"I must thank you for your gallantry, Lord Francis," she said. "Our situation was very awkward, and I appreciate your generosity in setting it aside."
"I have set it aside indeed, Miss Paley," he said. "I will not importune you further."
Isobel looked down, not knowing what to say. She was aware that she did not feel unalloyed happiness at his words. Indeed, she felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of what she might be giving up.
"Lord Francis..." she said, not sure exactly what she would say next. At that moment Harriet swept into the room.
"Oh my dear, how shocking that you should have sprained your ankle," she said, wringing her hands. "Is it very painful? I recall that when my brother Alex was only seven he twisted his ankle very badly, and my father would have it that he exaggerated the pain, and then only fancy, we found out that it was broken. Poor little fellow, how he did shriek to be sure when they set it."
"He certainly has all my sympathy," Lord Francis attempted to interject with a smile.
"I knew that it would be thus when you left. After I saw what a taking that letter from Letitia Winwood had you in, I said to myself that no good would come of it when the servants informed me that you had gone off on your own. Too impetuous by half you are, Isobel. I have no doubt that you were reading her letter and brooding over Alfred's vices as you walked, and that is why you tripped and injured the ankle."
Harriet drew breath and looked about her, but for once, neither Isobel nor Francis leaped into the conversational breach to stem the tide of her words. Her interpretation of the situation was far from correct, but as neither of the principals was inclined to apprise her of the true situation, both remained silent.
"Had you only more wit than hair, Isobel, you would do as I and confine your exercise to healthful turns in the gardens with the arm of a gallant gentleman such as Lord Glencairn to ensure that you do not trip over a stone," Harriet continued, waving at Glencairn who had entered the room with her.
At the mention of Letitia's name, and the comments with which Harriet followed it, Lord Francis had stiffened, and though he now lounged seemingly casually near the mantel, he directed a hard stare at Isobel. She blushed under his scrutiny and turned away. To cover her confusion, she turned to Harriet,
"Have you and Lord Glencairn been walking in the gardens of Dargenwater Cottage then?" she asked. "I wonder that either of you can support their dullness after the charms of Glencairn's gardens."
In the sea of words with which Harriet assured her of the pleasantness with which she and his lordship had whiled away a few hours, Isobel was able to regain her composure, and it was with tolerable ease that she bid farewell to Lord Francis and the Earl when they took their leave a few moments later. She had a servant bring bandages and bound her ankle, and was hobbling about the cottage, thankful for its cozy dimensions, only a few hours later.
Lord Francis was poor company for his host that evening as he brooded over the meaning of Harriet's ramblings about Letitia. Clearly, something about Letitia's situation distressed Isobel sufficiently to cause Harriet to believe that she might be careless as a result of her worries. Lord Francis, sure that there was some mystery about Isobel's refusal of his proposal, wondered if Letitia was involved in some way. In any event, he knew that Lady Morgan was Isobel's dearest friend and might have some knowledge of her reservations about matrimony, even if she herself was not involved.
Lord Francis thus resolved to visit Lady Morgan immediately. The visit would also have the effect of taking him out of Isobel's vicinity at a time when constant proximity must be somewhat awkward for both of them. He was tempted to leave immediately, taking only his groom and fly off to Wales, but felt that such a course of action could only be construed as impolite by both Glencairn and the ladies of Dargenwater Cottage. Instead, he indicated languidly to his host that his mother did expect him to spend some time at Strancaster before the fall, and that he must really be departing in the near future, but would certainly make every effort to ensure that the progress of the folly did not suffer by his absence before leaving in the next few days.
True to his word, Lord Francis made certain that arrangements for the folly were set before he departed two days after his disastrous proposal to Miss Paley. He did not visit Dargenwater Cottage again, though he was sorely tempted to do so. As much as he would have liked to see Isobel, he could not help feeling that the meeting would be uncomfortable for them both.
Lord Glencairn carried news of his departure to Dargenwater Cottage on the next day.
