said mournfully. “I don’t think I shall ever have anything so fine.”
“Of course you will,” Isabella said automatically. It was impossible not to feel for the girl. After all, she was of an age that she should be being outfitted with a new wardrobe and preparing for the excitement of her first season. Instead she was stuck here in the country. And if their guests that morning were any indication, there was little enough to recommend the local society hereabouts. “Why shouldn’t you?”
“For one thing,” Eleanor said glumly, “Trevor would never let me wear something so daring. He doesn’t even like it when I wear my hair up. Though I have tried to tell him that I am no longer a child.”
“Lik
e me,” Belinda said matter-of-factly. “She thinks it’s ever so lowering to be childish. But I think it’s lovely.”
Isabella suppressed a laugh. “Why is that?”
“Because I don’t have to do grown-up things. Like dress for dinner and visit with those horrid ladies from the village. I’d much rather spend my time with Flossie and her kittens.”
“That’s because you are still a child, Belinda,” her sister said haughtily. “You’ll understand when you’re my age.”
“I doubt it,” Belinda said, spinning around on the vanity stool.
“Your brother is likely right about that particular gown,” Isabella said, indicating the deep blue silk that Eleanor was admiring. “But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to try one of the others. Sanders is quite handy with a needle. I’m a good bit taller than you, but otherwise we are of a size, I think. She should be able to alter it to fit.”
Whirling, Eleanor stared at Isabella, her eyes wide. “Do you mean it? I should love that above all things! And do you suppose she would dress my hair for me?”
Feeling like a fairy godmother, Isabella grinned. “I think that could be arranged.”
“But what about our painting?” Belinda demanded. “I know precisely what vista I wish to capture.”
Both Eleanor and Isabella turned guiltily to the younger girl.
“What if I promise that we will spend tomorrow painting outdoors?” Isabella asked, seeing Eleanor’s guilty look. Clearly she’d forgotten about the original reason for going to Isabella’s rooms.
Belinda heaved a sigh. “I suppose that would be acceptable. But only if you both agree to the location I choose for our expedition.”
Suspecting that she would regret the promise, Isabella did so anyway. As did Eleanor.
“Thank you, Bel.” She gave her sister an impulsive hug. “You are a good sister.”
“I am an excellent sister,” the younger girl said with asperity. “Now, let’s look at these gowns.”
The three began sorting through Isabella’s wardrobe, searching for which gowns best suited Eleanor’s fair hair and skin. And more than once Isabella had to steer her away from gowns that were either far too immodest or far too daring in color for so young a lady. Isabella would hardly miss the gowns, given that she bought far more each season than she could ever wear, but even she knew that there were some risks that young ladies should steer clear of. Especially while buried in the country. What might pass for fashionable in London could sometimes be seen as inappropriate among the more sedate fashions of a country village.
Finally they settled on three dresses that were modest enough to keep from scandalizing the local ladies but fashionable enough to suit the inclinations of Eleanor to throw off her childhood frocks and dress her age. The first was a primrose muslin that Isabella had never quite felt right wearing. It seemed far too young for a widow, and when she saw Eleanor in it she knew that she’d been right. Its puffed sleeves and sweetheart neckline were perfection on the younger lady, and Isabella was pleased to note that it looked far better on Eleanor than it ever had on her.
“This one, definitely,” she pronounced as the girl spun before the mirror. “It needs only to be hemmed a bit and it will be just right for you.”
“You look like a fairy princess, Ellie!” Belinda, who had not been particularly interested in their quest for gowns, had slowly been won over as she saw her sister’s excitement over the clothes. Now Belinda clapped her hands with glee at Eleanor’s transformation. “You will have a dozen beaux before the week is out,” she pronounced, unconsciously mimicking a ton matron bent on marrying off her daughter.
“Perhaps not the week, oh ancient one,” Isabella said with a laugh, “but by the end of the summer, certainly.”
“Do you really think so?” Eleanor asked, her eyes alight with excitement.
Isabella remembered what it was like to be a motherless girl at this age, and she could only guess how difficult it was to have no female relatives about to guide Eleanor. She wished that she could do more in her short visit.
“I do think so,” she said aloud. “I predict you will have at least one beau. Now, let’s see what the pink sarcenet looks like. It was always a bit too short for me, so it may not need as much alteration.”
“Lady Wharton,” Belinda asked, “do you have any sisters of your own?”
Startled, Isabella turned to look at the girl. “I do indeed. How did you guess?”
To Isabella’s amusement, she shrugged. The child was as world-weary as an elderly matron. “I don’t know,” Belinda said, a tiny furrow between her brows. “You just seem sisterly.”
Helping Eleanor out of the sprig muslin, Isabella nodded. “I have one sister. She’s actually your cousin by marriage. She was married to the late duke.”
