by Sandra Heath
“The very same.” Marcus sketched a bow.
“Good God above, so you are back in England!” cried Alexander, seizing his hand and pumping it gladly. “You’ve hardly changed at all!”
“On the contrary, I’ve changed a great deal. To begin with I’m older and a damn sight wiser,” replied the other a little dryly.
“Tom Crichton said he’d seen you, but although we made every inquiry we could we found no trace. How long have you been back?”
“Long enough.”
“You’re on your way to Rainworth?”
“Yes. They’ve been anticipating my return for two months now, so the fires will be lit and the larder well stocked.”
“Will you be there long?”
Marcus looked away. “I intend to make my stay as brief as possible.”
Alexander was curious, but refrained from pursuing the matter too closely. “At least assure me that you will be in London for a while, for it would please me greatly if you could attend my betrothal ball.”
“Ah, yes, you and the delightful Mrs. French.”
“So you’ve heard, have you?”
“A whisper or two.”
Alexander was perplexed. “Dammit, why haven’t you contacted any of us? I would have thought that at least Tom and I merited—”
“I’m rectifying the fault now. Where are you going?”
“Going? Oh, Elizabeth and I are chaperoning her cousin, Lady Isobel Crawford, to Southwell Park. The earl is far from well.” Alexander knew he did not have to identify Isobel’s family any further, for Southwell Park and Rainworth Priory were not far from each other, and even after ten years Marcus was certain to know of whom he spoke.
“Lady Isobel Crawford?” asked Marcus with quick interest.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll be damned…”
“Why do you say that?”
“Eh? Oh, nothing.” Marcus shifted his position slightly, shivering a little in the cold. “If the lady requires a chaperone, and if her name is still Crawford, I take it she is unattached?”
Alexander hesitated. “Er—yes, she is. Why? Are you seeking a wife?”
Marcus gave a wry smile. “That, my dear fellow, is very much in the lap of the gods. Alexander, I have a suggestion to make. Southwell Park is near Rainworth, and you will have to pass close by, so why do you not all three stay with me on the way? I take it you mean to continue your journey tomorrow?”
“Yes, but—”
“Stay with me,” Marcus pressed. “It will not mean much of a delay, and Lady Isobel will be able to see her father the day after if she so desires.”
“Marcus, nothing would please me more, but I think I should consult Elizabeth and Isobel first. Come inside and meet them now.”
“I cannot socialize at the moment, I have a fresh team in harness and must be on my way without delay. I mean to reach Rainworth tonight.”
Alexander’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Tonight? You intend to travel all that way in weather like this? And after dark to boot?”
“That is the general idea,” Marcus confirmed quietly.
“It’s madness.”
Marcus smiled. “Then consider me mad. Well? Is it agreed? Will you and the ladies be my guests tomorrow night?”
Alexander was forced to laugh. “Oh, very well, it’s agreed.”
“Excellent. I will expect you then.” Turning, Marcus strode away again, getting quickly into the curricle and then accepting the reins from the groom before tossing him a coin.
Still a little bemused, Alexander stood watching as the small vehicle drove swiftly out of the busy yard and vanished into the swirling mist of the High Street. There was so much noise all around that he did not hear anything of its departure. He stared after it, almost wondering if he had imagined the encounter, but then he saw the groom walking away, flicking the coin high into the air and then deftly catching it again. The meeting with Marcus hadn’t been imagined, it had really happened, and he, Alexander Norrington, had just accepted an invitation that might not meet with the ladies’ approval. Isobel wished to see her father without delay, and Elizabeth… Well, who knew what Elizabeth would feel.
Alexander sighed, and then turned on his heel to go into the lamp-lit inn.
Almost immediately he saw Isobel coming down the staircase toward him carrying a lighted candlestick, since it was dark on the floor above. It was by design and not accident that she was there, for when she and Elizabeth had been conducted to their rooms, she had waited until she heard Elizabeth’s door close, and had then hastened back to wait at the top of the staircase, intent upon stealing a moment or so alone with him. She hurried toward him in a rustle of emerald-green silk.
“Wherever have you been, Alexander?” she asked, linking her arm with his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
His hand rested briefly over hers on his sleeve. “The strangest thing has just happened, Isobel. I’ve just been speaking to Marcus Sheridan.”
“Sheridan? The only Sheridans I know of are the playwright Member of Parliament, and the Dukes of Arlingham, and the latter are extinct.” She smiled at him.
“Not extinct at all.” He briefly explained about Marcus.
“And chance brought you together here in Grantham? How very odd.”
“Isobel, he has invited us all to stay with him at Rainworth tomorrow night, and he was so insistent that I’m afraid I accepted. I do hope you are not angry with me.”
“Angry with you? Why would I be angry?” Nothing could please her more than the prospect of another night during which to further her plans.
“I was thinking of your wish to see your father as quickly as possible.”
“Oh.” She lowered her eyes quickly, but then smiled at him again. “It will only be for a short while, and I would not dream of spoiling your opportunity to see your friend after all this time. Please do not think I’m offended in any way.”
He looked warmly into her face. “You are quite wonderful, Isobel, and the man who snaps you up will be a very fortunate fellow indeed.”
