In far too short a time, the coach stopped in front of a fashionable townhouse. Isobel felt her stomach tighten in apprehension as Beckett got out of the cab and handed her down onto the cobblestone street.
He looked at her silently before mounting the steps to the great oak door. Before Beckett could knock, it opened, and a gray-haired butler ushered them in.
Beckett addressed the man. “Crandall, will you tell Lord Weston—”
“That you are here, yes, yes,” Lord Weston finished, bounding down the staircase. He took Isobel’s hand in his and kissed it. “Are you alright, my dear lady? We have been looking for you all day. Beckett, is she alright?”
“Yes, Alfred, she is in perfectly good health.” Beckett looked impatient.
Isobel felt another wave of fear sweep through her stomach. She didn’t think she could bear the ugly scene that was surely only minutes away. But she would have to, just as she had borne everything else.
“But we have need of a place to stay,” Beckett continued. “May we presume on your hospitality—”
“Well, of course you shall stay here. Now what’s this about Hartley wanting to stash Isobel out of Lord Palmerston’s clutches? It sounds positively fugitive. Has your man gone daft?”
Beckett glanced at Isobel and hesitated before answering. “May we use your library, Alfred? I hate to be a boor, but I need to speak with my wife. Alone.”
Isobel tried to calm her beating heart. It felt as if a bird were trapped inside, beating its wings furiously to escape.
Alfred guided them down the hall to the huge book-lined library. “I shall have Crandall bring some tea.”
“Thank you, old man. My wife is in need of some, I expect.” Beckett opened a cupboard and brought out a decanter and crystal glass. “But I think I shall have something stronger.”
Alfred nodded, smiling. He turned to Isobel. “The tea will be along directly.”
“Thank you, Lord Weston,” Isobel said quietly.
He bowed and left them alone.
It would be over soon. Her husband would finally know the truth. That alone would be a relief.
Beckett lifted the glass of brandy to his lips and downed a mouthful.
“Shall we begin?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in question. “And I warn you, my good humor is back at my townhouse. I believe I left it in the front hall when Hartley opened the door for Palmerston. Let us start with Hampton Park.”
Isobel met his eyes and took a deep breath. “It is my home. In Hertfordshire.”
“Go on.”
“You’re wondering about my parents, I suppose? They died in a carriage accident a little over a year ago.
I was left in the care of Mr. Edward Langley, my guardian. He was a very kind man.” Isobel felt the lump forming in her throat. She stared at her hands.
“He was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“But not by you?”
She looked up at him, stung by the question, but not surprised. In her mind’s eye she could see the fondness that had always swept over Edward Langley’s face at the sight of her, and her heart knotted painfully in her breast. She forced herself to go on. “I was there. I saw it happen. I saw—”
A knock sounded at the door and Isobel turned her head away as Crandall brought in the tray.
“Tea, m’lord.”
Isobel wiped at her watering eyes and glanced up at the butler who quietly set the tea service down on the table before her. Crandall gracefully gave her a handkerchief, and exited the room on silent feet.
“Continue, my dear.”
She looked up to see Beckett scrutinizing her with a guarded expression.
“I—I’d heard an argument. So I came downstairs to see what was happening. I hid behind the door, but when I heard him… stab Mr. Langley, I screamed, and he came after me.”
“Who came after you?”
Her voice shook with loathing. “Sir Harry Lennox.”
“Lennox? Who in blazes is that? And what reason would he have to kill your guardian?”
“Because he—he wants Hampton Park. Sir Harry had wanted to strike a bargain with Mr. Langley to buy my hand in marriage. But Langley would have none of it. That’s why he killed him.”
“And you didn’t wish to marry this man?”
Isobel looked at Beckett as if he had lost all sense. Once again, his actions had removed hope that someone might understand. But what had she really expected? This man did not know her. He knew nothing except that he’d found her collapsed in the street.
Isobel shut her eyes tight. It was no use.
