As for Lord Francis, Isobel had not exchanged two words with him since the day he had asked for her hand in marriage. She saw him occasionally at a party or when driving in the park, but she felt unable to do more than bow to him, and he had not approached her, merely responding in kind. She reluctantly admitted to herself that she missed his companionship, but firmly squelched any traitorous thought that might suggest she harbored stronger emotions for him than friendship. He was an excellent conversationalist and an able dance partner; nothing more.
All in all, Isobel was glad that the Season was almost over. The round of parties and entertainments had come to seem unbearably dull, and she looked forward eagerly to the change of activities and scenery that would occur when she travelled to Scotland. She concentrated her energies on preparations for the trip and planning her summer's excavations at the ruins so conveniently near her property in Ballydendargan. In this way she avoided thinking of poor Letitia and the intrusive Lord Francis.
These activities occupied Isobel so thoroughly that her attendance at parties became infrequent, but when she received an invitation to an al fresco entertainment at Lady Cranebank's, she decided to attend. The Cranebank's estate, located in Merton, was known for its lovely gardens and wooded walks, and it seemed to her that an afternoon outside would be preferable to paying calls. In addition, it would be an opportunity for her to say farewell to many friends she would not see again until the following spring.
The day dawned fair with gentle breezes, and Isobel and Miss Harriet departed for the Cranebank's picnic in a flurry of muslin and lace. Isobel had chosen to be driven in her barouche, so she raised a frivolous lace parasol to shield herself from the sun.
"Well, my dear, I don't know why you bother with that," said Harriet. "You know very well that soon you will be outside in those ruins of yours every day and your complexion will be quite destroyed. I am distraught every year when I perceive the ravages that your work inflicts on your complexion! I will have to take an entire trunk of lotions with me in hopes that I can repair it!"
Isobel laughed. "I am a sad trial to you, am I not?" she asked. "I will do my very best to wear a hat at all times this year, but I fear that at times I must discard it, as it can so easily block my vision. I would much rather find a Roman coin than preserve my complexion."
Harriet shook her head in dismay. "You will never be married if you continue this disastrous fascination with antiquities! Why, only fancy, I had thought that Lord Francis Wheaton would come up to scratch, but it seems that he has quite given up on you, for he has not come to call for more than two weeks now, and I do miss him sadly, for he is such a companionable gentleman. The two of you looked so lovely together, and I had my hopes set on you marrying, but now it seems that it will not be, and I had so wished..."
Isobel felt helpless under the flow of words. She had not told Harriet of Lord Francis' proposal and her refusal of it. She knew that their marriage was one of Harriet's fondest wishes, and she had not cared to inform her of the situation, and face the ensuing cascade of laments and recriminations.
"Come, Cousin," she said. "You must know that Lord Francis is a gentleman who has more to do than dance attendance on us in Clarges Street. I am sure you will encounter him sometime soon and you may be assured that he still holds you in esteem."
"It is not his feelings towards me that I care about, though of course he is always a perfectly delightful companion; so interesting and thoughtful," said Harriet. "It is how he feels about you that concerns me, and I fear that perhaps the odd quirks in your nature, or your levity about serious matters, has discouraged him, for I was quite certain that he would propose to you anytime these past weeks, and now his absence from Clarges Street would seem to indicate that perhaps he has decided against it, for which I would be very sorry..."
Isobel was relieved when the carriage drew up then to the Cranebanks property, and Harriet's ramblings on the nature of Lord Francis' state of mind were replaced with exclamations of delight at the beauty of the setting. They alighted from the carriage, greeted their hostess, and joined the party with every anticipation of a delightful afternoon.
Isobel surveyed the delicate tables and spindle-legged chairs distributed about the well-groomed lawn. Women dressed in delicate pastel muslin gowns drifted to and fro like apple petals on the breeze. Gentlemen in morning dress, their pale colored pantaloons contrasting with dark coats, escorted them. Isobel circulated among the crowd addressing a laughing remark here, a concerned inquiry there, and making small talk with her friends. Harriet seated herself at one of the tables and embarked on a lively gossip with a pair of women of the same uncertain age, their lace capped heads shining in the sunlight, ribbons lifting gently in the air.