"What a pity!" exclaimed Harriet. "I had become quite used to having Lord Francis about the Cottage. Such a kind gentleman, and so thoughtful, and of course, such a help with your folly, dear Lord Glencairn. I am sure that the building would not be so far advanced as it is if it were not for his aid. You will surely miss him, Isobel, for you worked with him so closely on the setting and design, why I am sure I do not know how we shall go on without him!"
Isobel was glad that Harriet had stepped into the breach, for it provided her with an opportunity to examine her feelings before having to express herself. She was not surprised to hear that Lord Francis had departed so quickly, as she had occasion to understand his motives perfectly. No doubt a gentleman twice rejected would not wish to linger long in the vicinity of the woman who had turned him down, especially when the situation was such that they must be constantly thrown together. She attempted to feel pleasure that he had left; it was certainly the polite thing to do, and only what she could expect from a gentleman of Lord Francis' polish.
However, she had to acknowledge an almost overwhelming sense of misery as well. She realized that Lord Francis' departure signaled an end to their dealings with one another. To be sure, they would meet again in London, but she knew that it would be as distant acquaintances. There would be no more waltzes or folly building. A man with Lord Francis’ many worthy attributes had too much pride to continually put himself in the way of a lady who had behaved as she had towards him.
This thought, which she was convinced should please her, brought tears stinging to her eyes. She realized with a start that her feelings for Lord Francis were stronger than she had believed. The idea that he would avoid her company and that they would never again share those pleasurable moments of conversation seemed unbearable to her. She clutched at the embroidery she had been attempting to attend to. It seemed that now, after she had driven him away, she realized she truly loved Lord Francis.
"La, child, is all well with you?" asked Harriet, distracted from her chatter by the look of sheer misery on Isobel's face.
Isobel shook her head, willing the tears to retreat. "I am fine, Cousin," she said. "'Tis merely my ankle; I felt a sudden pang that was quite uncomfortable."
"There did I not warn you that you should not walk about on it so much?" said Harriet. "It will not heal if you will insist upon marching about the gardens in the early morning. You must take better care of yourself. Let me send for a servant and you shall go and lay down upon your bed with a good book and some tea; that will be better for you than this traipsing about."
In the flurry that resulted, Isobel was able to compose herself, and she soon found herself settled on her bed, a shawl about her shoulders and a history book in her hands. She welcomed the solitude, as it gave her a chance to indulge her self‑pity. Now that Lord Francis was indeed gone from her life, she feared that she had made a dreadful mistake.
Chapter 19
Lord Francis Wheaton wheeled his curricle up to the door of Morgan Hall. It was a cold and cloudy day, and his greatcoat was bespattered with mud, as were his horses. Over Morgan Hall the sky glowered loweringly, and Lord Francis reflected that it perfectly mirrored his mood. He gave the building a cursory glance; it was a not unattractive building of gray stone, but the grounds were poorly tended and the whole place had an air of run-down gentility. He contrasted it unfavorably in his mind with the crisp appearance of Isobel's Kitswold. He grimaced. All thoughts led him eventually to
Isobel these days, and he resented it.
Yet it was Isobel who had led him here. He leapt down from his seat and tossed the reins to the groom. "Walk them, Grissom," he said. "I do not know how long I will be."
He walked briskly up to the door and rapped on it with the end of his whip. It was opened by a servant of great antiquity, who peered at him blearily.
"I am come to see Lady Morgan," announced Lord Francis. "The name is Major Lord Francis Wheaton."
The servant looked at him in surprise, but stepped aside to let him enter. "My lady does not get many visitors," he observed. "I will see if she is free to receive you."
The servant shuffled away, and left Lord Francis pacing in the entrance way. He paced up and down, tapping his thigh with his gloves and wondering angrily why he had come here. What could Lady Morgan possibly know that could help him in his pursuit of Isobel, and why did that young woman mean so much to him anyway? She was clearly just a stubborn female who was unable to appreciate the honest love of a good man. He felt embarrassed to think that he had twice now offered her his heart and had twice been spurned, and yet he still pursued her. He worked himself up into a considerable state, and if the servant had delayed much longer he might have departed. But he returned, shuffling along the hallway and muttering to himself.
