Silence fell between them, a silence as uncomfortable as any they had suffered through before. But Isobel was too preoccupied to worry much about it. So it was finally Lord Revere who broke the silence.
“Pardon me, Miss Masters, but you seem very nervous this evening.” Isobel was too anxious to think of a way to avoid explaining, so she answered plainly.
“I am quite nervous, Lord Revere,” Isobel admitted but did not expand. She had stopped moving just in front of her guest, but now stood chewing her nails.
After another silence, Lord Revere asked, “Might I do anything to help?”
“Not unless you can erase the past.” With a nervous chuckle, the thought was out before she could consider it. A blush rose to her cheeks.
“No, I have no such magic,” he chuckled, “though it would come in useful.”
His laugh startled her into stillness.
“If I may be so bold, Miss Masters. What is it that makes you so nervous this evening?”
Here is an opportunity to be civil to the man for Cat’s sake. She took a deep breath and began.
“The truth is, sir, that I do not feel quite comfortable at these things. I always feel that people remember me at the first musical evening I ever attended. I can never calm myself. Sometimes, like tonight, it’s worse and I am overwhelmed by anxiety and cannot sit still.” She tried to smile at him, but the effort only produced a pained look.
This brought some sympathy into his face, and Isobel almost sighed with relief. He did not think her ridiculous. He was not laughing at her silly fears. Then he spoke. It was a simple statement.
“You must learn how to be indifferent.”
“Indifferent? I don’t understand.”
“You must learn to show everyone that you do not care what they think.”
Isobel's eyebrows drew together as she thought about this. “And how on earth would I do that? I have no idea how to be indifferent.”
“It is primarily about confidence in yourself.”
“I have very little of that.”
“Then you must pretend.” He said it as if it were the simplest task in the world.
“Pretend?”
“Trust me, you become much less interesting when people think that you don't care what they say about you. It is only when they smell fear that they pounce.” There was a hint of teasing in his voice. Is he actually being nice to me? Can I trust him? But what do I have to lose, really? Even if he is laughing at me, my fears cannot get any worse than they are.
“And how do I learn to do this?”
His mouth quirked into a smile as he stepped toward her. She shied away from him, intimidated by his nearness. He stopped when he saw her reaction.
“Well, if you cannot truly be confident, you must at least learn how to look like you are. Put your shoulders back.” He reached out as if to push them back himself, but stopped before he touched her. Isobel stood up straighter.
“Good,” he said. “If you walk with your shoulders back, you look like you belong wherever you are. No one will argue with you. Now walk.”
Still with her shoulders back, Isobel began to walk forward. Lord Revere stepped out of her way and turned to look at her as she crossed the length of the room.
“Take longer and slower strides. Act like this room belongs to you and you will do with it what you please.”
Isobel felt ridiculous, like a trained monkey doing just what her master said. But he was honestly trying to help her, so she would give him a good effort. As she made her way back across the room, Lord Revere examined her carefully. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Isobel was unused to such scrutiny and it made her nerves return in full force.
“Something is still not quite right,” Lord Revere declared. Isobel slumped her shoulders again and let out a sigh.
“Now, now, Miss Masters, do not be discouraged. I have figured out what the last piece of the puzzle should be. Straighten your shoulders again.” Isobel did as she was told. “You carry yourself well when you walk, but the last piece is your face.”
“My face?” Isobel was suddenly conscious of herself in a new way. What could he mean to say about her face?
“Your face must not look so timid and scared. You must project confidence especially there. Now, you have seen the haughty expression the Countess of Deal wears?” Isobel nodded. “Imitate that expression for me.”
Isobel looked at her shoes as she composed her face. When she felt she had got it just right, she drew up her shoulders and raised her head. With her left eyebrow arched as high as it would go and her lips pursed together into a tight little bow, Isobel tilted her head back and looked down her nose at Lord Revere. She felt herself to be the very picture of confidence. It was working very well to make her feel that she could conquer the room this evening.
Until she heard the most unaccountable sound coming from across the room.
Miles Shepherd, Baron of Revere was either choking on his own tongue or he was about to expire from laughter. For a moment, Isobel was highly offended. She had done just as he asked. Why is he laughing at me? Panic bubbled up inside of her.
But he did not stop and soon Isobel could not resist the contagious mirth. She began to laugh because he was laughing.
When he finally caught a breath, Lord Revere choked out, “You did that too well!”
Isobel answered through her own laugh, “Stop laughing at me or I will be entirely unable to do that again.”
“I can't stop laughing. And please never pull that face again or I will laugh myself silly.”
“Then what I am going to do to survive tonight?” Isobel began to sober. She still had to face the evening before her and the dread that her clumsy feet would trip her and she would again make a spectacle of herself.
“Well, you certainly cannot pull that face. You would have me laughing at quite inappropriate times.” He paused to think. “But what if you only thought about that face? That might give you confidence. And it would certainly make you think of something besides being nervous.”
“Yes, it would make me think of you being unable to control yourself.” Their eyes met. Both attempted to be serious, but lasted only a moment before Lord Revere smiled again and sent them off into giggles.