“I am flattered you should think so, Alexander,” she breathed, trying to make her eyes as wide and lustrous as possible.
“Perhaps Marcus will be the lucky man.”
“Marcus?” She drew back, her smile a little fixed.
“I have reason to believe he is looking for a bride, and he was certainly very interested in you.”
“Indeed.” The word was not uttered inquiringly, but in a flat tone that discouraged any further comment on the subject of Marcus Sheridan’s marital intentions.
Alexander knew that this time he had definitely offended her. “Forgive me, for I spoke out of turn.”
“Yes, you did.” She looked crossly away.
“I was paying you a compliment, for I cannot imagine that any man would be indifferent to you.”
She raised her eyes slowly to his face again. “Do you mean that, Alexander?”
“Of course I do.”
She held his gaze. “Would you pay court to me if you were free?”
For a long moment he did not reply, but then he nodded. “Yes, I would.”
Her heart almost missed a beat, and her fingers tightened a little on his sleeve. “Then I shall have to hope that Elizabeth casts you off, shall I not?” she murmured lightly, smiling as if she jested.
He returned the smile a little uncertainly. “There may be more truth in that than you think,” he replied.
“What do you mean?” she asked quickly, her heart not simply seeming to skip a beat, but to stop beating altogether.
“I mean that I am no longer sure if she loves me.”
It was difficult not to show exultation at such a revelation, but somehow Isobel contrived to look concerned and sympathetic. “I am sure you must be wrong, for no sensible woman would ever stop loving you, Alexander. I would certainly never stop.”
“You are very good for my morale and vanity, Isobel,” he replied, hesitating
and then putting his hand to her cheek.
She gazed breathlessly up at him, a confession of love trembling on her lips. Was now the moment? Should she show herself in her true colors?
Alexander’s hand fell away, and he glanced toward the staircase. “Is she in her room now?”
Disappointment sliced through Isobel. She had missed an opportunity, and now it was too late. “Er—yes. We have been given rooms on the same floor. Come on, I’ll show you the way.” Taking his hand, and holding the candlestick to light the way, she led him up the staircase. Still holding his hand, she drew him along the dark passageway at the top. The candle flames flared and smoked, their dancing light shining in her eyes as she halted at Elizabeth’s door.
“This is her room, mine is that one over there, and I believe that yours is the last one on the left at the end of the passage.” She smiled. “I am sure that Elizabeth will not mind about tomorrow night, and I am also sure that you must be wrong about her affections.”
“I would be a happy man if I could be as sure about anything where she is concerned of late. I do not know where I am with her.” He glanced toward the door.
“I will leave you,” she said quickly. “The same dinner arrangements have been made as were made at Huntingdon last night, except that this time I believe we are to be served roast beef.” With another smile she turned and walked away toward her own room. He could not see, but she had her fingers secretly crossed, hoping with all her heart that Elizabeth was difficult about the visit to Rainworth Priory, and that he was correct to fear a withdrawal of love. Oh, please let both be so, and let Elizabeth herself break things off!
Alexander knocked at the door. “Elizabeth? It’s me.”
“Oh, please come in, Alexander,” she called from inside.
The room was very much like the one in Huntingdon, except that it overlooked the busy yard and the bed was draped with faded crimson velvet. Elizabeth was seated at the dressing table in the sky-blue marguerite gown, and Violet was just putting the finishing touches to her coiffure.
Her smile faded a little as she saw the uncomfortable look on his face. “Is something wrong?” she asked quickly, waving Violet away.
“I have a confession to make,” he said as the door closed behind the maid.
Elizabeth rose to her feet. “A confession? What about?”
He explained what had happened. “I know I should not have accepted like that, but I did, and now Marcus expects us tomorrow evening,” he finished.
“It is done, and that is the end of it,” she said, carefully keeping the dismay from her voice. She did not want another delay, she wanted everything to be accomplished so that they could reach the haven of Norrington Court and she could begin to repair the damage that had been done to their relationship. The longer things went on as they were, the worse it would become.
He smiled with relief. “Then you do not mind?”
“No, of course not.”
He pulled her into his arms, but as he kissed her it was another of whom she thought, another for whose lips she yearned.
Chapter 9
Elizabeth rose at half-past seven the following morning, before it was really light, and as she looked out of her window at the busy yard, she saw immediately that the fog had lifted. Glancing up at the sky, she noted how gray and lowering it seemed to be. Such clouds could only herald the long-anticipated snow.
She gazed at the sky in dismay. If it snowed a great deal they might find themselves stranded at Rainworth. Oh, plague take Marcus Sheridan for inviting them there, for she had no desire at all to enjoy his hospitality. She drew a long breath then. What was done was done, and if she wished to put matters right with Alexander, then she must make the best of it. She was ashamed of her recent conduct, and felt almost as if she really had deceived him. But she had not, and she would not, because she loved him very much, and today she would be everything she should be to him. By the time they reached Rainworth he would no longer have any reason to be displeased or disappointed with her behavior.