"My lady will see you," he said in a surprised voice. "Come with me, please."
He escorted Lord Francis into a small sitting room, where Letitia was sewing by the bleak light that entered the window. The room was neat and clean, but very simply furnished, and Francis noted the bare spots on the walls where paintings had obviously been removed and sold. So the rumors in London were true, he reflected. Morgan must be deeply in debt to the moneylenders. Letitia looked up when he entered and smiled charmingly.
"My lord," she said, standing and extending her hand. "This is an unexpected pleasure. When Harkin said that you were here I thought perhaps he was confused, but see that it is indeed you. What brings you to the wilds of Wales?"
Lord Francis kissed her hand and smiled at her. He had forgotten what a charming woman she was, and felt much more at ease now that she had greeted him so warmly. "Miss Paley brings me here," he said.
"Isobel?" said Letitia. "Why would Isobel send you to me?"
"She did not send me, at least not intentionally," said Francis. "I am afraid I come seeking answers that I hope you may be able to supply."
"Please, sit," said Letitia. As Lord Francis arranged himself in a chair upholstered in the style of at least ten years before, Letitia instructed the servant to fetch refreshments. She then composed herself on the settee.
"I confess that I am at a loss as to how I may help you, my lord," she said. "I am very fond of Isobel, but she makes her own decisions and keeps her own counsel."
"I am aware of that," said Lord Francis. "It is one of the things I admire about her. Let me tell you frankly, Lady Morgan, that I love Isobel deeply and wish very much to make her my wife. I have proposed to her twice now, once when I scarcely knew her, and again recently when I had discovered the greater depth and beauty of her character. I flatter myself that my feelings are returned; she seems to look on me tenderly and enjoy my company greatly. And yet she refuses me at every turn, and most vehemently. I thought you might know why she is so determined to remain unwed, even when a man she cares for, and is eligible with respect to social position and fortune, offers her his heart."
Letitia listened to him with great concentration, her look changing from surprise to sorrow during this speech. She stood up and took a turn about the room.
"Lord Francis, I cannot tell you why Isobel may be refusing you," she said. "I am sure you are a worthy gentleman, and I can even say that I believe Isobel holds you in esteem. Why she chooses not to marry you, however, is not something in which I should meddle. She would not thank me for it."
"Please do not be angry, Lady Morgan," said Lord Francis. "I do not mean to impose on your good will." He broke into a rueful smile. "It is simply that she drives me to distraction; I can think of nothing else but her eyes and her smile. I have discovered her secret, and promised her full rein, and still she thwarts me."
"What secret is that?" said Letitia breathlessly.
Lord Francis looked surprised. "Why that she is an accomplished scholar and author," he said. "I made sure that you knew of her illicit activities."
Letitia breathed again. "Oh, yes," she said. "I knew of that. She is amazing, is she not?"
"She truly is. And I told her I knew and promised to keep her secret and encourage her work, and still she will not have me."
Letitia looked at him, dismayed. Even to this kind gentleman she could not reveal her situation, although she felt sure that Isobel was rejecting Lord Francis for fear he should show himself to be like Alfred. "I cannot help you, my lord," she said finally. "I have no idea why Isobel may be refusing you. But do, I beg of you, persist. I feel sure you would be a good match."
Lord Francis was deeply disappointed. He suspected what he could not prove, that Letitia held the key to Isobel's fears. He sighed.
"Then I will take my leave, Lady Morgan. I am sorry for having imposed upon you."
Letitia hesitated. Just then came a series of crashing noises from the hall, and the door burst open. Alfred Winwood, Baron Morgan stood on the threshold, swaying ever so slightly back and forth. At his feet were several hounds, on his arm a woman who would clearly merit the title of soiled dove. She smiled at them drunkenly and stepped into the room.
"My wife!" called Lord Morgan. "My fair bride! I would like you to meet Mistress Gubbins."
The woman swept Lady Morgan an awkward curtsey. Letitia colored, visibly upset and yet not wishing to embarrass herself in front of Lord Francis.