After some time circulating among her fellow guests, Isobel, wearied, felt a desire to be quite alone, and she slipped away from the throng congregated on the grass to enter a pretty little wood that had been designed by some long-gone landscaper to offer an escape from the sun of the lawn. Ancient oaks filtered the light, and bluebells bloomed in the shade along the footpath. She enjoyed the hush after the bustle of the party. Only a short way into the wood a bench had been placed in a clearing, providing a place to view a charming statue of Cupid and Psyche. Isobel seated herself, and let her mind drift off to plan her summer’s work in Scotland.
She had not been there long when the stillness was broken by the sound of voices and a party of two ladies and three gentlemen entered the clearing. Sir Jason Partney, Lord Francis Wheaton, and Mr. Thomas Alcorn were accompanying Miss Brooks‑Walsham and Lady Jane Spencegill on a stroll through the wood. Isobel felt a brief stab of jealousy at the sight of Lord Francis, his head tilted slightly to catch the words of Eliza Brooks-Waltham, the dashing beauty he escorted, but she quelled it firmly to smile at their party.
"How can it be that such a beautiful lady sits here unaccompanied?" lisped Sir Jason, an exquisite young man whose lavender pantaloons and exceeding highly shirt points declared his pretensions to dandyism. "Do join us, Miss Paley. It will not do for you to deprive the rest of us of your company."
Isobel glanced at Lord Francis’ face, which was studiously bland. She smiled at the group, but shook her head. "How kind of you to invite me, but I am only resting for a moment, and then I will rejoin Miss Walcott, who must be wondering where I am."
"Miss Walcott was pleasantly engaged with her friends when we departed a few moments ago," said Mr. Alcorn. "I must add my pleas to Sir Jason’s. Please join us, ma’am, and we will cast all others at this gathering quite into the shade."
Isobel looked again at Lord Francis, attempting to gauge his emotions, but he only smiled in return. Feeling that any further remonstrance would only make her appear ridiculous, she joined the group as they proceeded into the woods.
With the imperceptible ease of good breeding and good manners, Lord Francis relinquished Miss Brooks‑Walsham’s arm to Sir Jason, and to her surprise Isobel discovered that as the path narrowed, she and Lord Francis made the third of three couples. She reflected that since she had refused Lord Francis, there could be no harm in conversation if his lordship was inclined to bear her company in spite of her rejection, and she now smiled on him brilliantly and naturally.
"Lady Cranebanks is very fortunate in the weather. An al fresco entertainment must always entail risk, but here we have the picture perfect spring day."
Lord Francis inclined his head gracefully. "And picture perfect company with which to enjoy it," he replied gallantly.
Isobel chuckled. "Humbug!" she said roundly. "But this is indeed a delightful entertainment. I must say that it is far more to my taste to enjoy the gardens here, rather than recreated in some stuffy ballroom."
"You are fortunate enough to be one of the few women in London who shine in any setting, ma'am," said Lord Francis.
"Come now, Lord Francis," said Isobel briskly. As she was determined to be more comfortable with him now that they had cleared the hurdle of his proposal, she fel
t that she could dissuade him from his evident belief that he needed to pay her endless compliments. "While it is very kind of you to speak so flatteringly to me, I do quite well without it. Pray, let us speak on less tedious topics."
Lord Francis raised his eyebrows, wondering briefly how many of their previous conversations Isobel had judged to be tedious, but then gracefully acceded. "Then we shall do as you request, The Season is almost at an end. Will you be removing to Brighton for the summer?"
Isobel grimaced. "No, I do not find the Regent's set particularly amusing. I suppose that you will be there, however, since your years of hardship on the Peninsula must make a summer of frivolity very attractive, and so many of your friends will be in attendance."
"My engagements for the summer months are not yet set," replied Lord Francis.
"During my first Season, I attended the Regent's great ball at Carlton House, as well as visiting Brighton over the summer months. I cannot say that either was an unalloyed pleasure."
