“You followed the drum?”
A mist formed in Isolde’s vision and her voice sank. “It’s all I’ve known. You won’t find me of the least use in a drawing room, I warn you.”
“Isolde, me dearie, will you be telling his lordship everything that must set him against you?” Madge was at her elbow, her gaze turned to the man. “You’ll forgive her boldness, me lord, and I’ll take leave to say she’s a deal more capable than she’ll give herself credit for.”
Lord Alderton’s brows drew together. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. You are?”
“Mrs Quick, me lord, and I’ve had charge of the girl these three years. I’ll not pretend to the knack of making a lady of her, but she’ll learn swift, you’ll see.”
“Madge!”
Her mentor turned to her. “It’s truth, me dearie, and I’ll not have his lordship think badly of you when there’s no need.” She turned again to the gentleman. “She’s young yet, sir. It’s sure I am as you’ll make allowances.”
Isolde could bear no more. “Oh, stop, Madge, you make me sound the veriest ninny!”
Lord Alderton intervened. “I thank you, Mrs Quick, but I must point out that I have as yet no inkling of what Miss Cavanagh expects me to do for her.”
“Nothing! At least, I don’t expect it. It’s what Papa told me to do. And you are not your father, and not his friend, and I don’t see why you should be obliged to house me, let alone be my guardian.”
“Your guardian! Good God!”
Isolde’s nerves shattered and an involuntary sob escaped.
Chapter Three
Quite as bewildered as astonished, Richard watched the matron hustle her charge away from him, muttering Lord knew what soothing words to calm her. The woman’s role was unclear, for although her accent and style of speech suggested her station in life, both manner and dress precluded any idea of servitude. Indeed, the great-coat was of excellent cut and the bonnet boasted more feathers and ribbons than Miss Cavanagh’s headgear.
His first sight of the girl had taken him aback. The face turned towards him had been ripe with distress and anger both, its features nevertheless striking, with creamy white skin sprinkled with freckles and expressive eyes that mirrored every passing thought. Richard thought he caught a glimpse of reddish hair under the bonnet. A tall creature, svelte under a close-fitting great-coat. But Lord above, so young!
Reminded of the girl’s last words, he felt a resurgence of shock. What in the world had his erratic parent burdened him with this time?
“Miss Cavanagh!”
The girl turned from the window where she’d been standing with her back to him, flanked by the still-whispering duenna — if that was what she was.
“My butler spoke of a letter.”
Consternation entered the misted eyes, though they were thankfully no longer seeping tears.
“Oh. Yes, I forgot.”
“May I see it, if you please?”
She seized up a reticule that had been lying on one of the chairs and came towards him, tugging open the strings. She halted before him as she dug into its depths.
It struck Richard that she showed no sign of shyness, despite her evident dismay at her predicament. He took the letter she held out to him, meeting the apprehensive look in her eyes. “Thank you.”
“It’s to your father.”
“So I understand.”
He unfolded the sheet and swiftly read the letter, conscious throughout of the girl’s anxious regard, which he found singularly disconcerting, inhibiting concentration.
From this cursory reading, he gathered that Captain Cavanagh had relied upon an age-old suggestion made by his wayward parent, typically vague, that in the event of his demise, his daughter would be welcome to seek succour at his home. Richard had no doubt whatsoever that this lightly-uttered notion had been taken in a more literal spirit than had been intended, moving the captain to name his friend as guardian to his only child.
His father would have laughed it off, Richard made no doubt of that. His generous spirit would have prompted him to pecuniary assistance, and perhaps he might have bestirred himself to help the girl find employment. But take her in and make himself her guardian? Richard could have laughed, were it not so tragic.
His gaze rose and he regarded the anxious face before him with pity, not unmixed with exasperation, which found instant expression.
“I take it you are quite alone in the world? You have no relatives?”