The Baron became aware of Lord Francis' presence and turned towards him. "What is this?" he called. "Is my wife entertaining gentlemen in my absence?" He leered at Francis. "She is quite a fine lady, Wheaton, is she not?" he said.
Lord Francis' face hardened. He had heard stories of Morgan's decline, but had not countenanced them, dismissing them as unpleasant gossip. Now he saw that the even the worst of the tales he had heard were true. He looked at Letitia and saw the despair in her eyes.
"Your wife is a remarkable woman, Morgan," he said tightly. "I have the greatest respect for her."
Morgan laughed and threw himself into a chair. "A fine woman indeed," he sneered. "Much too fine for this house, are you not, Letitia? Is Wheaton here more to your liking than I am?"
Letitia paled. "Please, my lord," she said placatingly. "He is merely an acquaintance come to bring me news of Isobel Paley."
"Isobel Paley!" said Morgan. "That whey-faced doxy, who tried to keep you from me? I'll not have her mentioned hereabout. Fetch us something to drink, Letitia."
Lord Francis had heard enough. He seized the baron by his shirtfront and shook him. "You will not bandy the name of Miss Paley about in this fashion," he said fiercely. "Nor will you treat your wife in such a way. She is a kind and gracious lady, and deserves your respect."
Lord Morgan gaped at him in surprise. Lord Francis released him, and the baron reeled drunkenly. "Perhaps my wife is more to you than I knew, Wheaton," he said. "Well, you can have her. She is too fine for me. Come, Eliza. To my chambers." He took the slattern's arm.
Lord Francis watched Letitia's face, which clearly reflected her despair. He could abide it no longer. He grabbed the baron once again and thrust him against the wall. "You should be horsewhipped," he said. "If you were not drunk I would undertake the task myself."
Alfred pulled away and aimed an attempt at a punch at Lord Francis' jaw. Lord Francis blocked it with easy contempt and returned it with a facer that landed Morgan on his back on the floor. He did not get up.
Lord Francis turned to the woman. "I suggest you get out of here and don't come back," he said tersely. "This lady does not need to be bothered by such as you."
Mistress Gubbins took one look at his angry face and fle
d. Lord Francis turned back to Lord Morgan.
"You are a villain of the worst kind, Morgan," he said coldly. "If you cannot behave to your wife as befits a gentleman, then I suggest that you remove yourself from her presence."
Lord Morgan struggled up on one elbow and achieved a sneer. "You have no control over my family arrangements, Wheaton," he said. "And I had not taken you to be so soft. Your contact with Isobel Paley must have taken your edge off."
"Whatever the reason for my behavior, it is at least honorable," said Lord Francis. "I certainly have no legal control over your actions, but I believe I can exert other forms of pressure. I suggest that you immediately depart for the Continent for a long, perhaps permanent, stay, and leave your wife and children behind."
"And how will you make me do that?" asked Lord Morgan contemptuously.
"I will certainly horsewhip you, if you do not," said Lord Francis in a conversational tone. "I am also in a position to make London and all of Society extremely uncomfortable for you. A few words in the right ears and you will be blackballed from all your clubs and no man of respectable character will be seen with you. The law may permit your actions, but all of London Society is not blind to the duty you owe your wife, who has never given you reason for this treatment."
"Damn you, Wheaton," said Lord Morgan. "Why is it your business what happens to Letitia?"
"Lady Morgan has been a friend to me, and I merely return the favor," responded Lord Francis. "I will expect to hear of your immediate removal to the Continent."
Lord Morgan swore unpleasantly, but got up slowly from the floor and, with one final sneer at Letitia, left the room, leaving only relief in his wake.
Lord Francis turned to Letitia. "I am sorry," he said. "It is not my place to interfere in your affairs, but I could not tolerate his actions. I hope I have not offended you."
"Perhaps it was not your place, but I do not care," replied Letitia. "It was good to see someone stand up to him; I do not have the physical strength and the servants cannot afford to lose their positions. I thank you for your help. We shall be better off without him."
The Secret Bluestocking: Isobel's Traditional Regency Romance Page 20