Lord Francis laughed. "It is certainly true that many of Prinny's companions, as well as the Regent himself, are known to be a trifle warm in their doings. I recall a memorable evening at the Marine Pavilion when he insisted that all of the guests must see him shoot with an air‑gun at a target placed at the end of the room. In spite of being in his altitudes, his aim was amazingly true and he actually succeeded in hitting it."
In spite of her distaste for the Regent, Isobel had to join Lord Francis in a chuckle, and he continued. "When Prinny insisted that the ladies join the sport however, it became quite another thing. Mrs. Creevey was able to evade his hospitality by pleading the near sightedness of her excessively squinty daughters, but Miss Johnstone hit a door, and Miss Bloomfield the ceiling, while Lady Downshire struck a fiddler in the dining room."
"How very absurd," said Isobel. "This is precisely why I no longer choose to endure the heat, dust, and very dubious crowds of Brighton, and spend my summers in Scotland instead. The mist rising from the glens, the bloom of the gorse bushes, and the smell of new mown hay is a better refreshment for me."
The path on which they strolled had reemerged onto the impeccably groomed lawns of Cranebank Park. Lord Francis gazed into the distance. "I remember the smell of the haying at Strancaster when I was a boy," he reminisced. "My groom was the brother of one of the chief farmers of the district, and during haying he would take me out to help them in the fields. When I grew tired, the wife would give me fresh milk, and I would fall asleep under a tree. I suppose I cannot have been much help to them, but it was a great pleasure to me." His voice drifted off.
"When I was a girl it was the apple picking at Wereham that I helped with," Isobel replied, her eyes dreamy. "My governess would give me leave and I would go out barefoot with the village children to gather the windfalls for cider. The first cider off the press was always the sweetest. I doubt that I was of any more real assistance to the endeavor than you. It was my father who first took me to Scotland of a summer, for he was quite interested in the mysterious Pictish runes that are to be found there."
"Your family appears to be quite scholarly. My father has no such pretensions, but we did go to Scotland a few times when I was a youth for angling. I have memories of standing in freezing water up to my waist, fighting with fish who were quite determined not to be landed."
"There is much excellent fishing in Scotland, though, of course, I have never assayed it," said Isobel. "I must be content with rides through the beautiful countryside and--and tending to my gardens."
She almost regretted being unable to share with him her true purpose in Scotland; for the moment she found herself remarkably in charity with Lord Francis, who seemed to have temporarily dropped his foppish facade, allowing her to see the man beneath.
"I believe the Dargen River on the Earl of Glencairn’s lands is well known as one of the best trout waters in the country. However, I must confess that I am no compleat angler, and the subtleties of Mr. Walton’s instructions were completely lost on me in those days. Perhaps now that I am older I will develop the patience required of those who wish to land the fish of their choice," commented Francis, with a significance completely lost on Isobel.
"You visited the Earl of Glencairn as a boy?" she replied in astonishment.
"Certainly, he is an old friend of my father’s, and we visited Glencairn on several occasions. However, the Scottish weather is not particularly healthful for my brother Harry’s weak lungs and we did not go there when I grew older."
"What a very odd coincidence," said Isobel. "Glencairn Castle is barely a mile from my property in Scotland. The Earl is a charming gentleman, though Harriet and I live very retired when we are there, so we see little enough of him. If you wish, I will remember you to him if we see him this summer."
"That would be very kind. Glencairn and my father correspond, but I have had no contact with him in years, though I was quite impressed by him as a lad. He had a magical touch with the tying of flies, and in the evening before we went out on the river Harry and I would watch him preparing them for the morning’s sport."
Their footsteps had returned them to the party, and Isobel extended her hand to him. "Thank you for a pleasant stroll, Lord Francis," she said.
Lord Francis gazed into her large green eyes. "The pleasure was all mine, Miss Paley," he said. The commonplace words were at great variance with the strong emotions he suddenly felt as he looked at her. It was borne in upon him forcibly that he felt much more for Isobel than he had previously realized.