“I take that to mean you wanted little to do with this Lennox.” A twinge of sarcasm darkened his voice.
Her eyes flew open and she stared at Beckett, incredulous. Didn’t he know how difficult this was for her?
Perhaps he did, and this was her punishment for her lies.
“He was a friend of my father’s,” she continued. “Though if my father tolerated him, he could not have known his true nature. Sir Harry Lennox is a blackguard… and a murderer. He wanted to be master of Hampton Park. But to get it, he needed to claim me first.”
“So you ran. And that’s how you came to be on the street the night that I found you.”
Isobel nodded, inhaling deeply to steady herself. “Sir Harry saw me in the shadows. He came after me.
He caught me easily, and he tried to—it was indecent. I managed to break free of him. Then I ran and ran until I couldn’t anymore. The next thing I remember is waking in your bed.”
“Ah.” Beckett nodded, one eyebrow cocked. “And this Palmerston fellow. What sort of evidence could he have against you, eh?”
“Whatever Sir Harry gave him. He’s a very persuasive man.” Isobel searched Beckett’s eyes, but they gave away nothing. He just stared at her with his arms folded across his chest, seemingly waiting for her to continue. Isobel wiped her moist palms on her skirt and forced herself to keep going. “Sir Harry found me at the Whitcomb ball. He took me out into the garden—”
Beckett set the glass down on the desk and took a step toward her. “To the garden? You went with him?”
“Not willingly! Have you heard nothing I’ve said? When he had me alone, he threatened me. He told me he would have no trouble convincing you that we were lovers—so that you would abandon me.”
“And how do I know you aren’t lovers?” Beckett asked half-jokingly. But there was an edge to his voice.
“With him? With Sir Harry Lennox? How dare you say such a thing!”
“You’ll have to forgive me. I have not had much practice in accusing a wife of being unfaithful. Is there a trick to it I don’t know?”
Before she knew what she was about, she struck him. All the anguish and desperation of the past weeks erupted from her heart and found its target in the man before her. Isobel beat her fists against his chest and flailed in his arms as Beckett struggled to hold her.
“Isobel!”
She thrashed and pounded against him. “Get your hands off me!”
“Isobel, stop it!” Beckett shouted, quickly winning the battle and holding her immobile.
“Let me go, sir,” she said, panting helplessly against the power of his embrace.
“I will not.”
“Why? Surely you don’t want to keep a murderess as a wife?”
Beckett held her in front of him. “I don’t believe you are a murderess, Isobel.”
She stared up into his eyes, unwilling to hope. “You don’t?”
“No.” Beckett’s grip relaxed and he touched his hand gently to the side of Isobel’s face. “I am your husband. And I will protect you.”
At those words Isobel’s heart swelled painfully. She closed her eyes against the burning tears. A strong hand curled gently around her neck and Beckett pulled her head against his chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say.
“You needn’t thank me. Isn’t it my duty, Isobel? I swore to honor and protec
t you all the days of your life. And all the days of mine, for that matter.” He pulled away and looked down at her. She saw the wariness in his eyes. “Yet you should have told me before.”
“I was afraid.”
“Yes, I can imagine you were.” Beckett turned away from her. “This changes things, Isobel. I will have to take you away from London, certainly—someplace where you’ll be safe from both Lennox and Lord Palmerston’s arrest warrant. Until we can get these charges dropped and find some evidence against Lennox…”
“What if we can’t?”
Beckett turned to face her. “Then I suppose we shall have to live abroad.”
Isobel studied him for a moment, still mystified by her husband’s decision to stand by her. “Why are you doing this? Most men in your position would think twice about giving up so much… especially to protect a woman who was a wife in name, alone.”
Beckett returned nonchalantly to his glass and downed the rest of the brandy.
“I am not most men.”
“You’ll go to Barbados, then?” Alfred asked. Beckett nodded, his mouth full. He, Alfred and Isobel sat at the long dining room table, break-fasting on braised ham, poached eggs, toast with blueberry compote, and fresh strawberries with cream. There was nothing like an adventure to stir up a man’s appetite.
