Once she reached the hallway where her father’s room was located, Isabel hesitated. Anthony’s room was situated right next to her father’s. Taking a sustaining breath, she quickened her step and knocked softly on her father’s door before slipping into his room.
He sat back against the pillows on his bed, but he was wide-awake, his eyes turned toward the window. “Isabel, my dear. How are you this morning? I didn’t expect to see you so early, what with the late hours of the ball last evening.”
Isabel smiled, glad to see his blue eyes sparkling. “I didn’t do very much dancing, I’m afraid.”
One side of her father’s mouth turned down, as if trying to discern what she meant. “Well it can’t have been for lack of willing partners. The countess invited half the county.”
She shook her head. “I think the whole county might be more accurate. The ball was lovely. I was just a bit distracted.”
He grinned. “Distracted, were you? Perhaps by that Lord Anthony fellow?”
Heat rose in Isabel’s cheeks as she remembered the passion in Anthony’s kiss, the smell of him, like warm cedar.
“Why, there’s no need to be embarrassed, my dear girl. You two passed quite a bit of time in here while I was ill, and I saw how he looked at you.” He gave her a knowing smile. “Very much the way I imagine I used to look at your mother.”
* * *
Anthony double-checked his pocket, making sure the necklace was where he had put it. He raised his eyes at the sound of a soft knock, but by the time he opened his door no one was there. Odd. He left his room and shut the door quietly behind him, wanting to be at the bench early, just in case.
He made his way through the house with long strides, his thoughts so occupied that he didn’t see the countess standing near the library doors. “You’re up a good deal earlier than usual,” she said, one eyebrow raised. “Where on earth are you going at such an hour?”
Her directness provoked his honesty. “To make a desperate attempt to convince Isabel Townshend to marry me.” Saying the words out loud made him feel the enormity of his task, the impossibility that such a woman would want him. He’d never felt so insecure about anything.
“I see.” The countess folded her arms across her chest, eyeing him.
Anthony turned to go, but the countess’s words stopped him. “For what it’s worth, I’ve always believed you have a great deal more of your mother’s heart in you than your father’s. It’s part of why I invited you to this house party. Remember that.”
Her eyes were soft with sincerity, and a lump grew in his throat as he remembered his mother. Her devastation at his father’s infidelity. He gave the countess a nod, silently vowing that he would never bring his wife—whether it was Isabel or someone else—such heartache. He nodded. “Thank you.”
“I wish you the best,” she said, before turning away, an impish smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
Once Anthony arrived at the bench, he took a seat and interlocked his fingers, then just as quickly released them, checking his pocket again.
Would Isabel even come? He could hardly blame her if not. First the scene with Lady Emily last night, and then his frightful attempt to repair it, which had ended in . . . well, that part he couldn’t regret. His kiss with Isabel had been just as perfect as he’d imagined it would be, so much more than the shallow blandness of other stolen kisses. Anthony hadn’t fathomed what a kiss could be like when he felt so much, and he was quite certain Isabel had felt it, too.
At the sound of rustling leaves, Anthony glanced up, only to find a small hare slowly working its way across the path. He ran a hand through his hair and stood, unable to stay still any longer. His own words from last night came back to him, echoing through his mind: I suppose one can only be careless with so many hearts before he ends up breaking his own. Once again he berated himself for his past recklessness, for the hurt he’d seen in Isabel’s eyes. For even though he hadn’t intentionally caused it, he’d been the source of it all the same. The thought caused him intense pain, while bringing the newness of hope: if she didn’t care for him at all, she wouldn’t have been hurt.
Just as he was about to reach into his pocket for a fourth time, Isabel’s soft voice broke through the morning air. “Anthony?” The chirping of the birds seemed to recede into a soft background chorus as she walked toward him from the east, the sun shining behind her, a vision in a dress of sky blue and soft tendrils of her dark hair framing her face. Anthony couldn’t help the wide smile that crept across his face. “You came.”
* * *
“I did.” At the sight of Anthony’s smile, a wave of shyness rushed over Isabel, and she toyed with her shawl, unsure of where to look.
He gestured toward the bench. “Won’t you take a seat?”
They both sat on the bench, his knee brushing hers. Isabel glanced up at him, her eyes wandering to his lips and then immediately dropping to her lap, where her hands were clasped together. Anthony reached out and covered her hands with his own, and her heart jumped to her throat.
“Isabel, I used to believe myself charming and irresistible, until I met you.” He gave a soft laugh, his mussed hair falling across his brow. “For years I handed out trite phrases and banal compliments to women without a second thought.” He shook his head, his lips turning down before he looked up and met her eyes. “But I spent the whole of last night thinking of what I might say to you this morning. Nothing seems adequate.”
Anthony reached toward his pocket, fiddling with something there. Her heart warmed to see him so anxious, so different from his usual assured self.