At the time of his proposal to her he had felt that she was a beautiful and charming woman who would make him a wholly appropriate wife, one who would complement his social position and would not be unpleasant to share a home with. Now he was suddenly aware that, if Miss Paley were to be removed from his life, there would be a hole at the center of his existence that could not be filled by another.
Isobel looked perplexed, as Lord Francis seemed to be hesitating over their goodbyes. His hand rose slightly from his side, as though he were about to take her hand again.
"I hope you have a delightful summer," she said, moving away from him.
Lord Francis pulled himself together and bowed. "I am sure I shall. Perhaps we will encounter one another again soon."
"It is unlikely, as my departure from London is imminent. I am sure we will meet again next spring, Lord Francis."
Isobel floated away in a cloud of green muslin. Lord Francis gazed after her, a rapt expression on his face. He was distracted by the approach of Lady Castlemere and her daughter.
"There you are, Lord Francis," she exclaimed. "We have been searching all over for you. Dear Sophie and I were wondering if you would be in Brighton this summer; I am planning some entertainments, and they would not be complete without your presence."
Lord Francis bowed over her hand. "I regret, Lady Castlemere, that I shall not be in Brighton this year. I intend to visit Scotland."
Chapter 16
Isobel Paley stood, arms akimbo, dressed in her oldest gown, with a shawl knotted about her head and an unmistakable dust smudge on her cheek. The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky on Ben Farclas, the mountain’s shoulders clad in a heather purple mist, and to the north, the firth sparkled indigo and white below the glen. A warm breeze lifted fields of ripening oats, and they shifted among varying shades of gold. It was a lovely sight, but Miss Paley was not attending to the scenery. Instead, she surveyed the excavation of a Roman hill fort, which she had unearthed the previous summer.
This year she was engaged in the more interesting task of investigating the settlement that the garrison had once supported. Nearby, workers were cleaning a glowing mosaic floor, which had been a part of the baths. Even here, reflected Isobel with pleasure, in what had been one of the most remote and barbarous parts of their empire, the Romans had built a luxurious, if modest sized, bath. The discovery of the baths and mosaic had been a wondrous find and she was looking forward to a productive summer sketching and documentin
g them, as well as cataloging the many objects she had found. A frisson of excitement ran through her as it always did when she contemplated the many mysteries she might solve.
Isobel took her pen and notebook and settled herself at a rough desk, which was shaded slightly by a crude tent constructed near the site. She unrolled an unfinished but detailed drawing, and leaned over it, resuming sketching the mosaics, as the workers continued to unearth the walls and other features of the bath house.
Immersed in her work, Isobel was oblivious to her surroundings, emerging from her concentration only if one of the laborers interrupted her with a question. The work was slow and tedious, and soon the sun mounted high in the sky. She decided reluctantly that, in view of the ruinous effects of the afternoon sun on a lady’s complexion, she had best conclude her work for the day.
She was flexing her fingers and looking around at the excavation activities so that she could issue instructions for the remainder of the afternoon, when the sound of hoof beats could be heard. Isobel made a moue of vexation. Although her neighbors were aware of her work, Isobel much preferred to draw as little attention as possible to her activities, and she did not relish being observed in such an unladylike situation.
Her annoyance, however, rapidly changed to horror when Major Lord Francis Wheaton appeared, cantering over the rise on which the excavation lay. His exquisitely cut riding coat and the shining white tops of his boots made her feel unaccountably dowdy, dusty, and uncomfortable, while his look of polite surprise made her mind race for a possible excuse why she, Miss Isobel Paley, ornament of Society, was to be found in the middle of a dirty excavation site with a smudge on her cheek.
Lord Francis maneuvered his horse closer, and his eyebrows inched slowly up as he surveyed her.
"Can it be?" he said in a languid drawl. "Is this indeed Miss Paley? How very pleasant to see you again ma'am, particularly under such, er, unexpected circumstances." His eyes moved lazily over the scene, taking in the toiling workers and Isobel’s drawings, but in their depths their lurked a hint of amusement. He swung down from his horse, providing Isobel with a fine opportunity to observe his thigh muscles rippling under his close fitting riding breeches.
The Secret Bluestocking: Isobel's Traditional Regency Romance Page 15