by Joyce Alec
However, the only thing that had got her fiery words from his mind had been the delightful Lady Swift, who seemed more than keen for his attentions. Once his guests had finally arisen, they had spent an enjoyable afternoon together, taking a cold, but sparkling ride across the expanse of gardens and woodland that he could claim as his own. He had been surprised that Lady Swift had chosen to ride a mare, rather than sit in the carriage with the other ladies, but had found her company delightful. They had spent some time in conversation, and he had to confess that her bright eyes and quick smile brought him delight.
Dinner had been a profoundly rousing affair and, although dessert had not yet been served, Lady Swift had suddenly had it in mind to go in search of her shawl, which she believed she had left in the drawing room earlier that day. Charles had been about to suggest that he send one of the servants to fetch it, only to see Lord Walton give the tiniest shake of his head, his eyes widening slightly. It was as if his friend could read his mind and was warning him off his chosen course of action. Realizing that Lady Swift might have other things in mind—and was staking her claim by being so obvious—he followed her at once and left the room, promising to be back before dessert was served.
Lady Swift, it seemed, had not needed directions at all, for she had taken him by the hand and opened the first door she came to, which happened to be the drawing room. A roaring fire blazed in the grate, and candles were lit all about the room. However, there was a stillness about the place that had his every hair stand on end, as though something was begging him not to follow through with his intentions.
Lady Swift’s smile became coy as she turned towards him, and Charles found himself bumping into the wall behind him, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest.
“Lady Swift,” he murmured, as her hands pressed against his chest. “We are being a little indiscreet, are we not?”
She laughed softly. “I doubt anyone will say anything, and you know as well as I do that I am not looking for a rich husband, so you need have no concern that I will chase an engagement.”
Charles drew in a short breath, finding it difficult to fill his lungs. Her nearness made it almost impossible to respond, his eyes going to her lips that were drawing closer and closer to him.
How much you have changed.
Why Miss Docherty’s words should enter his mind at this particular moment, Charles could not say, but there they were. He pulled back from Lady Swift, his eyes drifting away from her. A strange sense of shame filled him, as though Miss Docherty was present with them and was giving him something of a disapproving look.
Charles frowned. He did not want to think of Miss Docherty at the present moment, not when Lady Swift was so near to him, so why was he now struggling to get her from his mind?
“You are not hesitating, I hope?” Lady Swift murmured, grasping his hands that lay by his sides and pressing them to her sides. “We had a good time this afternoon, did we not? And I am more than aware of why you invited both myself and the other ladies to your house party. We all have one thing in common: not one of us is in search of a husband.”
Charles dropped one hand from Lady Swift’s waist and tugged at his cravat, finding it a little too tight. “Yes, well,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “That is to say—”
“And I came regardless,” she continued with a sudden heat in her eyes. “I am not offended in the least, Lord Sutherland.”
Trying to smile, Charles nodded, but glanced away. Something was very wrong. He did not want to kiss Lady Swift, having been excited by the prospect only a few minutes before. It is only because of what Miss Docherty said to you earlier today, he reasoned with himself, trying to push his sudden reluctance away. Do not be so ridiculous, man! Get a hold of yourself!
“You are right, Lady Swift,” he murmured, allowing his hands to tighten a little around her waist.
“I am very glad to hear it,” she replied, pressing herself against him a little more firmly. Charles’ body responded at once, and, finally, Miss Docherty’s words faded from his mind. When Lady Swift’s lips touched his, he kissed her immediately, but to his surprise, he felt no swift kick of desire, no sudden thrill racing through his body. He broke their kiss almost at once, blinking furiously in confusion.
“You are playing with me, Lord Sutherland,” Lady Swift said calmly, a hard line suddenly appearing around her mouth. “What are you doing?”
Trying to think of an excuse, Charles attempted to smile. “I must return to my guests, Lady Swift.” He could not, for the life of him, work out what it was that was wrong with him, but he felt uncomfortable over the situation.
Lady Swift took a small step back and stared at him, her face an expression of shock. “You are turning me down?”
“No, not in the least,” he responded, trying to catch her hands. “It is just that my guests are waiting, and I must play host.”
“Nonsense!” she exclaimed angrily. “They will not care, Sutherland! You have shown your interest in me all day. If you do not wish for a liaison between us, then you must say so now!”
Charles stammered incoherently for a moment before Lady Swift stamped her foot, turned, and swept past him in a flurry of skirts, evidently angered over his indecision. Charles stayed where he was, leaning heavily against the wall. He could not believe what had just occurred, nor what his own reaction had been.
Foolish! He had been utterly foolish. Turning down a woman such as Lady Swift was incomprehensible. Why had he reacted in such a thoughtless manner?
Putting his head in his hands, Charles groaned aloud. Lady Swift would, no doubt, share her story with the other ladies in the house who would regard him with a little bit of suspicion and possibly some disdain over turning away from Lady Swift.
