by Joyce Alec
She did not belong there, and despite Charles’ kindness to her in providing her with clothes and a furnished room, she did not want to join him and his guests.
Once dinner was finished, the port drunk, and the gentlemen back through in the drawing room, Isabella was left to endure an evening of so-called entertainment, finding herself sitting stiffly in a chair and wondering how long she would have to wait before she could retire. There was singing and music, as well as copious amounts of brandy and wine, and Isabella found herself with something of a headache.
Isabella bore their company for an hour before finding that her irritation grew so much that she was practically forced from her seat. However, upon standing, she realized that no one had noticed her in the slightest. Charles was busy singing some ribald song alongside Lady Fitzgerald, whilst the other ladies had found themselves a partner and were dancing together, albeit a little unsteadily. Isabella was well aware that, with her presence, the numbers were now uneven, with five ladies to four gentlemen, but then again, given that she did not wish to engage in any kind of dancing or the like, it probably would not matter.
Making her way to the door, Isabella threw Charles one last look, seeing the way he looked down at Lady Fitzgerald with a broad smile on his face, his eyes dancing. A jolt of awareness ran straight through her as she grew aware of just how handsome the man was, heat rippling up her spine. His eyes caught hers, and Isabella felt her breath hitch. Hurriedly turning the door handle, Isabella slipped outside into the hallway.
Closing her eyes for a moment, Isabella tried to calm her frantically beating heart, wondering why on earth she was reacting to him in such a way. Just because she had suddenly found him to be a somewhat attractive gentleman did not mean that her heart should go into such a flurry. Frustrated with herself, Isabella balled her hands into fists and gave herself a stern talking to.
Walking quickly along the corridor, Isabella managed to slip downstairs, about to prepare herself a tea tray, only to be shooed back upstairs by the housekeeper, who told her in no uncertain terms that she would bring one to her in her bedchamber. Not quite ready to retire, Isabella requested that it be brought to the library, thinking that she might find herself a good book to curl up with for the evening.
Charles’ library was more expansive than anything she had seen before, a wide smile spread across her lips as she walked a little further into the room, her gaze drifting across the countless books that lined the walls.
One of the most precious gifts her mother had given her was teaching her how to read, and it had been a long time since Isabella had been given the opportunity to refresh her mind with a new book. Letting her finger trace gently along the bookshelves, Isabella smiled to herself as she searched the titles, finding not one, but three books that piqued her interest.
The door opened behind her, and thinking that it was the housekeeper, Isabella did not turn around. “Thank you very much,” she said absently, as she continued to look through the titles. “Could you place it by the fire?”
“What are you doing in here?”
Startled, Isabella jumped visibly and turned to see Charles standing just inside the door, his expression dark. The housekeeper appeared behind him and brought the tea tray inside, depositing it on the table without a word before disappearing again. Isabella swallowed hard, a little perturbed by the expression on his face. Was she not meant to be in this room?
“Why did you leave?”
Isabella shrugged, refusing to be intimidated. “Such amusements do not interest me.”
“Do not interest you?” One eyebrow arched incredulously. “Dancing, music, and fine wine do not interest you?”
Unable to prevent herself from laughing, Isabella shook her head, ignoring how his brows knocked together. “Charles, I am not someone who has grown up with such things, as you should know. I am not interested in dancing with a glass of wine in my hand.” Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to her books, although tension raced through her body as he walked towards her. “I much prefer to read, although if you would prefer that I not remain in your library, then I shall leave at once.”
He scowled as she picked up her books, walked straight past him, and sat down beside the fire, happiness filling her as she saw the gently steaming teapot. How she had missed the luxury of sitting quietly with a pot of tea and a good book. The fire would give her ample light to read, and Isabella was sure she would have a most enjoyable few hours, provided Charles stopped glaring at her.
“You are the most peculiar creature, Miss Docherty,” he muttered, shaking his head at her. “I am not at all pleased that you have left the other guests. It is quite rude to leave without saying a single thing.”
Isabella sighed and looked up from her book. “I am not like your other guests, can you not see that? You should not have the same expectations for me as you have for them. Although, I do not wish to be rude. I will be sure to bid your guests farewell if I choose to depart the festivities early tomorrow evening.”
He did not say another word, but kept her gaze for a few moments longer before turning on his heel and leaving the room.
Chapter Ten
For the next few days, Isabella found herself spending most of her time with the other guests, which left very little time for reading or walks in the gardens. Even though it was bitterly cold, Isabella longed to feel the crisp, cool air on her face. It was as though being part of the house party meant being part of a prison, albeit in a gilded cage.
She certainly did not enjoy the other ladies’ company, even though she could feel Charles’ eyes on her whenever she entered the room and sat demurely with the others. He seemed intent for her to enjoy herself, but nothing they said or did brought her any kind of happiness.
Every day, the ladies would sit around a tea tray and discuss the latest on-dits, the suggestion and gossip often making Isabella blush. The ladies, she gathered, were all quite alone in the world, but seemed to prefer it for a great many reasons, including the fact that they could shower their attentions on any particular gentlemen they chose.
