by Sandra Heath
He colored again. “Plague take Byron and his confounded hero,” he muttered.
“Just think of all the conquests you could be making if it were not for your forthcoming betrothal to me,” she teased.
“I have no doubt that I could embark upon countless such seductions, but even such foolish females would very swiftly realize that Childe Harold and I have very little in common.”
The carriage continued its circuit, and soon approached Grosvenor Gate again. As it did so, Alexander’s attention was drawn to a slender figure in eye-catching amber. “I say, isn’t that Isobel?” he said, sitting forward.
Elizabeth followed the direction of his gaze, and saw her cousin walking into the park with her maid. “Yes, it is,” she replied.
“We must stop.” Alexander picked up his cane, which lay on the seat beside him, and rapped it peremptorily against the roof of the carriage. The coachman immediately began to rein in.
Alexander lowered the window glass in the door. “Good morning, Lady Isobel,” he called.
Isobel turned, pretending not to have already noticed the approaching carriage. “Why, Sir Alexander, what an unexpected pleasure it is to see you again.” She halted, smiling up at him.
He opened the door and alighted beside her, taking her little gloved hand and raising it to his lips. “You look as beautiful as ever, my lady,” he said.
An irresistible tingle of delight shivered through her, and for a moment she couldn’t reply, but then she smiled again. “And you are as gallant, sir,” she murmured, turning reluctantly toward Elizabeth, who had remained in the carriage. “Good morning, Elizabeth.”
“Good morning, Isobel.”
Alexander suddenly realized that he was still holding Isobel’s hand, and he released it quickly. “Er—I am afraid that while you and I were enjoying Ackermann’s, Lady Isobel, Elizabeth was enduring a horrible experience at the hands of a gang of footpads.”
Isobel’s eyes widened, “Oh, no! Oh, poor Elizabeth. Did they steal anything?”
“My gold earrings.” Elizabeth had to look away, for the loss of the earrings cut very deep.
Alexander reached quickly into the carriage to put his hand reassuringly on her arm. “Maybe you will recover them,” he said gently.
“I do not think that I will,” she replied, still close to tears.
Isobel noted how quick and sincere this concern was, and she resented it. Last night she had had his full attention, and Elizabeth had scarcely even been mentioned, but now it was Elizabeth who was occupying the center of the stage. That wouldn’t do at all, no, indeed it would not… Isobel’s mind raced as she sought some way of gaining his attention for herself again, while at the same time calling James French to mind once more. Inspiration came from nowhere. She smiled sympathetically at Elizabeth.
“Oh, I’m so very sorry to hear about the earrings, for I know how much they meant to you. James gave them to you, didn’t he?”
“No, they were a gift from my parents.”
“Forgive me,” Isobel said quickly, successfully willing some embarrassed color into her cheeks. “I…I thought that James gave them to you when you and he were first…when you first fell in love,” she finished, apparently covered with becoming confusion. She cleared her throat a little. “I—er—I had to come out into the fresh air this morning, for I fear I am not feeling all that well. I awoke with a dreadful headache, and think it must have been due to all that noise at Ackermann’s. We were there for such a long time, were we not, Sir Alexander?”
“Yes, we were. I trust you are feeling better now, Lady Isobel?”
“Actually, I feel a little…a little…” Isobel’s eyelids fluttered, and with a sigh she pretended to faint.
Alexander caught her straightaway, his arms firm and safe around her slender figure. “Lady Isobel?” he cried in alarm.
Elizabeth gasped, and began to alight, but already Isobel was pretending to come around. She was weak and clinging, giving a little moan as she slipped her arms around his neck and hid her face against his collar as if trying not to cry. “Oh, Sir Alexander, I feel quite dreadful,” she murmured.
“We’ll take you home,” he replied gently, and then he nodded at her startled maid. “Hurry back to the house and warn them what has happened. Tell them we will bring your mistress in the carriage.”
“Yes, sir.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and then fled out through Grosvenor Gate.
Elizabeth stepped quickly down, looking anxiously at Isobel, whose face was still hidden against his collar. “Isobel? Can you hear me?”