He took a heavy breath and tightened the hand that rested over hers. “Isabel, I think I fell in love with you the moment you gave me a verbal tongue-lashing in that storm. Ever since then, you have consumed my thoughts. Though I convinced myself I felt nothing more than passing attraction.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “But the love I have for you is more than that—it is more than I thought possible for one man to feel. You ground me, you anchor me, you have given me reason to be something more than I was. For you deserve more than a charming fool whose head is turned as easily as a—” He shook his head, as if frustrated with his inability to complete the thought.
Isabel held her breath unwittingly, her ribs constricting as the force of Anthony’s words stormed through her.
He met her gaze, his eyes shining with emotion. “I love you, Isabel Townshend, and I want to marry you. But I can’t ask that of you without giving you some gesture of my devotion, some token to show you that I am determined to never betray your trust.” His hand came out of his pocket, and he held it toward her, slowly opening his fist. There, resting in his palm, lay a pendant on a silver chain.
Hesitantly, Isabel reached out her hand and turned the pendant over. Encased in the glass was a pressed violet. Another purple flower, yet this one with a very different meaning from the last. Faithfulness.
Isabel’s finger traced the smooth round pendant, heart pounding against her chest, spreading warmth through her entire body.
“I cannot change who I was in the past,” Anthony went on, his deep voice striking chords in her heart. “But I can promise who I will be from this moment on. I wish for nothing more than to spend the rest of my life proving my love, my fidelity, to you, Isabel.”
Isabel reached out and stroked back his hair from his forehead. She gave a little laugh. “If that is your wish, who am I to try and stop you?” He smiled, and his eyes were filled with such unwavering sincerity that it was impossible to disbelieve him. She was suddenly choked by emotion. “Oh, Anthony. I love you.”
“Is such a thing really possible?” Anthony’s voice was full of wonder as he leaned forward, hesitant, tentative.
Isabel closed the distance between them, placing a hand on his chest as their lips met. He reached up and caressed her neck as he pulled her closer, and a flutter raced through her stomach. Certainty surged through Isabel, a contented peace unlike any she had ever known.
When Anthony pulled back, a mischievous grin crossed his face. “Perhaps we’d better go in before your sister catches us again. If we don’t tell her you’ve agreed to marry me, she’ll think me quite the rogue.”
She laughed, her heart light and full. “Yes, we must tell Anne at once. And my father.”
Anthony stood and reached out to help her up from the bench. The warmth of his hand around hers confirmed all that she felt. And, for once, Isabel’s head and heart were in accord.
* * *
This is the first of many Regency House Party Collections. Follow our Newsletter to find out when others become available. HERE.
Read all the books in this first collection of our Regency House Party. They can be enjoyed in any order:
The Unwanted Suitor
Mistaken Identity
The Stable Master’s Daughter
An Unlikely Courtship
Tabitha’s Folly
Damen’s Secret
These stories first appeared in serial form at http://www.regencyhouseparty.com. Join us there for the next party.
To learn more about Heidi, you can go to her website: https://www.authorheidikimball.com/
To get all the latest updates on Heidi's upcoming releases, sign up for her newsletter here
This is the first of many Regency House Party Collections. Follow our Newsletter to find out when others become available. HERE.
These stories first appeared in serial form at http://www.regencyhouseparty.com. Join us there for the next party.
Guests are enjoying a certain amount of merriment on our Facebook page and group. Characters mingle with the visitors, Wellington the pug has an active presence and when a new party is in the works, we announce new chapters as they go live. RHP Group
See the First Chapter of Mistaken Identity next.
About the Author
At a young age Heidi perfected the art of hiding out so she could read instead of doing chores. One husband and four children later, not much has changed. She has an abiding love for peanut butter M&Ms, all things fall, and any book that can make her forget she is supposed to be keeping her children alive.
Getting a book published has been a dream come true. Heidi currently lives just north of Boston, in a charming old town in southern New Hampshire.
To learn more about Heidi, you can go to her website: https://www.authorheidikimball.com/
To get all the latest updates on Heidi's upcoming releases, sign up for her newsletter here
Copyright © 2018 by Heidi Kimball
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Chapter One of Mistaken Identity
"Bloo…" Conrad Pinkerton, the Marquess of Kendal, cursed to himself. He reined in his horse at the sight of several carriages lining the drive of the massive house. If he waited his turn in line, he would surely be caught in the approaching downpour, just visible in the distance. He moved his horse to the side, the stables his destination, passing ladies dressed in all their finery as they exited their carriages. Servants followed behind, loaded down with trunks and boxes of varying sizes. Probably filled with bonnets of great extravagance and even less taste.
Conrad snorted. He had no idea how Ian had convinced him to agree to this absurd plan. Demonic possession seemed the only explanation for what he was about to do. He hated society and a house party was one of the worst manifestations of it. Every mama able to finagle an invitation would be here to peddle her daughter before the highest ranking peer. It was beyond his understanding why his brother willingly submitted himself to this tabby gathering. Under normal circumstances, Conrad would never attend such an event, yet here he was.