“Before he died?”
Thinking back to the disastrous night of the Ormonde ball, Isabella repressed a shudder. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “She’s a lovely person. I hope that one day you’ll be able to meet her.”
“Not likely,” Eleanor said, her ebullience at the gowns dampening slightly. “Trevor will never let us go to London. Certainly not while he’s still the duke. He hates London.”
“I hate it, too,” Belinda said, loyalty to her brother stiffening her backbone.
“You don’t even know what it’s like,” Eleanor argued. “You just hate it because you wouldn’t be able to run wild there like you do here.”
“I do not run wild,” Belinda retorted. “I am a free spirit.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “You’re a hoyden.”
“I am not!”
“Girls, girls!” Isabella held up a silencing hand. “Enough! This is not how well-bred young ladies behave. When we have a difference of opinion, we maintain our composure and discuss the matter like rational beings.”
Though they looked as if they’d like to argue, Eleanor and Belinda nodded and to Isabella’s surprise said, “Yes, Lady Wharton.”
Not wishing to look her gift horse in the mouth, Isabella nodded. “Thank you. Now, let’s fasten this gown and see how it looks.”
When it was secured, Eleanor twirled before the looking glass. As Isabella had predicted, the gown was only a little long, which would mean that it would need the least alteration.
“I think it looks quite well on you, Eleanor,” she pronounced. She handed the other two gowns to Sanders and instructed her to take them in and helped Eleanor to remove the pink gown so that she might wear it to dinner that evening.
“I can’t wait to see what Trevor says,” Belinda said with relish. “He’s going to be so surprised. I think you should wear your hair up, too, Ellie.”
But Isabella wasn’t so sure. “I do not wish to antagonize your brother,” she began. “If he’s going to be annoyed by this, then we shouldn’t do it.” She was a great proponent of the adage about catching more flies with honey than with vinegar. Lending gowns to Eleanor was honey. Helping her put up her hair—a style he disliked for her to wear—might be closer to vinegar than Isabella was willing to go.
The girls had no such problem, however.
“He needs to be made to see reason, Lady Wharton,” Eleanor said firmly. “If Trevor continues to hide me in the country and treat me as a schoolgirl he’ll never see me as the adult I am. And I am an adult. Almost.”
Sighing inwardly, Isabella couldn’t help but agree. Sometimes men needed to have their comfortable existence jostled a bit to see what was right in front of them. And like it or not, his sister was a young lady now and deserved to be treated as one.
Which meant allowing her to dress and behave like a young lady.
The very fact that she was allowed to have dinner outside the schoolroom was indication enough that he didn’t see her as being in the same cohort as Belinda. Perhaps seeing Eleanor dressed like a lady would give him the nudge he needed to start letting her move in society as a young lady and not a child.
“All right,” she told El
eanor, handing her the pink gown and a pair of slippers to match. “Now I suggest you lie down for a bit before dinner so that you’re rested for your family debut.”
Eleanor nodded and to Isabella’s surprise pulled her into an impulsive hug. “Thank you,” she told her. “It’s easy to see you have a sister. I hope she knows how lucky she is.”
Thinking of Perdita and what she might endure if Isabella did not succeed at her appointed task in Yorkshire, Isabella hugged the girl back. And prayed that the Duke of Ormonde would be better than his predecessor and do the right thing by her sister.
* * *
Trevor spent the rest of the afternoon going over the accounts, trying to figure out where he’d get the money for repairs to the tenant roofs before winter. It was times like this when he felt the pull of the dukedom … or at least the dukedom’s coffers. But he had promised his father that he would never use money from the Ormonde family at the Yorkshire farm. He had never until recently been tempted to do so. But a poor harvest last year had left him with less funding than he was accustomed to using at the home farm.
Even so, he was scrupulous about keeping the Ormonde funds and the Nettlefield funds separate. Unbeknownst to the dowager, he had been corresponding with the duke’s personal secretary for some months and had been making many of the decisions regarding the Ormonde House estates. Trevor might not wish to mix with the Ormonde family or take up his role as the duke, but he could hardly let the tenants and the army of servants employed by the Ormonde estate go to rack and ruin over a grudge they had nothing to do with. It wasn’t their fault his late grandparents had been so full of their own importance they’d cut Trevor’s family out of their lives.
No, he would do his best by the people of the estates, but as far as he was concerned the dowager and the rest of the upper-class hangers-on who flitted about the dukedom could go to the devil.
The memory of the frisson of attraction he’d felt when Lady Wharton had given him her hand that afternoon came unbidden to his mind’s eye. But ruthlessly he repressed the feeling the memory inspired in him. He had no obligation to Lady Wharton. The sooner she realized that, the better.
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