“Mmm?” The reply was a soft sound that conveyed only partial consciousness.
Elizabeth turned to Alexander. “Can you lift her into the carriage?”
“Yes, of course, for she is as light as a feather,” he replied, sweeping Isobel up into his arms. “I’m sure this has happened because she is so distressed over her father,” he said as he stepped effortlessly up into the carriage.
Elizabeth remained outside watching. There was a small oval mirror on the wall of the vehicle, just above the seat; it was there so that ladies could always be sure of keeping their coiffure looking perfect. Now it served to afford Elizabeth a glimpse of Isobel’s face. Instead of being closed with faintness, the green eyes were open, and very clear and alert. It was only a brief glimpse, but it made Elizabeth’s lips part in surprise.
Alexander could not disengage his burden’s dainty arms in order to lay her down on the seat, and so he sat down with her still in his arms.
Elizabeth leaned into the carriage, looking curiously at her cousin’s now closed eyes. “Isobel? Can you hear me?” she asked again.
There was no response, not even a weak moan.
Elizabeth stared at her for a long moment and then climbed into the carriage once more. As the door closed behind her, the coachman stirred the team into action for the short drive out of the park and across the busy thoroughfare to Aunt Avery’s residence.
As the carriage began to move, Elizabeth glanced out at the other vehicles and riders who were entering and leaving the park. Her gaze was drawn immediately to a tall gentleman mounted on a coal-black thoroughbred. He wore a dark brown coat with shining brass buttons, and a diamond pin sparkled in the folds of his starched neckcloth. His tall-crowned hat was drawn well forward, but still she could see the bright golden hair and piercing blue eyes of her rescuer of the night before. Her breath caught, and she turned swiftly as he urged his horse past without glancing at the carriage.
“Alexander! That’s him! That’s the gentleman who helped me!” she cried.
Isobel was afraid that even now Alexander’s attention might return to Elizabeth, and so she gave a loud moan, clinging even more tightly to him.
He looked anxiously down at her, and Elizabeth tore her eyes away from the intriguing stranger. When next she looked, he was nowhere to be seen among the throng of horsemen entering Rotten Row.
Alexander smiled apologetically. “Forgive me, I didn’t see. Are you sure it was him?”
“Yes, perfectly sure. You see, he’s very like—” She broke off abruptly.
“Yes?” Alexander prompted curiously.
“Very like James,” Elizabeth finished reluctantly.
Alexander didn’t reply, and Isobel gave a secret smile.
Chapter 7
Early on another sunny but frosty morning two days later, two fine traveling carriages set off on the Old North Road on the first stage of the one-hundred-and-sixty-mile journey to Southwell Park, which lay on the western edge of Sherwood Forest. The first carriage conveyed Alexander, Elizabeth, and Isobel, while the second contained the two ladies’ maids and Alexander’s man. It was expected that the journey would be accomplished with only two overnight halts, at inns in Huntingdon and Grantham, unless, of course, the weather intervened to slow them down or maybe even stop them altogether. But as the villages on the outskirts of London began to slip away behind them, the skies were settled and clear, without so much as
a hint of the snow that had seemed in the offing for so long now.
For the journey Elizabeth had chosen to wear a cheering shade of strawberry-pink. Her high-collared woolen pelisse was trimmed at the throat, cuffs, and hem with soft gray fur, and beneath the warm pelisse her gown was made of cozy creamy-white fustian. Her hair was drawn up beneath a strawberry velvet hat that had a little net veil covering most of her face. A heated brick wrapped in cloth rested beneath her feet, and her hands were thrust deep into a gray velvet muff that was scattered with little pink satin bows. She was in a quiet mood, for she had not slept well since the night of the robbery, but her quietness was barely noticed because of Isobel’s apparent determination to be agreeable company.
It seemed that Elizabeth’s cousin had made a vow not to be dull, for she positively sparkled with amiability. She gave no outer sign of her anxiety over her father, and she appeared to have recovered completely from the indisposition that had caused her to faint at Grosvenor Gate. The bitterly cold weather did not seem to affect her, for she wore emerald-green silk that was inappropriately flimsy, if exceedingly stylish and fashionable. That particular shade of green was perfect for someone of Isobel’s coloring, for it enhanced her eyes and gave a sheen to her chestnut hair.