“Well, this is much better than being afraid, isn't it?” Lord Revere had moved closer. The force of his smile at close range momentarily dazzled Isobel. Isobel grew suddenly nervous again with his imposing presence so close to her side.
“And besides, I will offer you one of my arms to lean on as we walk in. I am sure Miss Catherine will not mind.” Lord Revere held out his arm to her and they took a turn around the room. The man was so sure of himself and of her that Isobel began to grow more confident.
When they had made a circuit of the room, Lord Revere stopped and turned his head to her, their arms still linked together.
“I shall sit beside you tonight. You may grip on to me if you feel yourself falling out of your chair.”
So he does remember. Somehow the thought did not sting as much as it once might have.
“Izzy? Lord Revere?” A very confused Cat appeared just as Isobel pulled the forbidden face again and sent herself and Lord Revere into another fit of laughter.
* * * * *
His long-unused abdominal muscles ached from the exercise. And each time Miles thought of the face Isobel Masters had pulled, it threatened to send him off again. He would have to be very careful of looking at her this evening, or he would surprise the crowd with his untimely cackling. He had already surprised himself tonight. First, by his desire to help Miss Masters and then by his genuine enjoyment of her company.
But the mental upset of those surprises could not compare to the feeling he was having now in the carriage on the way to Mrs. Starr’s. Separate from the ache of muscles he never knew he had, Miles felt as if giant birds were flapping around his insides and perching on his organs. He was quite unused to the feeling and did not find it at all pleasant. It seemed like a fit
of nerves. But he had been to a hundred musical evenings before.
Miles felt like a riding master watching his pupil take the reins for himself. Miss Masters had listened to his advice. But would it work? What had begun as only an exercise in calming her nerves had become a kind of experiment. And it was making Miles anxious. He wanted Dizzy Izzy to be a success.
He looked across the carriage at the sisters chatting happily together. Miles knew that Miss Masters did not like him. She had even shied away when he’d moved to help her in the parlor. But he knew that she had good reason for her feelings.
And still, in those moments of anxiety, she had trusted a man she hated. She had been honest and shared the truth of her feelings with him. Remorse — yet another surprising emotion — rose in his mind. The sisters seemed so open with each other. With everyone, really. In his decade and more in town, he had carefully cultivated his hard exterior. It was necessary to his survival. At least he thought so. But in their company these past days, Miles had felt at ease. It was hard to resist the teasing playfulness that existed in the Masters household. It had been like having Wesley back again…
The carriage arrived at the music hall before his mind could venture too far into that dangerous place. The nerves kicked up again as he descended from the carriage and turned back to assist Miss Masters and Miss Catherine out of the vehicle. As he took Miss Masters’ hand, he saw a look of mischief in her eye. Miles pressed his lips together, preparing to stifle the laughter if she pulled that face again. Miss Masters refrained, but the smile reached his face anyway.
Before he could help Miss Catherine alight, Miss Masters had already started into the building. She strode confidently forward. He wasn’t sure if anyone else was watching, but he certainly noticed that a different Isobel Masters had entered the room this evening. The fluttering in his insides settled a bit.
Miles offered his arm and walked with Miss Catherine into the music hall.
“I don’t know what you have done for my sister, Lord Revere, but I sincerely thank you.” Miss Catherine’s smile lit her face.
“I have done nothing.”
“Well, whatever that ‘nothing’ was, it has made a sudden change in Izzy, one I am very glad to see. She is usually so nervous before these events even at home. It is hard to calm her down.” The young woman paused as they mounted the short staircase before the door. “I know most people in society laugh at her and think she is a clumsy fool. But they are wrong. They have never given her a chance.”
Remorse again. Miles did not enjoy the feel of it in his gut. He had been the reason most people laughed at Isobel Masters. Yet here he had the privilege of escorting her sister. Was Miss Catherine ignorant of the role he had played? Should he tell her? But Miles feared he would ruin his chances with her. And each hour they spent together, Miles liked Miss Catherine Masters more and more. She was a charming and honest girl and he could picture a quiet married life with her. Indeed, Jack had forced him into a number of conversations extolling Miss Catherine’s charms.
Miss Masters had found three chairs together and they took their seats. A few friends came to say hello to Miles, but it was not long before the music started. He thought the music pleasant, but he knew that some other man might have appreciated it more. Music, especially Herr Beethoven, required sympathy and feeling. And especially with all of the surprises he’d experienced so far tonight, Miles wanted no more of that. Jack would have been at home here. But the boy was at the club this evening, hopefully not losing too much money.
And so Miles occupied his mind by observing the people around him. One gentleman was nodding off, only popping awake when elbowed fiercely by his wife. One lady was leaning a little too eagerly toward her male companion and too loudly begging a translation of the text. He had to smile. It was a common ruse to allow two lovers to whisper in each other’s ear. He had used it himself on a number of occasions. To great success, he added.
