"Surely you can't be serious. House a girl of such morals? Or employ her? Out of the question." She turned back to the desk.
Isabel gripped her lips between her teeth and then sighed. "If we cannot employ her, might we not give her a place to stay—temporarily," she rushed to add, seeing her mother turn with wide, appalled eyes. "Just until I can find her a situation? I think it would be the Christian thing to do, Mama."
Her mother scoffed. "Christian? And how Christian would it be to allow her influence in the house? What if, heaven forbid, you or Cecilia were to follow in the girl's footsteps, disgracing our family?"
Isabel shut her eyes to summon patience. The possibility was unlikely in the extreme.
Even if Cecilia found herself in the same situation as Hetty, it wouldn't be a result of naïveté, as it was for Hetty. No, Cecilia was far too wise to the ways of the world. She seemed to find more satisfaction in teasing gentlemen than in giving them what they wanted.
"I should think," Isabel suggested, "that her presence might instead act as a sort of deterrent or cautionary tale?"
Mrs. Cosgrove was prevented from responding by a knock sounding on the door.
"Madam," said the footman. "There is a, uh, female person—" his lips turned down in irrepressible disgust "—demanding an audience with you. She says her name is Theodosia Robson."
Mrs. Cosgrove shot her daughter a censuring glance. "You see? Already we are accosted by the lower classes. Inform her," she said, turning to the servant, "that I am not at home to—"
The door swung open. The footman hopped deftly out of the way to avoid being hit, and a woman entered.
She was short and plump but carried herself with an air of superiority Isabel had never seen in one so clearly out of place in a gentleman's house. The woman looked around the sitting room with a critical eye, letting out an unimpressed "hmph!" while Isabel and her mother looked on in astonishment.
"Madam!" said the servant in outraged accents. "Have the goodness to remove yourself from this house, or I will see to it myself!"
Mrs. Robson ignored him, only saying, "Shabby genteel! Just as I suspicioned."
Isabel's eyes grew wide, and she stifled a laugh, looking at her mother who had been stunned into stillness. On hearing the stranger's verdict regarding the style of her home, though, a gladiatorial light had come into her eyes.
Mrs. Cosgrove dismissed the servant. His surprise was evident, but he looked too much relieved to hesitate more than a moment before bowing himself out.
"I regret that our furnishings are not to your taste, ma'am," Mrs. Cosgrove said with sugary sweetness.
"They hardly compare to Mr. Farrow's grand townhouse. That's for certain." Mrs. Robson looked more closely at an épergne and sniffed her disapproval.
Mrs. Cosgrove cocked an eyebrow. "I will have to accept your analysis, being unacquainted with the man."
"Gentleman," corrected Mrs. Robson. "And if you are unacquainted with him, well then, it only goes to show that you ain't fit to house my Hetty."
The martial light in Mrs. Cosgrove's eyes blazed, but she feigned a smile. "Am I to infer from your comparisons that this Mr. Farrow you speak of does have an intent to take her in?"
"Well," Mrs. Robson said with a defiant straightening of her neck, "he hasn't made an offer yet, but—" she threw an accusatory glare at Mrs. Cosgrove and rushed on "—I reckon he would have if Hetty hadn't been as good as kidnapped. Torn from the bosom of her mother!" A climactic if somewhat ill-executed sob followed the exclamation.
Hetty may have miraculously escaped home with her naïveté intact, but it was clear from whence her dramatic temperament came.
Mrs. Cosgrove's thin brow went up. "My dear Isabel," she said, not taking her eyes off Mrs. Robson. "Have we, to your knowledge, kidnapped any persons?"
Isabel had been watching the dialogue unfold with great interest. She felt no small degree of apprehension as the women sparred but, along with it, an appreciative awe at her mother's demeanor. She was only too glad that someone else was on the receiving end of her mother's ire. Mrs. Robson seemed not to understand the thin ice on which she stood.
Isabel cleared her throat. "No, Mama. I shouldn't think any of us would dare cause such a scandal."