Alexander made little secret of the fact that he found Isobel very agreeable indeed. He smiled at her little remarks, and twitted her indulgently now and then as he lounged in his seat next to Elizabeth. The astrakhan collar of his greatcoat was turned up, his tall hat was worn at a rakish angle, and he stretched his long legs out as comfortably as he could in the confinement of the carriage. He wore Hessian boots, and their golden tassels swayed to the rhythm of the vehicle as it bowled northward along the broad highway.
Isobel’s frivolous chatter faded away into the background as Elizabeth looked out at the wintry scene. Although the sun was now high in the sky, there wasn’t sufficient warmth in it to melt the frost. Cattle huddled together in the fields, their breath visible, and the smoke from chimneys rose almost vertically in the still air. It was the sort of January day that was memorable for its clarity and almost cleansing beauty. The coachmen were able to make excellent time in such conditions, for there hadn’t been any rain in a long time and so there wasn’t any ice to make the going treacherous. It was confidently expected that they would reach the George Inn at Huntingdon just as darkness fell, and thus avoid the danger of traveling after sunset.
Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted, as so often they did now. For the thousandth time she recalled her fateful decision to look at the house in Hanover Square. If it had not been for that, and the fact that she had seen the gentleman leaving the house… No, that particular decision had not made any real difference, for she had been destined to see him on two more occasions after that. She wished again that she knew who he was, for he had kindled old memories that seemed to become stronger and more persistent with each day. She longed for the happiness and passion she had once shared with James, but she had to accept that such things would never be so fully shared with Alexander.
She glanced at Alexander as he smilingly humored Isobel. Surely he was everything any sensible woman could ever wish for? And after her eventually abysmal experience with someone like James, it was the height of folly to want to return to such things, but she simply could not help herself.
* * * *
Midday came and went, and the countryside changed to the flat fenlands of Cambridgeshire, where the teams could come up to a smart canter. Cambridgeshire gave way to Huntingdonshire as the brief afternoon wore on, and when at last the country town appeared ahead, the sunset was a brilliant but oddly cold crimson. As the carriages drove slowly over the ancient stone bridge spanning the wide River Ouse, they had traveled sixty miles since leaving London.
The George was a bustling hostelry, with ostlers hurrying to-and-fro from the many stagecoaches that called there, ticket office bells summoning the passengers, and maids taking trays up and down the wooden staircase that led to the gallery encircling the yard. Horses whinnied and stamped, harness jingled, iron-rimmed wheels echoed on cobbles, grooms and coachmen shouted, and there was the sound of rather boisterous singing coming from the taproom, where a gathering of local farmers had been sampling the inn’s hospitality since midday. The smell of food hung in the air, and now that the sun had almost sunk beyond the western horizon, the windows and doorways were all brightly lit, and lanterns cast pools of light over the scene.
The landlord himself hastened out to attend the two newly arrived carriages, for he had very swiftly perceived Alexander’s coat-of-arms on the panels, and guessed that the vehicles contained persons of quality accompanied by their servants. Guests of importance were always personally attended, and he barely waited for the vehicles to finally halt before he had stepped up to the first one to lower the rungs and fling open the door. He was a tall, muscular man, with a bald head and rosy face, and he kept a very prosperous house of which he was justifiably proud, a fact that was written large in his smile as he bowed to them.
“Welcome to the George, sir, ladies. Do you and your servants require refreshment and accommodation for the night?”
“We do,” replied Alexander, alighting first. “We would like three of your best chambers for ourselves, and the appropriate arrangements for our servants.”
“Certainly, sir.” The landlord snapped his fingers at a waiter who was on his way back empty-handed to the kitchens. “See that the three rooms at the front are made ready quickly, and that the same number of servants are to be properly fed and housed,” he said brusquely.
“Sir.” The waiter scuttled swiftly away, his starched apron rustling audibly in spite of the noise all around.