The two Misses Masters, one on each side of him, sat rapt as the chamber orchestra played familiar pieces and the renowned soprano sang dazzling high notes from one of Herr Beethoven’s arias. During a particularly sad song just before a break in the program, Miles noticed Miss Masters wringing the ends of her shawl in her hands. As they all stood up to obtain refreshments before the program started again, Miles saw Miss Masters dabbing surreptitiously at her eyes. Had she been crying over a song? It had sounded lonesome and sad, yes, but to cry over it?
“May I bring you ladies some refreshment?” Miles offered.
“Yes, please. It feels so warm in here,” Miss Catherine was using her hand to fan herself.
“I would be grateful for a lemonade, Lord Revere. Thank you.” Miss Masters was still dabbing at her eyes.
It had been a strange evening, Miles thought as he moved toward the refreshment table. He nodded hellos at a few men and women and stopped to shake the hand of a friend he’d not seen in months.
As he moved through the room, Miles became aware of a peculiar sensation. It did not feel like the anxiety he’d experienced earlier. No, this was more uncomfortable. Like eyes following his every move. But before he could look around, he heard a silky voice at his side.
“Revere, I hardly expected to see you here.”
He picked up two glasses and turned. “Were you waiting for me, Mrs. Tremain?”
She cocked her eyebrow at him. “In a sense, yes. I have been waiting for you for a long time.”
Did the woman never let up? Had she not taken his rebuff at the ball?
“Excuse me, I must return to my companions.”
“Oh yes. The Masters girl and her fat older sister. Really, what can you want with them?”
Anger suddenly boiled in his gut. He liked Miss Catherine and, yes, he was even coming to appreciate the elder Miss Masters. She had some courage. Tonight he’d seen her do something that frightened her very much. Miles had the odd feeling that he was actually proud of her. So he defended them now.
“What I want with them is more that I will ever want with you. Good evening.”
Miles stalked away, regretting only that he was not able to see Mrs. Tremain’s face as he did so. He threw himself into the rest of the evening, determined to show anyone who might be watching that he was enjoying himself thoroughly.
* * * * *
I hate him. I hate him.
The refrain ran over and over through Thomas Davenport’s head as he watched Lord Revere cross the room with two glasses of lemonade. He willed the man to trip and make a spectacle of himself. A sudden vision of cracked glass and a deep cut flashed across his mind. Blood.
Calmly, Thomas, he counseled himself. That would be punishment too light for Revere. No, the man deserved more punishment even than to bleed.
He stared hard at his quarry, studying his every move. As he did so, he heard Revere’s name mentioned in a nearby conversation. Thomas moved closer to where two women he did not know were talking.
“Lord Revere is a very good-looking man,” the first lady said. “I wonder if he is free this season or if he has some woman already stashed away.” Thomas cringed. How could they want someone like Lord Revere?
“I hear that he is pursuing that Masters girl quite seriously,” said the second lady.
“Isobel Masters?” The first woman sounded incredulous.
“No, no. Not Dizzy Izzy, the other one, her younger sister. Catherine, I think her name is. The pretty one.”
“Pretty, of course.”
“He's quite serious about her from what I've heard. He's been to call at her aunt's house practically every day this week. If that's not serious, I don't know what is, especially from Lord Revere.”
“Everyday? It must be love,” the first woman said sarcastically.
“Love, no. That man could never love,” the second woman laughed. “But he must get married sometime. Perhaps he has decided this shall be his season.”
“And Miss Masters shall be his wife,” a tinge of disappointment in the first woma
n’s voice.
“Well, I guess it is about time for him, but it will be sad to have such a handsome bachelor off the market.”
“If he's anything like the rest of his set, marriage won't necessarily take him off the market...” The women giggled like naughty girls.
Disgusted, Thomas moved away. A plan was already forming in his mind with the information he’d just gathered. Lord Revere seemed to be developing an attachment. One that might be exploited. The silly gossips had given him an idea.
Chapter 8
Miles had absorbed too much nervous energy either to sit still or go to bed after the concert. So he went to the club to find Jack. A card game with Miles' friends was the engagement that had kept him away from the musicale. Miles wondered how the boy was doing. Tremain, Blume, and Riley could be ruthless when it came to cards. Miles was sure they would not go easy on Jack just because he was related to Miles.
The smiles that greeted Miles when he walked in the door of the club made him sigh with relief.
“Where have you been, Revere, while your brother was here winning the shirts off our backs?” Tremain yelled jovially at him as he approached the card table where his brother and friends were playing.
“He went to Mrs. Starr's evening musicale.” Miles could hear a slight slur as Jack spoke the words. Drunk. But still winning, by the looks of the large pile of coins on the table in front of him.
“Mrs. Starr's?” Blume slurred his words even more than Jack had. “Why would you go there instead of being here winning money off of us? You have left it all up to Jack!”
“I was escorting someone.” Miles responded. He did not feel like explaining himself to his friends.
“Who?” Blume asked.
Miles hesitated but knew their ridicule would be worse if he appeared to be hiding something.
The Wrong Woman (Unexpected Love #1) Page 5