He handed off his mount to a stable boy.
Moving quickly in front of the ladies currently being helped from their carriage, Conrad muttered another curse. A sharp intake of breath drew his gaze to a young woman waiting for the rest of her party. She looked at him with wide eyes.
Conrad dipped his head in apology and mounted the curved stairs, joining the other guests there.
An old hunched butler stood just inside the open the doorway, gesturing him inside. Conrad presented his card, or rather, Ian's.
"Lord Ian Pinkerton, welcome to Somerstone." The old man bowed so deeply, Conrad was afraid he may never be able to right himself again. Much to his relief, the man returned to his previous hunched position before reaching behind Conrad and taking the card of the group behind him.
A slim, dark-haired lady approached with a bright smile. She was not a doe-eyed debutante, but neither did she look to be on the shelf. She, or rather her family, must have money problems, Conrad thought with a small amount of sympathy.
"Ah, Lord Ian. I am Miss Graystock, the Countess's companion. Lady Du'Brevan has been waiting for you. Please, follow me. She wanted to speak with you directly."
Conrad sighed internally, for Ian would never make such a sound out loud. Unless it was a matter of grave concern, such as a mis-tied cravat or a waistcoat of last year's fashion. Having committed himself the moment he walked through the door, Conrad pasted a smile upon his face, one he hoped conveyed a mixture of fecklessness and charm. The action proved more difficult than he had assumed. He loathed the role he must play, but he had agreed. Switching places was something they had done throughout childhood. Then it was a perk of being identical twins. Now the joke was stale and juvenile. Straightening Ian’s canary yellow waistcoat and checking that his hair was parted on the correct side, Conrad squared his shoulders and followed the woman through a hall with dozens of pillars supporting the upper floor. At the stairs, the lady waited for him to ascend first.
So, she has been trained to be a lady, then. His earlier suspicions were supported. At the top of the stairs, he again followed Miss Graystock down a sort of hallway, although it went through several rooms along the way. Conrad looked around, without openly gawking. Ian had been a guest of the Countess on several occasions. It would surely give Conrad away if he seemed overly interested in the grand home.
Conrad himself had only met the Countess Du'Breven on a few occasions in London. He did not know her well, but he did know her to be a busybody who, on occasion, could prove amusing. Perhaps the next few days would not be horrendous, after all.
He followed Miss Graystock into a library of sorts, although it's offering was sparse compared to many, including his own. From the expansiveness of the house, Conrad guessed it was more likely a personal sitting room of the Countess. The bookshelves only covered the lower half of the walls, the upper portion being covered in a rich red wallpaper. Windows spread throughout the room gave it a bright, welcoming warmth. The lady herself was seated at a desk, a quill in hand. She looked up at their entrance. Abandoning her parchment, she stood to greet them.
Miss Graystock curtsied. “I will see to the other guests, unless you need me for something else, my lady?”
The Countess waved her away and Miss Graystock closed the door behind her. Conrad envied the woman’s quick exit.
The old woman's shoulders relaxed a fraction as she smiled. "Ian, it is so good to see you."
"I can assure you, my lady, the pleasure is all mine." Had he used enough affection in his tone? Did his smile appear appropriately friendly? He should have paid more attention to Ian in social gatherings. Although, he tried to avoid doing both. Conrad took a calming breath. How had he thought this charade was going to work?
The Countess clasped his hands in hers, unabashedly looking him over. The scrutiny was unnerving. Conrad unconsciously took a step back, his smile dropping slightly, only to have the Countess take two steps forward, closing the gap. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she continue
d her perusal. Stopping at his face, her head tilting to one side. I can't believe it. I have been here less than five minutes and the lady has already ferreted out the secret.
"You seem different, Ian. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is definitely something amiss."
Conrad pushed his hair out of his eyes determining to have his valet trim it tonight. Forcing a chuckle that came out sounding slightly crazed, he stammered. "I…I do not know what you mean. Perhaps my hair is longer than usual, but…" He raised a brow, hoping he could distract her until he could make an escape to his rooms. "You on the other hand, have not changed a bit. How do you do it, my lady?" I have two whole days of this? He was beginning to think his best course of action was to keep to his rooms. Or rather to any room where the Countess was not.
She released his hands and rapped him lightly against the upper arm. "I can see you have not changed in totality. You are still quite the charmer."
Conrad gave an inward grimace at the description. It inferred such low character. He did not understand how his brother could not only endure such a title, but seemingly embrace it. "I was told you wished to see me upon my arrival." He winced slightly at the gruff tone of his voice. Softening it, he asked, "How may I be of service?"
Her head titled again, an appraising look entering her eyes. Moving back to her desk, she picked up the feather, tapping it against her chin. "I was hoping you had convinced your brother to accompany you on this visit. But seeing you are alone, I am guessing he was otherwise engaged?" There was a touch of challenge in her voice.
An Unlikely Courtship: Regency House Party: Somerstone Page 10