Late the next morning, Isobel and Letitia sat in the morning room. They had decided not to pay calls, and Pierce had been instructed to inform visitors that they were not at home. Isobel read, while Letty attempted to net a reticule, though through inattentiveness she was constantly making mistakes that required her to rip out her previous work. She flung the offending piece of work away pettishly and stood up. Walking to the window, she peered out into the street and then returned to her chair, falling into it with a thump.
"I almost think it would be best to seek out Alfred. This waiting, like a mouse for the cat to pounce, is unbearable." She lifted her hands helplessly and let them fall.
"I know it is hard, Letty. I too accomplish nothing. I could not tell you two words that I have read this morning. But I think we must wait for him here. Only think how dreadful to meet Alfred in a public place, where he might create a scene."
At that moment, the door opened and Pierce announced, "Lord Morgan."
Baron Morgan entered the room. He had the dissipated appearance of one who had not entirely recovered from the previous evening’s festivities, and his toilette lacked the careful elegance of good grooming. He raised his quizzing glass and examined the two ladies with a pronounced sneer. Letitia shrank into her chair, while Isobel lifted her chin and a distinctly combative glint entered her eyes.
"My dear wife, I have found you at last," drawled Lord Morgan. "I did not realize when you begged my permission to pay a short visit to your friend Miss Paley that three months would pass before I laid eyes on you or my offspring again."
Letty held out a placating hand. "Isobel begged me to accompany her to London, and I felt sure that you would not miss me, my lord."
"And did it not occur to you to at least write, asking my permission?"
"Lord Morgan, if you will tell your wife to go and be damned, you can hardly expect her to believe that you are very concerned with her future whereabouts," snapped Isobel. "Lady Morgan has only done as you so graciously asked of her. Fortunately for her, she has friends who value her excellent qualities as they should."
Lord Morgan whipped around as though stung. "This matter is no business of yours," he shouted. "Letitia is my wife and she will do as I say. And I say that she will return to Wales with me." He looked at Letitia closely for the first time.
"How came you by that new dress? If you have been running up bills at the dressmaker's madam, I vow it will be the worse for you."
"Indeed, my lord, I have not spent any of your money on my clothing," said Letitia.
"Taking charity from your friend, I suppose," he sneered. "I will not have it. Have you no pride?"
"At least she has good manners, Lord Morgan. You have neither pride nor breeding, if this display is representative. What can you be thinking of to abuse your wife in front of others and air your personal disagreements and financial embarrassments publicly?" Isobel asked heatedly. "You may have the right to order Letty to return to Morgan Park, but you are no gentleman."
"At least I am the head of my household," said Lord Morgan. "I will not have Letty staying here in this hen house to learn to disregard my wishes, and I will not brook your interference, Miss Paley. I have no need of your sharp tongue."
"You may have no need of it, Lord Morgan, but I fail to see how you will prevent me from exercising it," responded Isobel. "This is my house and I cannot be bullied as you do poor Letty. If you do not like what I have to say you are quite free to leave. I for one would not be sorry to see you do so."
"I will leave Miss Paley, but I am taking Letitia and our children with me."
He turned to Letitia. "Get the brats and your things," he snapped. "And be ready to leave within the hour. I will send a carriage for you. We are staying at Grillon's Hotel."
Isobel could not resist the opportunity to bait him further, "At Grillon's Hotel? Are you not opening your town house, Lord Morgan?" There was a significant pause. "But there, how rude of me. I had quite forgot that you have had to sell Morgan House. Debts and mortgages, very tiresome things, but when one insists on losing one’s fortune at the tables, what can one do?"
Alfred was trembling with rage and took a step towards her, lifting his hand slightly. Isobel stood up, facing him with a martial look on her face.
"Oh, please do strike me, Lord Morgan. You may be able to mistreat your family with impunity, but you will never live it down if you do it to me. You miserable coward, hit me and I will see to it that you will spend the rest of your days at Morgan Park, for not a soul in society will speak to you. Let that be a warning to you not to treat Letty as ill as you have in the past. For though a wife may be obligated to tolerate more than an acquaintance, there are lengths to which you cannot go without incurring censure there either. Cross the line at your peril, Lord Morgan, for Letitia is not friendless."