"You reassure me," said Mrs. Cosgrove urbanely, her eyes still on the uninvited guest. "It appears that you are misinformed, ma'am."
"Do you deny, then," said Mrs. Robson, "that my Hetty is, even now, in this house? Be careful how you respond, Madam. If you deny it, you make a liar out of a man of God, for Mr. Safford himself was the one who told me where to find Hetty."
"Ah," said Mrs. Cosgrove. "And the good rector informed you that we had kidnapped your daughter?"
"He didn't have to." She held her chin high. "I'm quite capable of reading between the lines."
"Indeed?" said Mrs. Cosgrove with the signature single brow raise which made Isabel bite her lip on behalf of Mrs. Robson.
Isabel thought it unlikely that Mr. Safford gave up Hetty's location willingly, but she was unsurprised that he had done so, given the type of threats the woman had likely made.
"Between the lines, you say," continued Mrs. Cosgrove. "I was unclear whether you were able to read at all, but I stand happily, albeit somewhat skeptically, corrected."
Mrs. Robson seemed to be working out this insult, but before she could do so, Mrs. Cosgrove continued.
"You will forgive me, I hope," she said with a smile full of gritted teeth, "for not offering you a seat. I feel certain that it would be distasteful to sully your person by contact with our regrettable furnishings. While we are naturally grateful to have been graced with your presence, I hesitate to assault your fine sensibilities any longer. I will have one of the servants show you out." She walked over and rang the bell, her smile unwavering.
Mrs. Robson stuttered, trying to regain control of the situation. "I insist that Hetty be returned to me."
"Ah, well," said Mrs. Cosgrove, the picture of politeness, "as to that, I feel sure we may depend upon her moving filial affection—torn from your bosom, did you say?—to bring her home. I can only assume that, having been raised by a woman such as yourself and instructed so painstakingly in the recognition of shabby gentility, if she did choose to remain here, only the most extreme need could persuade her to do so. Ah, here is Paxton. Please show Mrs. Robson the door."
Mrs. Robson's confidence seemed to have suffered a blow. She looked as though she was being taken by the tide, unwilling, but powerless against it. Isabel watched with her lips pressed together to keep from smiling as the woman walked out.
When she turned to her mother, though, her desire to smile faded. Mrs. Cosgrove did not look pleased.
“Mama,” Isabel said in a pleading voice, “I assure you that Hetty is nothing like the woman you just encountered. She is very engaging, in fact, though I am admittedly astounded that she comes to be so, given what we just witnessed.”
Isabel’s mother stared at her for a moment. "The girl may stay. Temporarily," Mrs. Cosgrove added with emphasis, as if to quell the gratitude Isabel was prepared to show. "I wish to teach that woman a lesson, but I believe she will do everything in her power to get the girl back, even if she must resort to the law. I have no interest in embroiling myself to that extent, but a week or two will be sufficient to do the trick. She seems to be under the impression that she can force a marriage upon the unfortunate gentleman. Well, I hope for his sake that he is made of stern stuff, or else she is likely to succeed, in which case, heaven help him."
Isabel was grateful to her mother, even if her intentions in housing Hetty were somewhat questionable. How she would find a more permanent solution for the girl in a week or two was a worrisome matter, but any time was better than no time at all. In the meantime, anyone who asked would be informed that Hetty was a relation visiting from the north of England.
Hetty was ecstatic to learn that she would be a relation of Isabel’s, even if only an imaginary and temporary one.
When the door opened and Isabel ushered in a nervous Hetty, Mrs. Cosgrove's smiling expression transformed to surprise, and her mouth hung open.
"Oh," cried Hetty upon seeing her hostess. "You are even lovelier than I had imagined. I quite see where Isabel has her beauty from."
Mrs. Cosgrove stood speechless, a rare event in the life of the woman whose sharp wit was her best-known trait. She seemed in particular to be perplexed by the reference to Isabel's beauty.
Isabel took hold of her lips between her teeth, entertained to see her mother stunned silent by a naïve, young girl.
