Isobel responded to his elegant bow by nodding unsmilingly, and returned to gazing out of the window. Lord Francis' eyebrows shot up, but he only lounged over to a chair and seated himself.
"Did I see a travelling carriage pull up?" he inquired. "Were you expecting visitors?"
"My friend, Lady Morgan, is visiting for some days," said Isobel shortly. "I am afraid that I neglected to inform you that she would be joining us."
"You are under no obligation to fit your schedule to mine," observed Lord Francis. "I am sure Lady Morgan is entirely charming, but I must say that I regret the presence of anyone who removes your attention from me."
This gallant sally produced nothing but a frown from Isobel, and Lord Francis attempted to cheer her with more conversation. "I myself am acquainted with Lord Morgan, though it has been some time since I have seen him," he observed. "A bruising rider to hounds and a good whip besides."
"Two most admirable qualities," rejoined Isobel tartly. It was typical of men, she thought, that they should consider the way another man treated a horse to be of much greater importance than how he treated a wife.
Silence reigned again. Lord Francis valiantly attempted another topic of conversation.
"This endless rain grows tedious," he complained. "I vow the country at this time of year is unbearable, yet London is so thin of company that one cannot really contemplate removing there either.'T'is a mercy that Strancaster Park is such a huge pile that my mother will invite half her acquaintance for Easter and we shall none of us have to go out of doors to be amused."
Isobel glanced at him coldly. "I have always found that where there are good spirits, good intentions, and worthwhile pursuits a little gloomy weather is of no account. It is only where a lack of character, education or occupation is found that such things can weigh upon one," she announced.
Lord Francis smiled sleepily at her. "You sound precisely like my mother when she is in a priggish mood. But then, weeks of bad spring weather overset her temper too, and the work that she has to keep everything in order when there are hordes of visitors at Strancaster is beyond anything." He paused. "Perhaps you and Miss Harriet would find it amusing to break your journey to town with a stop at Strancaster over Easter. I am sure that you would be very welcome to bring Lady Morgan as well. Your presence would add greatly to our party," he continued casually.
Isobel glared at him, attempting to suppress her fury. "I will be entirely too busy preparing Kitswold House for my absence and dealing with my agent to consider taking time for entertainment," she said stiffly. "But I appreciate the invitation and hope that you will remember me kindly to the Duke and Duchess."
"What a pity that you have not a better trained staff," Lord Francis replied, his temper finally pricked by her distant response. "It is a shame to be giving up a visit to friends because one must supervise error prone servants."
As Isobel's staff was exceedingly well trained, and would have been shocked at her impugning their readiness for any situation, Lord Francis' deliberately provocative remark infuriated her still further. Here sat a man who not only was acquainted with the despicable Lord Morgan, but who was apparently willing to encourage the gossip that was likely to result from a visit by Isobel to Strancaster at his invitation.
"I really must make sure that Lady Morgan's children are settled," she said stiffly and stalked out of the room, leaving Lord Francis to stare after her in amazement, little aware of how close he had come to having some violence done to him as a proxy for Lord Morgan.
Isobel flounced to her library, where she proceeded to work out her rage and frustration in front of the impassive walls of leather-bound books by marching up and down, her thoughts in a jumble of confusion. Lord Francis' invitation to Strancaster had taken Isobel by surprise. Perhaps Harriet's absurd conjectures about the potential seriousness of his intentions were not so misguided. She almost could have imagined a life with the personable Lord Francis, she reflected, but now Letitia's plight intruded on these rosy reflections.
That Lord Morgan could have used her friend so cruelly appalled her, and the deceit that hid his true character behind an amiable and charming facade frightened her. Letitia's Alfred had seemed to be quite as pleasant, trustworthy, and kind as Lord Francis appeared now. And just as attractive, her heart whispered to her, though Lord Morgan's Byronic dark handsomeness had not been of the type that particularly moved Isobel. But danger obviously lay in trusting the heart over the head, or even trusting the heart at all. Her anger built to a fine rage, until she could envision Lord Francis and Lord Morgan carousing together, gambling away thousands of pounds and chasing after light skirts while deep in their cups. Clearly, she decided, Lord Francis was not to be encouraged in his attentions. The Honorable Isobel Paley had too much to lose.