The resolve was still as strong when Violet came to assist her to dress, and had not wavered at all by the time she went down to join the others in the crowded dining room. She greeted Alexander warmly, and her breakfast conversation could not have been faulted. She was lighthearted, amusing, witty, and attentive, but in truth it was an acting tour de force, for deep inside she remained as unsure and unhappy as she had been before. It was one thing to tell herself how she should feel and behave, quite another to be those things.
Their breakfast was as substantial as had been the one taken in Huntingdon, for they still had to be mindful of the cold and of the hours that would pass before they stopped for luncheon. Now they also had to take account of the possibility of snow, for everyone in the dining room felt that it would not be long in coming. At just after nine, with everyone dressed in their warmest clothes—even Isobel—they set off toward Rainworth.
This time the two carriages did not continue north as before, but headed west, following the Nottingham road as it led through the beautiful Vale of Belvoir, where Belvoir Castle presided over the countryside from its rocky crag to the south of the road. The ancestral home of the Dukes of Rutland was well named, as indeed was the whole area, for the view in all directions was beautiful indeed, even in the depths of such a winter.
To Isobel’s impotent fury, Elizabeth maintained her new leaf, not allowing her attention to wander for even a short while. Isobel could only seethe in silence as she saw how Alexander responded to his future wife. Oh, this was too bad! And just when it had seemed that things were going all her, Isobel’s, way. Isobel glowered up at Belvoir Castle, her mind racing as she wondered how to deal with this irritatingly recovered Elizabeth. She would have to think of something, for she only had today and tonight left before they reached Southwell Park. Perhaps drastic action would be required.
It began to snow just as the little Nottinghamshire market town of Bingham came into view ahead. Large crisp flakes fell swiftly from the skies, and soon began to form a thin carpet of white on the ground. At Bingham they left the Nottingham road, striking northwest toward the rolling vista of Sherwood Forest, which was just visible on the far horizon when they stopped for luncheon at an inn on the bank of the deep, swift-flowing River Trent.
Isobel had little appetite for the inn’s succulent beefsteak pie, and only picked at it as she gazed out at the snow, which still fell heavily over the entire countryside. Let it fall and fall, let it block all the roads overnight and force them to stay on at Rainworth. Yes, that was what she prayed now, so that she would have more opportunity to further her designs upon Alexander.
She had had hardly any chance to claim his attention so far today, for Elizabeth had been in sparkling form, giving her secret rival no opening at all in which to try to reassert herself. An opening did appear, however, leaving Isobel alone with Alexander for a minute or so before they returned to the carriages for the last part of the journey to Rainworth. Isobel was not slow to act.
She looked a little reproachfully at him. “Have I said something wrong?” she asked in a small voice.
His lips parted in surprise. “Wrong? Why, no, of course not. Why ever do you ask such a thing?”
“Because you’ve barely spoken to me today.”
He stared at her. “Oh, Isobel, if I have neglected you then I am deeply sorry.” He instinctively took her hand, raising it to his lips.
Her green eyes were still large and reproachful. “I have been feeling quite wretched, for I was sure I must have done something to offend you.”
“Never think that,” he said softly, still holding her hand by cupping it in both of his.
“What am I supposed to think when you devote your complete attention to Elizabeth, and leave me all on my own?”
“I promise not to be negligent again. Please forgive me.”
Her lips trembled a little, and unshed tears shimmered in her eyes. “Of course I forgive you,” she whispered.
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br /> He was about to say something more when Elizabeth returned to join them, and he swiftly released Isobel’s hand. They went out into the snow to climb back into the waiting carriages, and a moment later were on their way once more.
The snow did not relent, but continued to fall heavily. The team’s hooves now made little sound, and there were fewer and fewer travelers on the road as most wisely took shelter rather than risk becoming snowbound on the highway. Rainworth was only about two hours ahead now, a long way in such conditions, but they were confident that they would reach their destination before the roads became too bad and daylight faded.
Sherwood Forest seemed to fold silently over them, its bare-branched oak trees interspersed here and there with dark green pines and other evergreens. The snow lay deep and white, and fell with an endless monotony that foretold of inevitably blocked roads. Isobel looked out with hidden delight, unable to help stealing a surreptitious glance at Alexander as he sat opposite her. His gaze was already upon her, and he smiled. She smiled back.
Elizabeth was looking out at the snow as well, but with increasing dismay. The prospect of being snowbound at Rainworth loomed ever nearer.
The carriages pressed farther and farther into Robin Hood’s forest, and as the afternoon began to draw in there was still no sign of an end to the snow. Progress became steadily more slow, and the only consolation was that the immense carpet of white staved off the darkness for a little longer than would otherwise have been the case. The horses made no sound except for their snorting breaths and the jingle of their harness as they made what speed they could along the now deserted road. As daylight at last began to fade, they paused for the carriage lamps to be lit before driving on again. Rainworth could not be far ahead now.
They passed the entrance of Lord Byron’s country seat, Newstead Abbey, but Isobel did not even glance at it. Neither the poet nor his works were of any interest to her now, for she was too rapt in her feelings for Alexander as he really was, not as she had imagined him to be. She no longer gave a fig for Childe Harold, and the once treasured volume of the Pilgrimage had not even been taken out of the overnight valise since leaving London.