A sudden sound had him jumping in fright, his eyes roving around the room to discover where it might have come from. Taking a few steps to his left and to his right, he continued to search the room for whatever that noise might have been. To his surprise, he saw none other than Miss Docherty crouching behind one of the chairs, a brush in her hand and shattered glass at her feet. She slowly met his gaze, her cheeks heating with color and, seeing that he had found her out, got to her feet.
Charles did not know what to say, overcome with mortification that she had heard every single word that had passed between him and Lady Swift.
“I did not mean to overhear, if that is what you are thinking,” she said firmly, breaking the tension. “The bourbon tray must have been knocked over last evening, and it was not discovered until now. That is the only reason I am in this room.”
Seeing the glass at her feet, Charles slowly backed towards the door, sure that his face was burning with heat. “I shall leave you to finish your task, then,” he mumbled. “The guests are to be arriving here in a short time, so do be quick.” Feeling a little more like himself, he lifted his chin and returned her gaze, seeing the flash of anger in her eyes.
“I am not your skivvy to order about, Charles,” she said, brandishing the brush at him as though it was a blade. “I am assisting your staff because I have no other choice. However, I can see that I am going to have to wait on your good pleasure for some time if what I witnessed is what you are filling your hours with.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you to take your pleasure with all the ladies in the house or just one in particular? I only ask because I need to know how long I will be waiting.”
The sarcasm in her words stung, and, for once, Charles did not know what to say in response. He was embarrassed by what she had seen and heard, and still, her words rang in his head, refusing to leave him in peace.
“Just see that you do it,” he muttered, finding the doorknob and exiting the room at once.
Striding back towards his dining room, Charles passed a maid with another brush in her hand, bringing to mind the way that Miss Docherty had brandished her own brush at him. She obviously thought very little of him, but, he reasoned, that was simply because she did not understand the kind of life he led.
How could she? She had never lived in such a way before. Perhaps, if he allowed her to join his house party, she would see that he was not as bad as she thought.
But why do I care? Charles asked himself, frowning. Just listen to what she has to say and then send her on her way. Her opinion of you is not important in the least.
However, no matter how much Charles tried to reason with himself, the words she had said refused to leave him.
“I have not changed too much,” he muttered to himself, determined to prove her wrong. “And Miss Docherty is going to see it.”
Walking back into the dining room, and avoiding Lady Swift’s glare, he seated himself once more and continued on with the meal, a feeling of self-satisfaction settling over him. He would speak to Miss Docherty the following day and would have her join the house party by the afternoon. Then she would see just how wrong she had been in forming such an unfavorable opinion of him.
Chapter Seven
“The master requires you in his study, Miss Docherty.”
Isabella looked up from her dough in surprise, fully aware that she had flour everywhere as she made yet another loaf of bread. “Now?”
“Yes, now,” came the butler’s reply, his expression never changing although Isabella was sure she saw a twinkle in his eye.
“Very well, then,” Isabella muttered to herself. “I shall finish the kneading and go up to him.”
The butler frowned. “He said—”
“I am aware of what he said,” Isabella interrupted, not meaning to be rude, but knowing that she could not leave the dough as it was. “Once the bread is ready to rise, I shall go up to him immediately.” She plunged her hands back into the dough and continued with her work, ignoring the huff of disapproval from the butler.
Once the bread was set aside with a warm cloth over the top, Isabella peeled off her apron, washed her hands in freezing cold water, and made her way up the stairs, hoping that she looked presentable, at the very least. Smoothing one hand over her tight bun, she brushed down her dress once more before knocking at the door to his study and walking in.
“I sent for you a half hour ago.”
Isabella lifted one eyebrow. “You also charged me with assisting below stairs, and if you wish to have bread with this luncheon, then you will have to forgive my tardiness.”
Charles’ frown deepened, but he did not comment further. Gesturing her to a small chair in front of his desk, he sighed heavily as she sat down. “You are proving something of a trial, Miss Docherty.”
I am glad to hear it, Isabella thought to herself, but, wisely, kept her lips buttoned.
“Your accusation that I have changed since you knew me last has begun to bother me,” he continued when she did not reply. “Given that you do not know me in the least, I cannot say why your words have dug their way into my mind as they have done, but, regardless, I think you wrong in your estimation.”
“I knew you as a child,” Isabella replied hotly. “You were kind and considerate, giving time to anyone who asked it of you. You had no airs and graces, but a determination to find your purpose in life.” She paused, giving him a slight shake of her head. “It seems you have not yet found that purpose unless you intend to continue in seeking your own pleasures for the remainder of your life.”
“You have very little idea of what my life is like!” Charles exclaimed, his hand thumping down on his desk. He glared at her for a moment before slowly sitting back in his chair, his mouth growing taut. “Had you any idea, then perhaps you might form a very different opinion.”
Isabella shook her head. “I can see very well, Charles. Your actions do not require explanation.”
How could he not see that the way he had turned from her, pushing her to one side in favor of his guests, was what had made her realize that he was not the man she once knew?
“Nevertheless,” Charles said in a calmer voice, “I am here now to listen to whatever woes you might have.”
