"Not at all, Lord Francis. Thank you for doing me this service."
He bowed. "It is my pleasure. And now, perhaps we can broach these drawings? I am sure you will have many brilliant ideas on the proper placement of the folly."
Isobel resigned herself to an hour of going over the surveys in excessive detail. Soon, despite herself, she began to become interested in the project. Lord Francis proved to be not only knowledgeable, but also interested in hearing her opinions on the matter. He agreed with her that the folly should be placed with its back to the lake and should be sited so as to be appreciated from the terrace of the house, and, if at all possible, the rooms which faced the lake. They were so much in agreement that she felt quite charitable towards him, until she remembered the coins in his pocket.
As for Lord Francis, he departed an hour later feeling quite pleased with himself. Through the avenue of the folly he was able not only to spend a large amount of time in Isobel's company, but he was also able to confirm his suspicion that she was hiding something from him. Although he was reasonably certain of what it might be, he could not resist teasing her on the subject. The coins rattling in his pocket made him smile; Alexander Paley would doubtless be surprised when they arrived.
Plans progressed quickly for the folly, due primarily to Lord Francis' great enthusiasm for the project. He became an almost constant presence at Dargenwater Cottage, showing up every day with drawings and plans, requesting the favor of Miss Paley's advice on the matter of the correct placement of the columns or the ornamentation of the doorway. Isobel soon learned that if she wished to have any time at all for her research, it was necessary to set a firm time at which to meet with Lord Francis at Glencairn each day.
Thus a fair day in July found her on the banks of Glencairn's ornamental lake, watching as her creation took form. It was in the shape of a miniature Roman temple of gleaming white marble. Determined to design a building properly reflecting the ideals of the Romans, Isobel had spent any number of evenings studying books on Roman architecture and researching the exact proportions of those structures. She had carefully applied this information to her design in order to insure the exquisite harmony of design that marked the greatest of antique temples. A small dome would surmount the entire structure, reflecting the summer sun and the sparkle of winter snows. She was pleased with her work, feeling that Glencairn's ambition and deep pockets and Lord Francis' assiduous attention to the execution of her ideas had resulted in a structure that far exceeded her previous work at Grosbridge.
Lord Francis joined her as she watched the workmen laboring. "It is a fair building, I believe, Miss Paley," he said. "You have surpassed the expectations I had formed from your description of your limited exposure to Roman architecture. This building bids fair to be less a gentleman's folly and more an accurate, though small, recreation of a Roman building."
Isobel smiled at him. His compliment was welcome, and she regretted that she could not accept it without a disclaimer.
"Thank you, my lord," she said. "But I fear that if the building is true to Roman ideals the credit must be placed largely at the feet of Lady Luck, and not at mine. I did some small reading on Roman temples of an evening, and what little I could understand I attempted to put to use. If the result is pleasing, then I must put it down to simple good sense."
Lord Francis bowed. "I must accept you at your word, for I know you to be a truthful woman, and yet I find the mathematics of this building to be extraordinary. The spacing of the columns is so exact as to be quite remarkable, and I have found that they correspond closely to the placement of the columns of the much admired Maison Carrée."
"That is one of the temples mentioned in the book I perused," said Isobel. "I fear I must admit to some little plagiarism. You have found me out, Lord Francis."
"I would not call it plagiarism," said Lord Francis. "Looking at the plans I see that while the mathematics of the original Roman structures have been retained, there is a sense of airiness about the structure that belies the heaviness of so much Roman work. I believe that you have put much of yourself into this folly, Miss Paley."
"Well, I should be sorry if Lord Glencairn's trust was not repaid with a handsome structure, Lord Francis," said Isobel. "I hope I have not failed him."
"Not at all," said Lord Francis. "The design is excellent in plan, and as I watch it rise, I believe that it will be as charming when built. Come, allow me to escort you down to the site and you may observe the fruits of your labor more closely."