"Mama," she said, "this is Miss Hester Helena Robson, affectionately known as Hetty."
Hetty ran over, curtsied, and then, as if losing a fight against an overpowering impetuous urge, wrapped her arms around Mrs. Cosgrove.
Mrs. Cosgrove looked for a moment as though she might recoil but instead settled for an awkward pat on Hetty's back.
Hetty's eyes flew open, and she drew back, looking bashful. "Oh, I'm quite sure I oughtn't to have done that. Forgive me. Mama is forever scolding me for being impulsive, but I am a slow learner, she says."
A mention of Mrs. Robson seemed to bring Mrs. Cosgrove back down to earth, and she smiled at Hetty.
"Well," she said, clearly determined to encourage anything about Hetty which would provoke her mother, "there is a difference between affectation and genuine feeling that some find difficult to discern. But you, my dear, are refreshing."
Hetty's cheeks turned pink with pleasure.
Once Hetty was settled in, Isabel felt that she had passed a successful and more-than-usually eventful morning. With her mind wrapped up in the problem of finding a situation for Hetty, she came face to face with her father in the corridor.
For once, his countenance brightened upon seeing her. His mood was much improved from the morning, a circumstance which significantly dampened Isabel's own mood. She feared what it meant.
"Ah, my little scheming Izzy," he said with a playful tap on her nose. "You have led us a pretty dance. Made us believe you were a shrinking violet. But all the while, you were throwing out subtle lures for a fine catch such as Galbraith. Ha! Well played, my dear. Well played." He clapped his hands three times in slow succession as he laughed merrily.
Isabel chewed her lip. "I am not marrying him, Papa."
"What now?" he said, still smiling.
"I am not going to marry Mr. Galbraith."
His wide grin began to fade, and he stared at her, as if to verify whether she were serious. "Don’t be preposterous!"
She shook her head and sighed. "It isn't preposterous, though, Papa. I've already discussed it with him."
"The devil you did!" he hissed through a sneer.
She said nothing.
"You will un-discuss it, then. What made you think you had the right to do such a thing?"
She could think of a number of retorts but said nothing. The thought of trying to "undo" the conversation with Mr. Galbraith made her stomach clench.
"I am honor-bound," he said, "to the terms of our agreement, and I won't let you sully my name because of your missish scruples."
She swallowed. "And if Mr. Galbraith doesn't wish to marry me?"
"He is a man of his word. He will marry you." It was more of a threat than anything.
"You can hardly expect me," Isabel said quietly, "to hold him a hostage to his honor, Papa. I'm certain the two of you can arrange a compromise which will be satisfying to both of you that doesn’t require my involvement."
He grabbed her arm and leaned in. "You listen to me," he hissed as his face shook with anger, "I don't give a fig how you go about it, but you will undo what you've done." He leaned back to look at her face.
"And if I can't do what you ask?"
"If," he said, "you disobey me, make no mistake, Isabel—I will speak to him myself. End of discussion."
She turned to look him in the eye. His eyes were fixed on her, angry and desperate. She looked down at his hand which still grasped her arm, shaking with emotion. She knew better than to continue her resistance with him in such a state. If she crossed him, she could easily end up like Aunt Eliza—her name banned from the house forever.
Aunt Eliza’s offense had been to fall in love with a man below her station, but Isabel’s father would likely view a refusal to marry someone above their station with just as much fury.
Whatever reasons he had for desiring a marriage between her and Mr. Galbraith, it would not be abandoned lightly.
* * *
Isabel sat in a chair in the parlor, holding the same embroidery hoop she had been working on for months. Whenever she had thoughts to be sorted, she sought out the half-finished piece. Threading the needle and beginning to stitch made order out of the disorder in her mind, and it was never long before her hands stopped moving as she sat in a daze.
The violence of her father's reaction had come as somewhat of a surprise to her. She had expected to meet with resistance, but it had been clear that he would brook no argument on the subject. And while he claimed it was a matter of honor, she knew him better than to believe that.