The landlord turned to Alexander again. “I can promise you every comfort, sir, and I believe that I may safely boast about the quality and variety of my table.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” replied Alexander, extending his hand to assist Elizabeth and Isobel down from the carriage.
“If you will come this way, sir, ladies,” said the landlord, bowing again and then conducting them toward an illuminated doorway.
* * * *
As the inn’s grooms and ostlers hurried forward to attend to the carriages, the servants alighted to take their master and mistress’ overnight valises from the carefully packed luggage at the rear of the vehicles, and then they too went into the inn.
They entered a high-ceilinged passage lined on one side with high-backed settles and rows of hooks for travelers’ coats and cloaks, and on the other with a number of tables providing bowls of warm water, soap, and fresh towels. The floor was stone-flagged and uneven, the walls newly whitewashed, and there were several doors, one of them opening into a crowded dining room. Above the doors there were sets of antlers, and next to the dark staircase at the far end of the passage there was a huge stuffed bear that stood fiercely on its hind legs.
The landlord promised them a private dining room and a roast pork dinner, and then instructed a maid to conduct them up to their rooms. She carried a wax candle to light the way, and they followed her up the staircase. It had been a long day, and the thought of refreshment and then sleep was appealing to everyone.
Elizabeth’s room was candlelit and warmed by a roaring fire that had been hastily encouraged by the addition of several tinder-dry logs. It overlooked the street, and contained a large four-poster bed with a faded green tapestry canopy that revealed it to have originally come from a large house. There were some Axminster rugs scattered on the wooden floor, and apart from the bed there was a wardrobe, a table and chair, a washstand, and a screen to exclude the draft from the door. It was all very clean and tidy, and the bed looked comfortable. Elizabeth was hopeful of enjoying a restful night, but first she had to change to go down to dinner.
The overnight valise contained a suitable gown made of sky-blue marguerite, which would be worn tonight and again the following night when they reached Grantham. Violet quickly unpacked it, and shook out the few cre
ases it had acquired during the day. Then Elizabeth washed her face and hands before changing and sitting at the table while the maid attended to her hair, which was soon pinned up into a Grecian knot of some elegance, with little curls framing her forehead. Normally the golden earrings would have been worn with this particular gown, but instead she had to make do with some drop-pearls that were pretty, but which she would not have chosen if she had still had the other earrings. Half an hour later she was ready to go down to the private dining room the landlord had indicated earlier, and Violet was free to go to the kitchens to join her friends.
As Elizabeth entered the private room, she saw immediately that Isobel had again elected to flout common sense in favor of the height of fashion. Instead of wearing a gown made of something warm like marguerite, she chose to wear a lemon muslin that was so sheer and delicate that it would have been far more appropriate at Devonshire House than here in a provincial inn. Her shining chestnut hair was pinned up into an exceedingly elaborate knot that was adorned with a jeweled comb, and the gown’s daring décolletage was accentuated by a heart-shaped gold locket that was studded with flashing diamonds. She was seated in an armchair by the fire, and Alexander was standing before her. They were laughing about something, but broke off as Elizabeth came in.
Alexander came to greet her, smiling into her eyes as he raised her hand to his lips. “I trust you are refreshed and in good appetite?”
“I believe I am,” she replied, returning the smile.
Isobel looked away into the fire, struggling to conceal her resentment that Elizabeth had joined them. Her feelings toward Alexander had not wavered at all, indeed if anything they had increased. She was no longer foolish enough to believe him to be a Childe Harold, but this realization had not made any difference. She knew now that she loved him for his own sake, and this hardened her determination more than ever. She still intended to do all she could to take him from her cousin, whose conduct during today’s journey could scarcely have been more disinterested. Elizabeth didn’t deserve to keep him, she didn’t deserve to at all… Isobel drew a long breath. She must tread very carefully and very cleverly, and she must always bear in mind Aunt Avery’s sage advice that the key to a gentleman’s heart was to always make him feel good in one’s company. Let Elizabeth’s attitude speak for itself, while she, Isobel, was subtly captivating and flattering to be with.