They walked down from the small rise on which Isobel had been standing in order to better view the work, and approached the folly. The walls were rising, and the general shape of the building was becoming apparent. Isobel felt a rush of pleasure at the sight; she was beginning to feel quite proprietary about the building, and almost regretted that she did not own it herself. Perhaps she could find a site at Kitswold, she mused, which might benefit from such a structure. She felt that the application of her knowledge provided greater insights at times than merely studying books.
The workmen barely spared a glance for Isobel and Lord Francis; many of them were familiar to her, as they spent the mornings at her digging site, but she refrained from greeting them and they did not approach her.
"I trust you are not uncomfortable being in such close proximity to the laborers," said Lord Francis. "They are all of them good men and they are grateful for this work."
"I am sure that they are," said Isobel, "and I am not such a delicate woman that I am annoyed by the proximity of laborers."
"Indeed, you seem quite comfortable," said Lord Francis. "One might almost expect that you had had experience supervising workers before."
"I do manage my estate myself," observed Isobel. "And while I do not go directly into the field, I have an understanding of the work done there."
Lord Francis bowed. "A most useful knowledge, I am sure," he said.
Isobel sighed. Lord Francis' manner was beginning to wear on her; over the last few weeks she had received the distinct impression that he did not believe the explanations she offered him to excuse her rather excessive knowledge of Roman antiquities. That they were that, merely excuses designed to hide her real accomplishments, did not stop her from feeling great annoyance with him. She decided to address the issue directly, and perhaps have him put aside his ideas once and for all.
"Lord Francis, you have of late been speaking to me in such a way that would imply you do not believe what I am telling you," she said. "Do you harbor some belief that I have abilities which I have not revealed to you?"
He turned to look at her, surprise in his eyes. "How ill-mannered you must think me, Miss Paley. I am sorry if I have given the impression that I suspect you of not being honest with me."
"You are never ill-mannered, Lord Francis," said Isobel with some asperity, for it almost seemed to her that poor manners would be preferable to his attitude of knowing something about her that others might despise. "But you seem to harbor some idea that I am not being completely honest with you."
"If I felt that way, it would be extremely unkind of me to let you know," said Lord Francis. "And I must say that I hope that you would feel able to share with me any unusual accomplishments; I feel sure you are aware of the great esteem in which I hold you, and you must know that I would never betray any secrets which you wished me to keep."
This last statement was delivered in such a sincere tone, that Isobel's heart jumped. She looked up to see Lord Francis' gray eyes fixed on her, his face wiped clean of its usual expression of bland good humor.
"Whatever can you mean, my lord?" she asked. "I am not likely to be keeping any secrets; I believe my style of living is known to all the world."
"Yes, one hears much of the wit and beauty of Miss Isobel Paley," agreed Lord Francis. "I merely wished to assure you that if you did ever wish to confide in me about matters over which others might be censorious, I may surprise you with my understanding."
Isobel looked at the gro
und, unwilling to meet his eyes. It was clear to her that this was her opportunity to share with Lord Francis the truth of her scholarly work. And yet she could not help fearing that he would dismiss her pretensions with a laugh, or even scorn her for them. Lord Francis was a gentleman of the ton who enjoyed dancing and driving his horses and gambling with his friends. If he was also intelligent and kind, that was hardly enough of a reason to trust him with such a disreputable secret. She managed a laugh.
"If I ever need a confidant for my dreadful secrets, and neither Harriet nor Letitia are available, I assure you I will think of you, Lord Francis," she said. "However, at this time I can think of nothing which I need to hide."
Lord Francis bowed, his face losing its intent look and the question dying from his eyes. Isobel imagined that perhaps she saw disappointment in them now and hastily repressed the thought. Never before had she been made to feel guilty for not revealing her secret. She found the sensation extremely uncomfortable, and did not wish to explore it further.
Lord Francis led her away from the worksite and proposed a stroll in the gardens, to which she assented eagerly. The flowers and statuary were less likely to inspire awkward topics of conversation than was the folly. As they strolled it seemed to Isobel that Lord Francis was distracted, for though his conversation was all that was proper, his interest did not seem to be fully engaged.