Chapter 7
Over the next se'ennight, in the calming atmosphere of Kitswold and under Harriet and Isobel's solicitous care, Letitia grew less nervous and depressed, the strain leaving her face and color returning to her cheeks. Jamie thrived in the relaxed atmosphere, terrorizing the gardeners and charming the cook, who provided him with a constant stream of delicacies, and even little Emily, though just a babe, laughed more than she had previously. Lord Francis also mended apace, and while his plaintive requests to be allowed to travel continued, they seemed to be more from habit rather than intention, and his attentions to Isobel remained marked. He found the lady to be pleasant, without a repeat of her anger with him as on the day of Lady Morgan's arrival, but elusive. She laughed and talked with him with ease, but he found no opportunity to be alone with her. Finally, Dr. Alvey pronounced Lord Francis fit to travel, and a carriage arrived from Strancaster for his journey, planned for late the next morning.
The day dawned fair for travel with sunshine and mild breezes. Isobel knew that Harriet and Letitia would be up early to say farewell to Lord Francis, so she could be assured of a well-chaperoned breakfast with him and the opportunity to say her goodbyes in an easy atmosphere. Some notion, she could not be sure what, made her don one of her most becoming morning gowns, and she came downstairs well ahead of the appointed hour for her guest’s departure. Harriet was already in the breakfast room, making a hearty meal of buttered eggs and toast, while Letitia nibbled on fruit. Of Lord Francis there was no sign, but when he appeared, dashing in his riding coat, buckskin breeches that appeared to have been molded to his thighs, and boots that shone to London standards, Isobel felt a tiny blush begin to rise in her cheeks. Her own missishness annoyed her, but there was no denying her response to his presence, and she looked away, fiercely quashing her feelings.
"How sad to think that you are departing," said Harriet, shaking her head dolefully. "I had hoped that you might stay some days longer, as I have heard tales of the perils of traveling before one is truly healed, and Isobel and I would be so happy to have you stay. Perhaps you could travel as far as Strancaster with us when we leave for London—after all, it would be very pleasant to have the company of a gentleman, and I daresay it would be safer as well. I shudder when I think of what could happen to women alone on the long trip to London; my aunt, Susanna Hennings--"
"Harriet, my love, Lord Francis must now believe that we three ladies will be positively desolate without his presence," said Isobel, who had seized the opportunity of Harriet’s outpouring to school her emotions and expression. "I can assure him that it is not at all the case. We shall be so busy preparing for our own departure that I vow he would fear having the very sheets removed from beneath him were he dare to stay another se’ennight." There was a pause, and she gave an artificial laugh.
Lord Francis turned to her with a faint look of surprise in his eyes. "That would be very uncomfortable, indeed," he said in his well-bred way. "I suppose I must be glad that I will be well away before the fury of three women preparing to remove to London is fully unleashed upon the household."
Isobel fought back the urge to snap at him for implying that she was less than organized, and then grew even mor
e annoyed when she realized that her feelings had been unjust. After all, he was merely following her conversational gambit. She turned her attention to her breakfast, and subsided into silence.
The remainder of the meal was uneventful, with conversation turning on the horrors of travel in the spring, the distance and quality of the roads between Kitswold and Strancaster, the food to be had at various posting houses, and other pleasantries. When Lord Francis had completed his hearty meal of ham, toast, fruit and eggs, the four of them moved to the hall, where through the windows, a luxurious traveling carriage emblazoned with the Strancaster arms could be seen drawn up before the door.