“Barbados?” Isobel set down her teacup and looked at Beckett, her soft brown eyes wide with shock.
“Well, that’s not a very civilized place, is it?”
“How civilized is it here in London with Sir Harry Lennox running around? I don’t think it’s safe to stay in England at all, not with Lord Palmerston looking for you.” Beckett swallowed a bit of coffee. “I was planning to go to Barbados next month at any rate to visit the Ravenwood sugar plantation there. We could leave as soon as possible. Lord Palmerston thinks you’ve gone to Chilton. I’ll have it put ‘round that I’ve gone off to Ireland, or someplace that will take them awhile to get to. Before they can get back to London, we’ll be aboard a ship bound for the islands.”
“A capital idea, Beckett. I’ll go along with you,” Alfred said. “Make sure you don’t get into trouble.”
“Oh, no you won’t, Alfred. I need you to stay here and find proof of Isobel’s innocence. And Sir Harry’s guilt.”
Alfred brightened at that. “Even better! I adore a good mystery. You know, if I didn’t have to be a lord of the realm, I always thought I should make a dandy Bow Street runner.”
“But Lord Weston,” Isobel began. “Surely it isn’t safe to start poking about on your own. And I do not like to think of what might happen if Sir Harry gets wind of your plan. He is a dangerous man.”
“As am I, dear lady.” Alfred smiled and kissed her hand.
Isobel looked imploringly at Beckett. “But there must be another way.”
“Lord Palmerston’s men will be back from Chilton in a few days,” explained Beckett. “We must be safely on our way before they return to London.”
“But what if Alfred doesn’t find any proof?”
“Of course I will, dear lady,” Alfred assured her. “I possess a wealth of skills. Isn’t that right, Beckett?”
“Very true, though I doubt most of them have any relevance here.” Beckett saw the worried look in Isobel’s eyes, and took her hand. “Isobel, you must obey me in this. We will be on the next ship bound for Barbados. It is the only choice we have. Besides, I believe the challenge of this situation is part of my earthly trials.”
Isobel smiled slightly.
“As for Alfred, he and I have been getting in and out of trouble together since we met at Oxford. And we always get out, don’t we Alfred?”
“Yes, but I do admit, this raises the challenge to new heights.”
Beckett laughed. “Alfred, please try to contain your confidence in our plan.”
“It is a forgone conclusion. Good will inevitably triumph over evil, and history proves my theory. At least I think it does. It should, or we’d all be in a terrible state. Why, just look at—”
“Oh, enough, Alfred! If I wanted a history lesson, I’d open a book.” He looked back at his bride, who seemed unaccustomed to making light of serious topics.
“Of course, we’ll be leaving London as quietly as possible. And we’ll book passage under assumed names. Alfred, I’ll need you to spread the word that I’ve gone off to Dublin. I shall have to return to the house briefly to have a trunk packed for my ‘trip to Ireland.’ That will include a few dresses for you, Isobel. But we must both travel lightly. You won’t be needing ball gowns where we’re going.”
Isobel smiled soberly. “You can be assured that fashionable dress is the furthest thing from my mind.”
Beckett turned to his friend. “Now remember, Alfred, I shan’t tell the new house staff anything. Sir Harry may find some way to get information out of them, and if he thinks they know anything he’s more likely to use stronger methods. The less they know, the better. I shall have to tell Hartley, though, as you may need his assistance in your investigation. We’ll spend at least a month or so in Barbados. When we return, hopefully you’ll have gathered enough evidence to refute this ludicrous murder charge against Isobel. And do me a favor, Alfred—look in on the pets from time to time, will you? I don’t want Hartley to get overrun. And Alfred. Be careful.”
Alfred chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, old man. You know it is Sir Harry Lennox who should be careful.”
Chapter Eleven
Isobel inhaled the strong, clean smell of the sea. Overhead, the gulls’ cries made an eerie music.