Lord Francis had good reason for being less than engaged in his conversation with Miss Paley. There rested in the pocket of his coat a letter from his secretary which informed him that the long and tedious search he had launched for Marcus Paley led inevitably to the conclusion that, whoever Marcus Paley was, he was not Alexander Paley. Exhaustive questioning of scholars and workmen and publishers had revealed that the gentleman in question lived in the Cotswolds, not at Balliol College and that Alexander Paley had never displayed the slightest interest in Roman antiquities in Britain. Lord Francis had little doubt that he now escorted Mr. Marcus Paley through the gardens of Glencairn Castle, and he could not but feel a sense of disappointment that his companion could not confide in him her secret.
The pair had wound their way back to the lake. Isobel stood gazing once more at the folly.
"It is far lovelier than I had anticipated," she said. "Although I was at first reluctant to take on this task, I now must thank you, Lord Francis, for this commission. Perhaps I am an architect at heart!"
"You are many things, Miss Paley," said Lord Francis. "Some of which are probably quite startling."
Isobel turned her wide green eyes on him. "Whatever do you mean, Lord Francis?" she asked.
"Merely that you are a lady of remarkable accomplishment," said Lord Francis, polite gallantry returning to his manner. "We must all admire a woman of such beauty and taste."
"Thank you, sir," she replied. "And now, I believe I must return to Dargenwater Cottage and speak with Cook. Harriet is out driving with Lord Glencairn this afternoon, and without one of us to guide the kitchen, dinner will surely be inedible. I thank you for your attention, Lord Francis, and will see you again tomorrow."
Lord Francis merely bowed and kissed her hand. As Isobel turned her footsteps back towards Dargenwater Cottage, she found that her mind did not linger on its intended subject, the excavations at Ballydendargan, but instead returned to the contemplation of the conversation she had just had with Lord Francis. She could not imagine why she felt that she had wronged him, but the feeling persisted.
"Nonsense," she said out loud. "I have nothing to regret!" With that, she turned her mind resolutely to diggings and dinner and proceeded on her way.
Sometime later, after addressing the issue of dinner, Isobel stood at the window of her sitting room, enjoying the sunlight and contemplating the lovely view of pine trees sheltered in the graceful slope of the hills. A letter had arrived from Letitia, and she broke the seal now, anxious to know how her friend was getting on.
Dear Isobel,
I am writing, as you made me promise to do, to reassure you that all is well with the children and with me. The Welsh countryside is beautiful at this time of the year, and we enjoy strolling on the grounds. Jamie has grown a great deal, and Emily has begun to walk; we are a happy threesome.
Unfortunately, Alfred has not changed, but remains unreliable and has recently lost a vast sum at the tables. Even here, so far from London, he has found acquaintances to gamble with. I am very much afraid that we may lose the estate, which will be a great shame not only for Alfred, but also for Jamie. I do not like to think of him losing his inheritance for his father's mistakes.
I have received a letter from Mr. Askworth; he regrets to inform me that my monies are not so arranged that I can benefit from them prior to Alfred's death. You must not be angry with him, for I am sure he did everything he could to be helpful, and indeed, he seems to be very sorry that my situation is so dire. So it seems rather than Rome my home is to remain here in Wales for some time. I am sorry to be unable to leave Alfred, but I am not unhappy to be remaining in Britain. Rome is very far from my family and my good friends such as you. Thus, even in the evil there is some good to be found.
I am sure that you are enjoying your time in Scotland and that your work is going well. Please give my love to Harriet. Alfred has told me that Lord Francis Wheaton is in the neighborhood of your estate. I trust that his affection for you remains strong and that you will respond in kind. I am sure that he would make you a good husband.
I must go now; even on our encumbered lands there are things to be done. I look forward to your letters. Please do not worry about me, I am managing very well.