Letitia appeared to be on the verge of tears. "Enough, Isobel, I will go with him. Only give me two hours, Alfred, so that I may get the children ready without distressing them unduly," she asked of the baron.
"Very well," he assented grudgingly. "But do not be late." Alfred turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door resoundingly as he departed.
After he left, Isobel and Letitia were very still for a few moments.
"It is not to be borne!" Isobel exclaimed. "That he should govern your well being."
"Hush Isobel. It must be borne, and so it shall be. You have at least given the children and me a respite from him and from the worst of his brutality. I have had a great deal of time to think about this moment, and I have considered how best to protect them and me. I cannot thank you enough for that," replied Letitia with a quiet dignity.
"Well, leave anything of value that you can with me," said Isobel. "At least you will not see him sell your things or give them to some lightskirt. And soon enough he will grow tired of baiting you again. Then when he tells you to go to the devil, you can come back to me." On this note of false gaiety Isobel embraced Letty, and the two women went to her room to make ready to depart.
Somewhat less than two hours later, Letitia, James, and Emily stood in the hall of Isobel’s house, their trunks around them. Pierce opened the door and drawn up in front was a dingy hackney carriage of great antiquity. The jarvey was of the lowest sort. Isobel compressed her lips and looked angry, but held her tongue.
"Pierce, pay the jarvey for his trip and bid him go. Have my carriage brought around to transport Lady Morgan to Grillon's Hotel, and let one of the footmen convey the message to Lord Morgan that her ladyship’s arrival will be delayed due to the unsuitability of the equipage sent to transport her. Then bring us some sherry in the drawing room while we wait for my carriage."
She swept Letty, who was trying to bear up beneath this new insult, and the children before her.
"Letty, I know it is difficult for you, and that any kind of conflict oversets you, but you must know that Lord Morgan is the worst sort of bully‑‑a coward who can only draw strength from his victim’s weakness. If you can but bring yourself to stand up to him, he may not leave you in peace, but he will almost certainly harass you less," Isobel said as she closed the drawing room door on Pierce’s interested ears.
"I know, Isobel," replied Letty wringing her hands. "But I am afraid of his temper, and I fear that I will only make him more violent if I respond in kind. I have the intention of doing better now, though."
Isobel poured them each a glass of sherry and tried to quell her anger. Too soon, Pierce announced the carriage was ready, and Isobel and Letty embraced tearfully as they parted. As the front door of her house closed after Letty and the children, Isobel put her hands to her pounding temples. The events of the morning had resulted in a headache that threatened to become a migraine, and she longed only for quiet. Mercifully, Harriet had not returned from paying calls, so Isobel decided to return to the morning room rather than taking to her bed. She instructed Pierce to deny her to all visitors and lay down on a chaise longue in the morning room in hopes of curing
her headache. But she found her thoughts running in an old rut of anger at Alfred’s perfidy, and disappointment that Lord Francis should be a friend of the baron. It was a great deal too bad. She could not countenance it. She was feeling particularly exasperated, and her head was pounding when the door opened and Lord Francis entered. Pierce followed him apologetically.
"I explained to his lordship that you were not at home, Miss Paley, but he would not be denied."
"Very well, Pierce. You may go."
Lord Francis had stopped short when he noticed that Isobel was reclining in a darkened room, and now exclaimed abruptly, "Dash it, I told Pierce that I would show myself up, but I had no notion that you were really not feeling quite the thing."
Isobel longed only to press her hands to her throbbing temples, close her eyes and reopen them to discover that his lordship was but a hallucination, but she recovered quickly and pinned a social smile to her face.
"Lord Francis, how delightful of you to visit," she said in a strained voice. "My cousin Harriet missed you at Almack's last night. She was longing to thank you again for the delightful excursion to Richmond. Unfortunately she is out paying calls, and you have missed her."
"I regret having been the cause of Miss Walcott's disappointment, but the notion of dancing seemed a bit flat to me last night," he replied.