Miss Cavanagh’s lips trembled a little and uncertainty entered the eyes. Green? Or tending more to hazel? Richard noted gold flecks within the colour.
“My mother’s family will not own me. Papa did not wish me to go to them.”
The sense of this penetrated Richard’s abstraction. “Then you do have family. Why should you not make contact with them?”
Miss Cavanagh’s fingers strangled her reticule and Richard’s sense of compassion deepened.
“My mother ran away with Papa. He said they wanted nothing more to do with her. He said they wouldn’t want me either.”
“Either?”
“You don’t want me. Your father wouldn’t want me. Madge can’t have me. Nobody wants me.”
Richard could not deny it, but he entered a caveat, against his own belief. “You can’t know that my father would not have wanted you. Nor, I may add, can you make such an assumption about me.”
Indignation sparkled. “Yes, I can. I can see very well you don’t wish me to be here. Well, I don’t wish to be here either, but I had no choice. You can send me packing if you like. I don’t care. I’ll make my own way. I know how to look after myself.”
Despite himself, Richard’s lips twitched, and he had all to do not to burst out laughing. “From the little I’ve seen of you, Miss Cavanagh, I have no doubt you are very well able to look after yourself. However, you might find it a trifle awkward, with no home to go to and no money to speak of. Or am I wrong about that? Perhaps your father left you some provision?”
Miss Cavanagh regarded him with defiance clear in her face. “I’ve got all the guineas he had when he died, and the colonel gave me his last pay. As for a home, I’ve lived in nothing but billets and tents for years and made a home wherever we were. Besides, I can find work and they are bound to let me live there too.”
He kept to himself the inevitable reflections set up in his mind as to the kind of life Miss Cavanagh was likely to find herself in if she was left without protection.
“I can see you have worked it all out, but perhaps it would be better if you were to remain here while we decide what is best to be done.”
She did not soften, suspicion in her gaze. But was there a measure of relief?
He looked past her to the woman who accompanied her. “And you, Mrs Quick?”
She hurried forward. “You’ll not be thinking you’ve to accommodate me as well, me lord. I’m off again without delay, for the coach is waiting for me.”
This was unexpected, and decidedly unwelcome. What, was she here merely to dump the girl and run?
“I thought you said you had charge of Miss Cavanagh?”
“So I did, me lord, but I undertook only to see her safe into Sir Thomas’s protection. I’m behind my time by three years already and I am expected.”
“Madge only stayed after Sergeant Quick died to care for me,” chimed in Miss Cavanagh, her chin coming up. “I’d go with her if I could, but she can’t afford me and I don’t want to be a burden to anyone.”
The words came out in a rush, more than a touch of rebellion in the tone. Dismay crept into Richard’s chest. Miss Cavanagh was likely to prove a handful, especially without the woman Madge to curb her.
“May I request you to stay for a day or two at least, Mrs Quick? A short delay can make little difference, I must suppose.”
The matron looked doubtful, Miss Cavanagh mulish. Richard ignored the latter, concentrating his attention on Mrs Quick. He hit a persuasive note.
“It will be hard
for Miss Cavanagh to be pitched into an unknown milieu without the presence of someone with whom she is well acquainted.”
From the corner of his eye, he noted the girl’s sudden intent look. Had she no notion of anyone looking to her comfort?
“Well, I could spare a night,” said Mrs Quick in a grudging fashion, “but I’ll not be after staying to carry on where I left off, and so I warn you, me lord.”
“No, indeed, I —”
“It’s not as I’m not fond of Izzy, as I hope she knows, but I’ve a life of my own to lead and it’s high time I went at it.”
Miss Cavanagh did not appear to resent this blunt admission. She looked rather resigned, if a trifle glum.
Richard seized on the respite. “I thank you, Mrs Quick. Your support, if only for one night, will be welcome.” He crossed to the bell-pull and tugged. “My housekeeper will see to your needs. No doubt you would both wish to put off your outer garments and repair the stains of travel.”