Today was no different. Lady Swift and Lady Marchfield were chuckling about some young man in town who had attempted to make advances to them both, and Isabella felt her ears burn as they spoke openly about their conquests.
“I thought I saw you cozying up to a certain gentleman here, Lady Swift,” Lady Marchfield murmured as the other ladies stopped their discussions and leaned in to hear her response. “Did I not see you leave the room with him a few days ago?”
Lady Swift tossed her head. “I do not think we will suit.”
“Oh?” Lady Marchfield questioned, sounding quite surprised. “I had thought—”
Lady Swift interrupted, her dark eyes flashing with a sudden anger that surprised Isabella. “He wanted a long liaison with me, and I told him that I enjoyed my freedom. Naturally, we both came to a mutual agreement that there was very little point in beginning any kind of acquaintance, not when I could not give him what he desired.”
Knowing very well that this was not the case, Isabella frowned. Lady Swift was as false as the others, trying to cover her tracks by coming up with a lie about Charles that made it look as though she were the one to bring an end to their possible relationship. Her stomach churned with a sudden nausea, sickened by her current company.
“Please excuse me.” Isabella rose without knowing where she was going, her feet taking her towards the door without another thought. All she wanted to do was get away from that room, away from the clammy, dirty air that she was being forced to breathe. She knew that Charles expected her to remain with his guests, and had not been pleased when she had taken herself to the library days before, but she could not stand their company for another minute.
Stumbling up to her room, Isabella pushed open the door and practically threw herself inside, startling the maid within who scrambled to her feet at once with an apology on her lips.
“No need for that,” Isabella interrup
ted, walking over to the wardrobe. “Might you help me find some clothes suitable for walking?”
“Walking, miss?” the maid asked, her gaze glancing over to the window.
Frost had drawn its intricate, beautiful patterns across the pane in the early hours of the morning, but, as yet, the frost had not disappeared. That told Isabella just how cold it was.
“I wish to walk, no matter the chill,” Isabella replied stoutly. She had been outdoors almost every day of her life, no matter the weather. There had always been crops to see to, animals to care for, and neighbors to visit. Being stuck in one room for most of the day was almost torture to Isabella’s mind.
To her relief, the maid pulled out a pair of boots as well as a warm cloak. Continuing to delve into the depths of Isabella’s wardrobe, the maid laid out yet more items of clothing until Isabella was sure she would burn with heat, even with the coldness of the day.
Soon, she was wrapped up warmly and made her way down the stairs, slipping out of the front door without any difficulty. Her lungs filled with the cold air, making a smile spread across her face. How much she had missed the refreshing wind against her face.
As unladylike as it was, Isabella picked up her skirts and ran, headlong, towards the gardens. Her boots were sturdy and warm, and soon her cheeks were red, her nose nipping with the cold. It was heaven.
Isabella wandered around Charles’ vast expanse of garden, wondering what was to become of her. It had been a few days since Charles had written to his father, and she was not sure when she could expect an answer. Town was not all that far away, but, as she recalled, the duke was currently in Scotland, unless he had decided to return to town earlier than planned. Would Charles get a reply soon? And what would it mean for her?
She felt so incredibly lost, even though she tried hard not to allow herself to grow despondent. It was as if she were an island, standing alone in the middle of the vast ocean. Her home was gone, in its entirety. She had nothing with which to rebuild it, and even if she could, Isabella knew it would never be the same again. The curtains she had sewn with her mother, the tablecloths they had embroidered together, were all gone. She would never get those things back. They had been completely without price, and someone had seen fit to take them away from her just because they did not like who she was.
Tears filled her eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. She was angry over what had happened, upset that Charles’ aunt, Lady Johnston, had chosen to take her long-held wrath out on her when, in truth, it should have been her husband that she put the blame on. Of course, that was not how Charles’ world worked, yet another reason that she did not want to be a part of it.
Her breath frosted in front of her face as Isabella struggled to contain her tears. Her Christmas was going to be very different this year. She was not sure what Charles intended for her, as she knew the house party was to be returning to London by Christmas Eve, although whether she was to go with them, she did not know. Perhaps she could ask him to let her remain at his country estate, for she would much prefer to be with Charles’ staff below stairs than in some fancy townhouse in London.
The staff had not quite managed to maintain their friendly relationship with her now that she had been moved upstairs, but Isabella continued to go below stairs every day, insisting on making at least three loaves of bread. It meant rising early, but Isabella had never been one to rest long in bed, and, the truth was, she missed putting her hands in the dough. It was something she had always done, since the first day she and her mother had moved to the cottage in the country.
“Oh, Mama,” she whispered, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks. “I miss you so.”
Her words floated away on the breeze as a sudden stab of pain threatened to overwhelm her. Seeing a small wooden bench, Isabella sank down onto it, put her face in her hands, and cried.