"I must thank you ladies for your care of me," said Lord Francis with a bow. "If it had not been for your gracious help, my recovery would have been far more difficult and far less enjoyable. I am greatly in your debt."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Miss Harriet. "As though we did any more than was our duty and as though you have been anything less than pleasant as a guest. Why, I could wish that members of our family were as delightful to spend time with as you. My cousin Phillip, for example. He came to stay with us when I was a girl, and I blush to recall the things my father said about it as his visit extended from one month to two and from two months to three. But there, it is not of Cousin Phillip we speak, and just as well too, as he has long since gone to his reward, which I trust is such a one as we all might wish for. I was speaking of you Lord Francis. I quite count you one of the family and expect you to wait on us frequently in London. Do you not agree, Isobel?"
Isobel was spared having to respond when Lord Francis laughed and took Miss Harriet firmly in his arms and kissed her soundly on the cheek.
"I will miss you more than most of my own cousins," he declared.
Harriet seemed well pleased by this, hugging him back with a smile. Lord Francis then bowed gracefully over Lady Morgan's hand. "I regret that our paths crossed so briefly, Lady Morgan, and that I had not more time to know you better," he said. "I hope to continue our acquaintance in London."
Letitia smiled up at him. "I would enjoy that greatly," she said sunnily. "Please do call upon us."
Lord Francis promised to do so with alacrity, and then turned to Isobel, who was a bit nervous, lest she would receive the same treatment as Miss Harriet. She was, therefore, relieved when Lord Francis bowed formally before her taking her hand. "I wish to kiss the hand that has healed me," he said gallantly.
Isobel smiled at this, while Harriet and Letitia murmured their pleasure with the prettiness of the sentiment. However, rather than the formal brush of his lips on the back of her hand that Isobel expected, Lord Francis turned it slowly and pressed a burning kiss into her palm. He lowered her hand but continued to hold it and stood looking at her in silence. Isobel at first lowered her eyes from his as she felt a blush rise in her cheeks again--the second time in two hours she reflected angrily—but then she firmly removed her hand from his grasp and gazed at him boldly.
"Upon my word, Lord Francis," she declared. "I hope you will not treat the young misses at Almack’s so. Their matchmaking mamas will take your bold ways amiss, and you will not be welcome in refined drawing rooms. But perhaps it is not the company of refined ladies you will principally be seeking this Season."
She had the mixed pleasure of seeing that she had made him angry by the spark deep in his eyes. But he shrugged slightly, thanked her politely for her hospitality, bowed again, and said a farewell to all the ladies. He stepped out the door as Haggock held it open, and ran lightly down the steps, springing into the open door of the coach held by a liveried footman. Isobel felt for a moment as though a light was gone from the hall, and then chastised herself firmly. Of course the light was gone; Haggock had closed the door. She would not allow herself to miss Lord Francis, for Harriet's laments on that point would be entirely too frequent for her taste, she knew.
In any event, Isobel found herself with little time or energy to miss his lordship. The date of the ladies' departure was not far away, and in the intervening ten days there was a host of activities to undertake. Servants must be dispatched to London with instructions for opening the town house, meetings with her estate agent increased to every other day, plans for travel must be made, horses must be sent to her stable in London, and a host of other details remained to be worked out.
In addition, the second of her papers to the Royal Academy was incomplete and must be finished. Nor must Letitia be neglected; Isobel did her best to encourage her friend to walk and ride everyday and to eat large helpings at every meal. All this activity required great exertion, and Isobel found herself rising early each day, and often working in her library by candlelight after Miss Harriet and Lady Morgan were abed. But finally all the trunks were packed and sent ahead to London, the grooms and horses had departed, the servants had readied the dust covers against the ladies’ departure, and all was prepared. On the last night at Kitswold House Isobel worked far into the night, but was rewarded at last as she put the final pen strokes to her second effort, with a feeling of satisfaction that it would create quite a stir at the meeting of the Society. She felt her usual pang of regret and envy that her cousin, Alexander, would present her work in the name of the "invalid" "Marcus" Paley, but she had already wept bitter tears over this in the past and saw no further use in them.