He turned to find both women staring at him, Mrs Quick with approval not unmixed with suspicion, the girl with astonishment. He hid a smile and moved towards the door, but a stray thought stayed him and he turned back.
“Izzy?”
His puzzlement was evidently not lost on Miss Cavanagh. Her chin came up.
“Isolde.”
A vague recollection came to him and he lifted the letter he still held, hunting through the words. “Oh yes, I see it. Isolde Mary Cavanagh.” He glanced at the youthful face and back to the letter. It was dated several years back. Had she carefully preserved it all this time? There was no clue in the date. “How old are you, Isolde?”
His use of her name produced a sudden bright smile that lit her face and sent a cascade of unexpected warmth through Richard’s chest.
“I am seventeen.”
A sense of disorientation invaded Richard’s mind. Seventeen and quite lovely. And the wretched child had become his responsibility.
The door opened to admit the footman. He had never been more glad of an interruption.
“Ah, James. Desire Mrs Pennyfather to come to this room. Immediately, if you please.”
Chapter Four
“What in the world am I to do with the girl, Mama?”
Lady Alderton sighed, sinking back against the cushions propping her up where she lay on the chaise longue. Richard was relieved she was well enough to have left her bed today, for he would otherwise have been reluctant to burden her with the problem of Isolde Cavanagh. She was failing fast and ought not to be troubled, but the habit of consulting her was ingrained. Besides, she was unlikely to remain in ignorance of such an invasion, deep as she was in Pennyfather’s confidence.
“You will naturally do what your conscience dictates, my dear Richard.”
He was at once irritated. “I thank you, ma’am, that is singularly helpful.”
A tiny choke of laughter escaped her and the worn features relaxed. “In this instance, dearest boy, I fear I cannot help you. Were I in health —” She broke off, biting her lip.
Richard did not take it up. Of all things, his mother hated to discuss the consequences of her prolonged illness. “What of this Captain Cavanagh? Did you know him?”
“I met him a time or two. A charming rogue, I thought him. One of these care-for-nobodies who attack life in a large-minded spirit and refuse to count the cost.”
“Like my father, you mean.”
The bitter note could not be suppressed, and Richard caught the look of reproach from his mother’s grey eyes.
“Thomas was a good man, Richard. Misguided on occasion, I grant you, but he always meant well.”
“I never doubted the sincerity of his intentions.”
Which was true enough, if only his father had not pledged chunks of his inheritance in support of bizarre projects. Enough to endanger the prosperity of the estates. And now this orphaned girl must needs appear on his doorstep, claiming his father’s guardianship, which was likely to make it impossible for him to repudiate her.
“What about the girl? Do you suppose my father really meant what the captain claims in that letter?”
Lady Alderton picked it up from where it was lying in her lap and read it again. “Oh, I expect he said something of the sort and I am sure he meant it at the time.”
“Just so. He never thought it would come home to roost though, did he?”
A little smile of reminiscence curved his mother’s mouth. “I very much doubt he remembered it at all.”
Exasperation mounted into Richard’s breast. That was precisely the point. His father’s too-easy generosity had been apt to prompt him to promises impossible for his son to keep. It never seemed to occur to him that the individuals who sought the late Lord Alderton’s investment in whatever crazy scheme they had dreamed up would actually come calling when the finance was needed.
“He never meant to leave you so encumbered, my dearest,” came his mother’s plaintive plea.
Richard let out a breath. “You need not tell me so.”
No one could have anticipated that his father, the epitome of rude health, would succumb to the ravages of the fever that had swept the village. He had taken it from one of his tenants, fallen ill almost immediately and was dead within a matter of days. Richard knew his mother had never recovered from the blow, and was inclined to attribute the wretched wasting disease that was slowly killing her to the shock of her loss.
“Cavanagh brought the girl here once.”
Richard snapped back to the current difficulty. “You mean you’ve met her?”