She had not meant to allow the tears to fall, but once they began to trickle down her cheeks, they became something of a flood, and Isabella found that she could not stop them. Her shoulders shook as sobs rattled through her, her tears unabated. She cried for the loss of her mother and for the pain she endured upon seeing the house she had shared with her completely destroyed.
She cried for the days she had endured alone, wondering what was to become of her, and she cried for Charles. Charles, the man who had shown her kindness in the end, but who had treated her as a veritable stranger the moment she stepped into his house. Isabella wept over how much he had changed from the young man she had once known, her heart rending as she thought of his inappropriate liaison with Lady Swift.
On top of it all lay the burden of her sudden and inexplicable attraction to him, which had begun the night she left the drawing room for the solace of the library. He was handsome, of course, but she could not explain the way her body suddenly came to life when he smiled at her, although that in itself was not a frequent occurrence.
Isabella did not want to feel that way and certainly did not want to linger on the fact that her foolish heart still yearned for the friendship they had once had, telling herself repeatedly that she was being ridiculous.
“Isabella?”
Turning in her seat, Isabella jerked in surprise to see Charles standing behind her, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“You do not need to follow me everywhere, Charles,” she said at once, hastily wiping the tears from her eyes and trying her best to gather her composure. “Do you not have guests that require your attention?”
He did not reply, but came a little closer to her, his feet crunching across the frosty grass.
“If you mean to reprimand me once again, then you may as well go back inside,” she continued, thinking he was about to speak to her about why she had left the room so abruptly. “I will not go back, not until I am ready. I need to breathe first. I need to be away from those vile gossips who spend their lives doing nothing but seeing to their own pleasures.” Getting to her feet, she backed away from him, shaking her head. “I will not be dragged back into that world when I am not ready. Do not ask it of me.”
She saw his jaw clench, his hazel eyes seeming to glow with an intensity she had not seen before.
“You are quite content in your world, Charles, but that I can assure you that it is not for me.” Shaking her head, Isabella watched him as he stopped a few steps away from her, looking a little lost. “They have never had to rise early to bake bread or sew their own curtains to keep the sunlight out in the early hours of the morning.” She smiled sadly, thinking of her mother once more. “Their life and mine, your life and mine, are so very far apart,” she finished with a small sigh. “You cannot expect me to simply slot into your world. It might have happened when we were children, but those days are long gone.” Her eyes met his and lingered there, a quiet sadness in her gaze. “I do not think we can ever be the same again.”
To her surprise, he did not move away, but instead drew closer, and, reaching for her, caught her hands.
“You were crying,” he said softly, concern in his expression. “Am I truly so terrible, Isabella?”
Moisture crept to the edge of her lashes once more as she looked up at him, completely astonished by the tenderness in his voice. What had come over him? “It is not just you,” she replied quietly. “I have lost my home and all that I love with no idea what my future might hold.” Dropping her head, she battled against her urge to cry once more, hating that she was appearing so weak in front of him. “I am so very alone,” she whispered, sniffing.
“I know,” he said softly. “I received a letter from my friend, Lord Worthington, confirming that all you said was true. I am very sorry, Isabella.”
Before she knew what was happening, Charles’ arms had gone around her and, moving closer to her, he held her close, not saying a single word. Isabella wanted to ask him what he was doing, confused by his sudden change in behavior, but she discovered that her tears were, once more, falling like rain, and all she could do was cling onto him.
Chapte
r Eleven
“You have a letter, my lord.”
Charles held out his hand, and the butler handed him the sealed parchment at once. Surprised to have received a reply so promptly from London, especially when he believed that his father was still in Scotland, Charles broke the seal at once and scanned the writing.
Charles, the letter began. I returned early from Scotland due to the large volume of snow that began to fall, and just in time, it seems. I am sorry that Miss Docherty did not find your mother or me at home, although I am glad that she has found her way to you.
Truthfully, there have been some goings-on with your aunt for many years, which I have kept from you as I did not think them of any great concern to you. Over the last ten years, she has grown more and more enraged over what your uncle did, as well as my insistence on keeping the late Miss Docherty on in my household.
Charles drew in a deep breath, a twist of worry tightening in his stomach.
Her temper has become well-known amongst the staff, and I had heard that they all live in fear of her. Your uncle came to speak to me sometime last year to seek my help with my sister. Together, we came up with a plan to remove her to a small estate of her own, where she has lived for a few months. Your uncle has visited her on occasion, as have I, and I thought she appeared to be doing much better. However, if she was the lady who attacked Miss Docherty’s home, then I wonder whether Miss Docherty herself is safe, even within your household. I have written to your uncle to ask about my sister’s current state of mind.
In short, Charles, consider your aunt a grave danger to Miss Docherty. I believe her to have gone mad with anger and grief, and destroying Miss Docherty’s home, whilst terrible in itself, may not satisfy her. I pray you be on your guard and ensure that Miss Docherty remains safe. I do not know what your intentions are for her, but I ask that you will treat her with the same kindness and consideration we showed her mother. For once, Charles, think of someone else before yourself.