Isobel's comfortable and elegant traveling coach transported the three women to London as quickly as possible, and within three days Isobel had the pleasure of having the door to her house on Clarges Street opened by her London butler, Pierce. They shed their capes and hats and repaired to the drawing room, where a blazing fire roared in the hearth. Steaming tea soon arrived and in fewer moments than anyone with a less organized staff could have deemed possible, they felt as though the trials of travel were vanquished and Isobel was animatedly outlining the shopping expeditions that must be undertaken in order to equip themselves in the latest crack of fashion before beginning their social rounds.
Morning found them abed late, but in the early afternoon Isobel determined that the most important item of business was a visit to the modiste to ensure that she and Letitia were both armed with several divine new ensembles before the social whirl began in earnest. She whisked into Letitia's bedroom to find her friend lingering over her toilette.
"Come, Letty," she said. "We must hurry to Madame Celine's if our dresses are to be ready before the round of entertainments begins."
Letitia smiled at her friend, but shook her head. "I will be happy to come with you, Isobel, but I fear I cannot buy any new dresses."
"Nonsense, Letitia, the outfits you wear look lovely on you, but are sadly out of mode, due, I am sure, to your being immured in the Welsh countryside the last few Seasons. Surely you want to refurbish your wardrobe?"
"I would love to Isobel, but I have no funds. Even if Alfred allowed me access to his money, there is not enough in the bank to cover the mortgages on our land, much less to outfit me with new clothing for a Season in London. Indeed, I am beginning to think that accompanying you here was a sorry mistake; I will be a drag on your pleasure."
Isobel was taken aback. She knew Letitia had said Alfred had wasted their money at the tables, but she had little realized how severe her friend's penury was.
"You could never be a burden to me in any way, Letitia. I feel only pleasure to have you here, no matter how you are dressed. I am afraid I have sadly neglected your plight in my frenzy to close Kitswold and finish my work; now it is time to turn my attention to it. We must visit my lawyer as soon as may be. However, first we shall go shopping. I shall outfit you with a new wardrobe."
"I cannot possibly allow you to spend your money on me, Isobel," said Letitia. "I may be unfortunately placed, but I am not a charity case. I thought I would not go much into society this Season anyway; I have never taken great pleasure in it."
"Of course you are not a charity case," said Isobel with asperity. "But you are my friend. I cannot have you hiding yourself away in this house like a
ghost! You know I have plenty of money, and who do I have to spend it on but my friends and myself? I have no children with a claim to it, and the dressmakers always need business. They need to feed themselves, too. Would you be so cruel as to deny a modiste her daily bread out of pride?"
Letitia had to laugh at her friend's nonsense. "Really Isobel, I cannot allow you to..."
"You cannot allow me to go to a modiste with my friend in attendance and buy myself many dresses and have her return home without a single one," interrupted Isobel. "Please give me this little pleasure, Letitia. With your fair hair you can wear all the lovely colors I cannot; do give me the joy of ordering a sky blue dress for once in my life!"
"I give up," cried Letitia, throwing up her hands in mock dismay. "You have won me over! I will allow you to buy me a hundred dresses if you will!"
The ladies left the house in high spirits and took themselves off to Bond Street. The visit was highly satisfactory, and Isobel left Madame Celine’s establishment confident that her reputation as a tastemaker would remain intact. She had selected well cut carriage dresses, a riding habit whose close fit and dashing ornamentation a la Hussar would make other ladies swoon with envy, morning dresses, dinner dresses, and two ball gowns which would ensure that she would be widely acclaimed as a setter of fashion. Letitia was likewise outfitted, with Isobel only having to urge her a little to indulge in the lovely rose silk ball gown and the sarsenet walking dress with a matching spencer trimmed in passementerie. A quick trip to the Pantheon Bazaar resulted in the purchase of several bolts of fine muslin, so that morning dresses could be made up for Letitia by a fine but less modish seamstress known to Harriet.
The Secret Bluestocking: Isobel's Traditional Regency Romance Page 6