“Briefly, years ago. She was a skinny child. I vaguely recall a white and frightened little face and tangled red hair.”
“Yes, that’s her,” Richard said instantly, the image of Isolde Cavanagh leaping into his mind. “Not tangled, but certainly white of face. And yes, a little afraid under the bravado, I believe.”
“Bravado?”
A laugh escaped him. “She’s a rebel, if I don’t miss my guess. She informed me that she is perfectly well able to take care of herself and invited me to throw her out.”
His mother’s amusement lightened his mood.
“You won’t do that, of course.”
“Of course not. But as to taking up the mantle of her guardian, that is another matter altogether.”
“What will you do then?”
“Make an effort to find these relatives on her mother’s side. Cavanagh warned her not to apply to them since it appears his wife became estranged from her family after they eloped.”
Lady Alderton was frowning. “What is her family?”
“That I have not yet discovered.”
“And if they refuse to take her?”
Richard shifted his shoulders. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
His mother smiled and held out the letter. “Well, if the worst comes to the worst, at least there is Alicia.”
Sudden hope lit in Richard’s chest. He had forgotten his sister, who was currently away, taking care of some domestic issue at the London house. He eyed his mother as he took the letter, folding it in his habitual neat fashion and tucking it away into the inner pocket of his coat.
“Do you suppose Alicia would consent to take care of the girl?”
“Why not? She will not long have me on her hands, after all.”
There could be no denying the truth of this, although Richard found it hard to contemplate an end he dreaded. Doctor Loader had warned him his mother was unlikely to see Christmas. Moreover, he was by no means convinced Alicia would regard the entrance into their lives of an undoubtedly pert young madam with any degree of complaisance. He foresaw a wearing argument.
Chapter Five
There was, Isolde was obliged to admit, a deal of pleasure to be had in lying in a feather bed, the sheets already warmed, the pillows soft, quilt snug about her body. She had meant to devote her mind to discovering a means of changing her situation, but instead found herself revelling in the unaccustomed luxury.<
br />
She had eaten in company with Madge in the small parlour they had first inhabited, back to which the housekeeper led them, saying that Lord Alderton thought they would prefer to dine privately on this occasion. Isolde was glad of it, by then feeling overawed by the size and style of the establishment in which she found herself. The house was large and rambling, the corridors many and bewildering. But the bedchamber assigned to her was cosy and warm, the bed so comfortable that, instead of bending her mind to her problems, Isolde fell swiftly into a dreamless sleep.
She woke refreshed and a little more hopeful. Although she had not again seen Lord Alderton yesterday, he had not so far shown any disposition to eject her from his home. After consigning her and Madge to the care of his housekeeper, he had vanished.
What he meant to do remained a mystery, but Isolde recalled his saying she might remain while a decision was made. It gave her a respite at least, time in which to consider what was best for her to do. But if Lord Alderton supposed he was going to determine her future, he was mightily mistaken.
She stretched luxuriously, wondering what time it was and whether she should get up. A faint light was creeping in through the closed shutters as well as the glow from a freshly-made fire. Someone had been in to make it up. How had she not heard them? Back in camp, there would be no fire until she made it up herself, and all too likely outside of a tent. A fire in her bedchamber was unheard of. Indeed, she’d had no bedchamber to call her own until Madge had joined them, invariably sleeping in an improvised apartment divided from Papa’s bed by a curtain that travelled with them for the purpose.
But Madge had insisted upon her occupying separate quarters and Isolde had been banished to another small tent or a separate room in whatever billet they managed to acquire.
A knock at the door interrupted her ruminations, and was immediately followed by the entrance of a youthful maid, labouring under the weight of a huge metal can of hot water.
Instinct sent Isolde flying out of the bed. “Here, let me help with that.” She made to grasp at the can, but the girl held it back, astonishment in her eyes. “It looks heavy,” Isolde said.
In Honour Bound (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 1) Page 2