"Was it Watier's for gaming or the Daffy Club for drinking? You are fickle, Lord Francis. I seem to recall an occasion when you expressed the intent of dancing with every English miss possible this spring," Isobel teased.
"Why ma'am, I do believe that I have indeed danced with every young lady in London in the last four weeks, and even a few not so young ones. But of late, I am growing quite nice in my requirements for my partners," he replied, with a sharp look at Isobel. "Surely you recall our conversation on the significance of dancing, Miss Paley? I find now that there is only one lady who suits me measure for measure." He had the air of one who wished to continue, but Isobel, feeling rather desperate, interrupted.
"La, sir, you will have all the matchmaking mamas angry with you..." her voice trailed off slightly as she realized that the subject of matchmaking was still more dangerous ground than Lord Francis' particularity with regard to dancing. Summoning up a vision of her cousin, Isobel took a deep breath and embarked on a change of subject worthy of Miss Harriet. "My friend Elizabeth Broadwick's youngest sister is just out this season, and her mother is in despair over the girl's health. The social calendar, you understand, is simply too much. I think it is so fortunate that the Season will soon be over and Miss Broadwick will be able to return to the more healthful air of the country. I know that I long to go north to Scotland where I often summer. Have you visited Scotland, Lord Francis?"
Isobel felt rather foolish and hoped that she neither looked nor sounded as lacking in poise as she felt. Her fingers fidgeted nervously with the fringe of her shawl, and somehow, she found, she had risen from her chair as she spoke and walked over to the fireplace, and was now was looking into the handsome mirror which hung above it, reflecting the well‑appointed room. She thought grimly that she looked quite haggard and wished again that Lord Francis would simply vanish and allow her to enjoy her misery in peace. But instead she saw in the mirror a fleeting grin cross his face, to be replaced as he walked towards her by another expression composed of mingled amusement, anticipation, and concern. Isobel swung round, opening her mouth to begin another rambling speech in order to avert the proposal she sensed was coming. But Lord Francis stopped her. He reached her side and grasped her hands. Isobel, unwilling to look him in the eyes, dropped her head, gaining a fine view of his handsomely tailored waistcoat.
"I too think it a very handsome waistcoat, Miss Paley, but I wish to speak to you, not your charming coiffure." One of his strong fingers lifted her chin and grey eyes met green. "Will you not hear me, Miss Paley? Why must you always put me off? My intentions are honorable, my current situation more than comfortable, and my prospects excellent. I wish to marry you, take up diplomacy, and raise a happy family. In spite of your evident concerns to the contrary, my friends will tell you that I am not excessively fond of gaming or the muslin company, and in fact, am a boringly steady character even when I am not dancing at thoroughly respectable balls with young ladies without two words to say for themselves. I will even make my proposal to you in form if you wish."
To Isobel's horror and confusion, Lord Francis whipped a large white handkerchief from his pocket. Dropping it on the floor to protect his exceedingly well fitting buff colored pantaloons, he sank to one knee before her. He retained his hold on her hands, and smiled up at her, with laughter in his grey eyes. "Will you not take my hand as well as my heart, Miss Paley, and make me the happiest of men?"
Isobel stared down at Lord Francis. She acknowledged to herself that she did indeed find him an attractive parti. His looks, manners, connections, air of fashion, his prospects and fortune, and particularly the serious turn of mind that it was apparent he largely concealed under the veneer of the fashionable fribble, intrigued her.
Certainly, he was the first suitor even to have troubled the calm surface of her mind. Yet against this she must stake her freedom, and the opportunity to manage her fortune, oversee her properties, and pursue her archaeological studies in peace. Isobel shuddered at the thought Letitia’s condition. Every woman knew of such situations, but few had the money, education, and inclination to choose a different path. Her head felt as though a steel band was being drawn tightly around it, and little stars were bursting behind her eyes.
"Oh dear, I don't know, I didn't expect," she gasped, and then with a tremendous effort recovered her presence of mind. "Please get up, dear Lord Francis."