Letitia
Isobel folded the letter and stared out the window, this time unable to appreciate the fineness of the vista. She was glad to know Letitia and the children were well, but she could tell from the letter that, despite its cheerful tone, she was in considerable distress. Isobel wished fiercely that there was some way she could change Letitia's situation. But there was no legal solution for Letitia, and, as a woman, Isobel had no power to aid her. She knew Letitia would not accept money from her, and any money Isobel could send would do nothing to relieve the estates from their mortgages or stop Alfred from gambling or drinking. Letitia did not need new dresses or fine furniture; she needed to be freed from her husband.
Isobel read the letter again. It made her smile to think that Letty, in the midst of her woes, had time to worry about Isobel's romantic entanglements. Lord Francis Wheaton a good husband, indeed. Then the words leapt off the page at her. "Alfred has told me that Lord Francis Wheaton is in the neighborhood of your estate." How did Alfred have such information? Was Francis such a good friend to Alfred that they corresponded? Had Francis told Alfred of his courtship of her? How Alfred must be amused, to think that the detested Isobel Paley might be snagged by one of his cronies. The thoughts ran in circles in her head; Lord Francis seemed to be a kind enough man, but his friendship with Lord Morgan spoke volumes against him. Isobel could not bear to think that perhaps they had discussed her or even shared a laugh at her expense.
She pressed her hands to her temples, willing her thoughts to stop rushing so madly. She had no evidence that Lord Francis had ever discussed her with Lord Morgan; indeed, she had no proof that they corresponded. Still, it was odd that Alfred, immured in the wilds of Wales, should know this bit of gossip. She bit her lip. Perhaps she could find out from Letitia how Alfred had come by this information. She did not wish to be unfair to Lord Francis, but neither did she wish to find herself in the situation of consorting with a man who condoned Lord Morgan's behavior. She was frustrated by her inability to make a fair decision and annoyed that Lord Francis should constantly be erupting in all the corners of her life.
Her anger made her restless, and she resolved to walk to Glencairn to see how the work on the folly was progressing. The walk would expend some of her nervous energy and give her time to think. There was of course the chance that she would encounter Lord Francis, but surely, at this time of day he would
be occupied with his horses or some afternoon entertainment and she would be spared his company.
Pausing only to put a very fetching chip hat over her chestnut curls, Isobel set out, Letitia's letter tucked into her reticule. She walked slowly, enjoying the sunshine and attempting to sort out her tangled thoughts. She wrestled with them for a time, but found the effort fruitless; Lord Francis' undeniable attractiveness, Letitia's pitiful situation, the iniquity of Lord Morgan all became hopelessly entangled.
With an effort Isobel dismissed them all from her mind, concentrating instead on the folly. Lord Glencairn's enthusiasm had transmitted itself to her and she had come to think of the folly as quite her own property.
Approaching footsteps made her look up, and she was dismayed to see Lord Francis Wheaton approaching her from the direction of Glencairn. He was looking particularly elegant this afternoon, and she could not help noticing how attractive he looked in his riding coat and breeches.
He bore down upon her with a look of surprised pleasure on his face.
"Miss Paley! What an enjoyable encounter. I was walking to Dargenwater Cottage to call upon you and Miss Harriet, and I find you here upon the path."
"Yes, I am walking to Glencairn, to discuss the folly with your host," responded Isobel. "I must make some use of my afternoons or I shall pine away of boredom."
Lord Francis turned back towards Glencairn with alacrity. "Pray allow me to escort you, ma'am," he said.
Isobel could not reject his company without appearing rude, but she had to feel it was unwelcome. She had only minutes before been attempting to banish the man from her mind, and now he appeared before her as if by magic. As they walked she reflected bitterly on the pleasure she felt in his company, and her undoubted attraction to him. Yet she could not feel he was trustworthy, and she could not love where she could not trust.
"Miss Paley?"
Isobel's attention was torn from her own woes. She turned to see Lord Francis regarding her with an amused look on his face.
The Secret Bluestocking: Isobel's Traditional Regency Romance Page 18