To those who knew him well, he was a selfish man prone to take shortcuts. His insistence that she marry Mr. Galbraith only made sense if being a man of his word served his interests. Marrying off the daughter he had expected to become a spinster must have been an alluring prospect for him, and to a respected family such as the Galbraiths, no less.
But Isabel couldn't marry Mr. Galbraith. If she’d had no interest in him, perhaps she could have resigned herself to such a future. Two disinterested people marrying one another was feasible. A marriage between two people with unequal levels of attraction and affection—no matter how foolish or unwarranted those emotions might be—that seemed to Isabel a special kind of torture.
Unlike Isabel’s father, though, Mr. Galbraith seemed to be an honorable gentleman whose word was his bond, and if he felt that he had led a woman to believe he intended marriage, he would likely consider himself honor-bound to meet such expectations. Their encounter that morning was evidence of it.
What was more, her father had proven himself capable of manipulation in the past. He would not hesitate to pressure, even force Mr. Galbraith into believing that Isabel considered herself jilted.
The thought of Mr. Galbraith believing her such a sad figure was too much for her pride. She could not marry him, but she did not wish him to believe ill of her, either.
But what choice did she have? Her only other option was to throw herself upon the mercy of Mr. Galbraith; to beg him to offer her father an equally-appealing alternative. If Mr. Galbraith didn't wish to marry her—if he'd agreed only under the influence of strong drink—then perhaps he would be glad to come up with a substitute plan together.
Such a conversation would be a blow to her pride—but the alternatives would be worse.
She would have to speak to him. What she would say to him, she had no idea, but she trusted that in the time remaining in the day, she would be able to decide such a thing. Perhaps Mary could help.
7
Isabel had been determined not to attend the ball at Almack's that evening. Knowing, though, that Mary would rather lose a limb than miss an Almack's ball and that it was a place where they could have private conversation for a few minutes, she changed her mind. Cecilia would naturally be attending. Mrs. Cosgrove looked surprised when Isabel informed her that she planned to join them, but she accepted the change without a word.
Hetty expressed starry-eyed jealousy that Isabel should be attending a ball at Almack’s and watched with great interest as Anaïs prepared her for the ball.
Mary Holledge, aside from being Isabel's closest friend and confidante, was the person to whom she and Cecilia owed
their possession of Almack's vouchers in the first place. Mary’s mother, Mrs. Holledge, was intimately acquainted with Lady Jersey and, having taken a great liking to Isabel, had put in a good word for her.
She had, conversely, taken Cecilia in dislike almost instantly and would have requested only Isabel's voucher if it hadn't been for Mary. Mary was well-enough acquainted with the Cosgrove familial particulars to know that for Isabel to receive a voucher but not Cecilia would cause an uproar. Isabel would suffer greatly in such circumstances. She would likely be accused of trying to sabotage her sister's matrimonial chances out of jealousy.
Once Mrs. Holledge was brought to understand that excluding Cecilia would be every bit as harmful to Isabel as it would be to Cecilia, she conceded the fight and, good for her word, procured two vouchers.
As a result of her mother's connections, Mary had grown up in a home oozing gossip. If there were information to be had about any member of the haut-ton, Mary was as likely as anyone to know it. She also possessed a creative mind, and Isabel stood in no small need of her creative genius—on behalf of Hetty and on behalf of herself.
It had been some time since Isabel had attended Almack's, and Isabel felt a flutter of nerves as the carriage let them down.
In the past, she had never been bothered by being overlooked in favor of Cecilia. But she had disliked the glances of pity she saw in the eyes of some mothers when they saw her without a partner.
She could have perhaps borne the looks, but when their pity moved them to hurriedly find her a dance partner—often a gentleman who was clearly unpleased by the favor being required of him—it had given her a great distaste for Almack's.
She felt quite capable of carrying on engaging conversation, but her experience had shown her that, for those who felt consigned to dance with the less desirable of the Cosgrove sisters, it mattered little what she said.
Isabel: A Regency Romance Page 5