As he rose to smile at her, she did her best to proceed calmly. "You do me the greatest possible honor with your offer, Lord Francis. If I were not quite, quite, determined never to marry, there is no man whom I would more happily accept than you. I do regret any pain that my response may cause you, but as you have noticed, I have done my best to put you off. I hope, however, that we can continue as friends, for I enjoy your company." Isobel was pleased with her answer and seated herself, hoping that Lord Francis would leave instantly or at least consider the subject closed. But he stood looking at her with a thunderstruck expression on his face.
"Never marry?" he repeated. "It is absurd. What place does an unmarried woman have? On what does she rely for comfort, for respectability, for happiness after her youth is gone?"
Isobel went instantly from the calm that covers internal anxiety and quaking, to rage fueled by her physical discomfort and his thoughtless remarks.
"I do not know what other women do for those things, but I carry my own honor, comfort, and happiness in my heart. I have no need to rely on another for these essentials. And I know of many a woman whose husband has frittered away his fortune, or infected her with the French disease, who wishes she had never married," she retorted heatedly.
"Am I to assume that you believe that I would treat you in such a way?" inquired Lord Francis icily.
"Not at all. But you may assume that I have no wish to exchange my freedom to control my life and fortune to be the chattel of any man, let alone one I have known only a few weeks."
"I apologize if my proposals are too precipitate for you. However, you surely have had more time to become acquainted with me in these few weeks when I have run tame in your house than most women do before they choose a husband."
"And what did I learn about you? That you are the kind of man who will take his groom and horses out in dangerous weather? That you dance charmingly and flirt gracefully with ladies young and old? That you are on friendly terms with every man about town in London? That is hardly likely to make me believe that you have the makings of a responsible husband and father."
"You grow insulting, madam," said Lord Francis. "If my conduct towards you has been disrespectful or irresponsible, I apologize. I now have only to regret that I wished for a closer connection between
us."
He left the room abruptly, leaving Isobel with a strong desire to burst into tears, run after him to continue their argument, and have a temper tantrum all at the same time. She settled for pacing up and down the room, her thoughts in complete chaos, until she finally felt so wretched that she retreated to her room with a tisane of chamomile to indulge her misery to the fullest.
Chapter 14
A few days after Miss Paley rejected his proposal of marriage, Lord Francis Wheaton walked up the steps of Strancaster House, following a pleasant lunch at White’s and a stroll down Bond Street. None of the friends he had encountered could have guessed at the inner turmoil that beset him or the fact that, despite his calm demeanor and pleasant conversion, his thoughts were fixed solely on Miss Isobel Paley.
The lady's elusiveness had reached a maddening point. When she had first rejected his suit a week before, he had retired, his pride wounded, determined to steer wide of her in the future. And yet Isobel was always where he was, at balls, at the theater, riding in the park, continually putting every other lady in her presence in the shade and distracting him from his aim of remaining aloof.
"Welcome home, Lord Francis," said the butler.
"Thank you, Crawford," Lord Francis answered as he entered the black and white tiled hall and handed over his hat and gloves. Faint sounds of doors opening and closing drifted down from the curving staircase that rose to the upper floors. Lord Francis gave Crawford an inquiring look.
"Viscount and Lady Exencour have just arrived, my lord."
"My brother is here? That’s famous new, Crawford," responded Lord Francis with a smile. "When they are settled tell Exencour he’ll find me in the library."
He repaired to the library, and settled himself in high backed leather chair with a glass of brandy and his persistent thoughts of Isobel. Her behavior mystified him. A female who wished to remain unmarried was a creature barely within Lord Francis’ ability to imagine. A gently bred woman, even one of means, must always marry. Lord Francis didn’t fully share the common belief that women were essentially overgrown children, with limited intellectual capacity, but he was aware that comparative anatomists had established firmly that women were physically inferior to men, and their smaller heads and wider hips fit them only for child rearing. An older unmarried woman was either a source of amusement or, like Miss Harriet, a companion to a relative. Lord Francis could not envision Isobel chaperoning her young nieces, but he was equally certain there was no place in Society for an unwed woman of thirty years of age.
The Secret Bluestocking: Isobel's Traditional Regency Romance Page 13