Isabella closed her eyes, determined not to react to the way he was simply downplaying the tragic nature of events by calling them ‘woes’. She took a few long breaths before opening her eyes and beginning.
“My home has been destroyed,” she said simply.
He frowned. “What do you mean, destroyed?”
“I mean just that,” Isabella replied quietly, as a vision of what had occurred began to race through her mind. “A woman appeared with a large, burly man by her side. I was held by him whilst she destroyed every single thing in my home before setting it alight.”
She saw the way his mouth fell open, his face going a shade paler.
“She called me a bastard and a stain,” she continued, hating that her voice was shaking a little. “I am not sure who the lady was, but she said something about my mother, and that it had taken her years to find my whereabouts.” She shook her head. “It was as though she had been seeking to do this for many years.”
“But you have an allowance, do you not?” Charles asked, after a few seconds of silence had passed.
There was no sympathy in his face, no words of compassion, just a cold consideration of her finances.
Isabella bit back her harsh retort, her eyes burning with a sudden lot of unshed tears. “The solicitor would not allow me to take anything from the next half-year,” she replied firmly. “The last of my funds for this half-year were spent seeking help, and regardless of whether I could have my additional funds, there is nowhere near enough to rebuild my home. It is truly decimated.” Her voice cracked despite her determination to remain calm, although she managed not to cry.
She remained sitting ramrod straight, her eyes never leaving Charles’ face. He was her last hope, her only hope. If he did not help her, then she was not sure what she would do. There would be nowhere for her to go.
Charles nodded slowly, his eyes suddenly leaving her face and drifting across her left shoulder. She saw him bite his lip, as though worried about something.
“You say it was a woman who did this?”
“An older woman, yes,” Isabella replied, quietly. “I have never seen her before.”
“And have you made any assumptions as to who she might be?”
Isabella paused, knowing that what she had to say could hurt him dreadfully. “I had wondered whether she was the wife of the man who…”
“You believe her to be my aunt,” he bit out, his eyes dark.
“Not many people know that I am a bastard,” Isabella replied quietly. “And she seemed intent on revenge.”
Charles did not say anything for a few minutes, his face paler than before, and his brow furrowed. Isabella folded her hands together in her lap and waited patiently, desperately hoping that Charles was not about to turn her out, seeing her as the inconvenience he did not need at this present time.
“Your mother, I presume, has passed away,” he said a short time later, not lifting his eyes to meet hers.
“Yes, she did,” Isabella replied softly, her mind filled with images of her loving mother. “It was some time ago, however, so the pain and grief have lessened. I am just glad she was not alive to see the terrible wrath of your aunt, if that is who she was.” She shook her head, hating that a single tear had fallen from her eye and brushing it away hastily. “Although, of course, I do miss my mother terribly.”
“I had not heard,” he murmured, half to himself.
Isabella shrugged. “We have not been in touch for many years, Charles. It does not surprise me that you did not know of the loss of my mother.”
He sighed, passing one hand over his eyes. “We used to write very often.”
The memory of writing letters to her dear friend made Isabella’s emotions well up, for it had not been her that had paused in their correspondence, but rather, she had been forced to give up when Charles had not responded to her for over a year. She was about to remind him of it, only to see a sudden confusion and despondency etched across his face, as though she had reminded him of something painful.
“We
had a lot of happy days together, did we not?” he said softly, finally meeting her gaze.
“We did,” Isabella agreed, the reminders of their time together a somewhat painful memory.
“You were as stubborn back then as you are now,” he commented, a little wryly. “No one has spoken to me as you have for some time.”
Isabella tilted her head and regarded him. “That is because I find you so changed, Charles. I have never been afraid to speak my mind, and certainly not with you.”
Two spots of color appeared in his cheeks and, for a moment, Isabella wondered whether or not he was about to grow angry with her once again, but instead, he settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. “I am going to have to find out whether this was my aunt’s doing,” he said, frowning. “You say you have nowhere else to go?”
Isabella shook her head as a twist of despair wrung her heart. “Where can I go, Charles? I have nowhere and no one. I believe that was your aunt’s intention, for she wanted me to be utterly destitute. Although, I think she hoped my mother would still be alive.” She lifted one shoulder. “I was the second choice, but she achieved her aim regardless.”
“I can add to your coffers,” he began, his gaze drifting away from her as he thought hard. “And we shall have to find you a new situation, away from this place.”
A slight shiver ran through Isabella. It was not as though she did not appreciate his kindness, but it was still so very cold and calculated. There did not seem to be even a hint of compassion in his words. Telling herself to be grateful for what she was being offered, she tried to smile. “I thank you.”
“But not until after Christmas,” he continued, as though he had not heard her. “I do not like the circumstances that you have described, and must write to my father to discover what he has heard about my aunt. Also, I will need time to find you a suitable home.”
Isabella shuddered, remembering the vehemence in the lady’s eyes. “I am not sure her need for revenge is yet satisfied, even though it was not my poor mother’s fault for what happened.”