How on earth had fate brought her to this place? Here she stood at the Portsmouth dock, about to journey to a tropical island with a man who had found her in an alley. Good Lord, what strange twists and turns life could take.
They boarded the ship, and Beckett introduced her to the captain, using their assumed names. They were travelling as Mr. and Mrs. Cox, well-to-do merchants from London. She had still been trying to get used to being called the countess of Ravenwood, and now she had another name to answer to.
At last, the ropes that moored them to the wharf were cast off and the ship was moving through the gray-blue waters. Isobel stood beside Beckett at the starboard side and waved goodbye to Alfred, who bid farewell from the dock.
So much of this plan rested on her husband’s friend’s shoulders. But Alfred, who appeared so light-hearted and genteel, had a mind as strong and sharp as a sword. Her husband had sworn to it.
Isobel would depend upon that sword to fight the battle for her here in England, while she was spirited safely away. It seemed strange that she no longer had to defend herself, and that others were willing to stand by her. But it felt good.
The ship’s captain, Mayfield, took them on a brief tour of the craft and Isobel was glad for the distraction.
She found herself fascinated with the rhythm of the huge vessel. Its sailors all seemed to work together effortlessly, as if they could hear each other without speaking. From time to time, the bosun would call out orders, and the sailors would respond with feline agility and grace. They flew up and down the rigging as if it were more natural to them than walking upright.
But more striking than the rhythm of the crew was something entirely different: a large black-and-white cat. She supposed that cats were not uncommon upon seagoing vessels, what with the mice, but this cat in particular seemed strange; it surveyed the crew as if it were his own. She wondered if perhaps the animal was friendly.
As she stood there, wondering at the beast, it met her eyes. The cat stared at her intently from across the deck, and Isobel felt strangely unnerved. She glanced away. Had that been intelligence in its eyes?
Obviously, her misadventures had to be taking their toll on her, if she were imagining such things.
When she looked back, the cat was gone. She returned her attention to Captain Mayfield.
At last the captain returned to his duties, leaving Beckett and Isobel standing together on
deck. She looked up at her husband as he surveyed the ship. An uncomfortable silence thickened the air between them.
She wondered what would happen, now. Although he had assured her of his protection, she had sensed Beckett distancing himself from her since she’d explained Edward Langley’s death.
He hadn’t mentioned her guardian’s name since then, or the other sordid circumstances leading to this impromptu journey. And yet the silent questions stood between them like a wall. The jesting and flirting they had enjoyed at the Whitcomb ball were gone.
Certainly, he had not kissed her since.
The wind lifted Beckett’s hair with invisible fingers, taunting Isobel to reach out and do the same. But she knew that was impossible now. He had stood by her out of duty, not because of any feeling he had for her. It would do no good to become sentimental about a relationship that would never be.
As the ship left Portsmouth harbor, they were shown to their quarters. Their cabin was spacious enough to accommodate them both, though of course, it held only one bed. And though they had already shared a bed inadvertently, it would be very different indeed to sleep next to him tonight, now that they were man and wife.
Dinner was brought to their door and they ate it without ceremony. Then Beckett produced a deck of cards, and enticed her to play ecarte. With the maelstrom of thoughts that swam in her head, she welcomed the diversion.
They played countless games, until Isobel found her eyes watering as she tried fruitlessly to ward off the heaviness of sleep.
“You look tired, my dear.” Beckett put down his cards. “It has been a long day. Shall we go to bed?”
Isobel looked up at him, her blood suddenly racing. “To bed?”
“Yes. I am tired as well.” Beckett stood up, his expression remote. “I suppose it is a good thing that we are married, isn’t it—seeing as there is only one bed? We can sleep in it together with a clear conscience.”
Isobel stared at the bunk they were to share as if it were engulfed in flames. They had not shared a normal-sized bed as man and wife, and this one looked unable to accommodate two. Surely he would make some alternate arrangement.
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