The embrace held for but a moment. Recalling his position vis-à-vis the girl, Richard withdrew, releasing her.
“I beg your pardon.”
A tentative smile hovered, drawing his attention to her lips and an unwelcome stir within him. Her voice was husky. “For what?”
Richard winced. “If you don’t know, that makes it worse.”
Uncertainty crept into her eyes. “Should I mind it then? I thought you were just being kind.”
“I was.” He seized on the excuse. “Nevertheless, it was not conduct befitting a gentleman.”
“Or a lady?”
“That too, but at least you did not know it.”
Mischief flitted across her face. “My first lesson. I will remember.”
The stir within intensified and Richard groaned in spirit. This damsel was a danger in more ways than one. The sooner he rid himself of the encumbrance, the better. Why in the world had he been so reckless as to assure her she had a home here?
He drew further away, intending to utter a dismissal. To his dismay, Isolde took a pace towards him.
“You won’t go before our bout, will you?”
For a moment, he did not understand her. “Bout?”
“The foils? You wanted to try me, you said.”
In the bustle of his sister’s arrival, he had forgotten. He was about to reassure her, and was abruptly assailed by a vision of Alicia’s face should she hear of it. And he had not yet persuaded her to take on the education of the girl.
“That must be postponed.”
She surprised him. “Because your sister would not like it?”
He spoke without thought. “Shrewd of you, Isolde.”
Those speaking eyes registered a hit, and something else. She looked as if she might say more, but was doubtful of its reception. Richard could not find it in him to ignore it.
“Don’t look so dismayed. I won’t allow you to be made unhappy.”
She caught an audible little breath. “How can you stop it, if you are not here?”
How indeed? He resolved to have a word with his mother. If anyone could curb Alicia, it was she. While she could, she would shield the child, he knew.
He forced a smile. “You will have my mother’s protection. You had best return to her room. I dare say Alicia will be there by now and you may become acquainted.”
He turned towards his refuge in the library, but not before he caught the droop of disappointment in the girl’s posture, the apprehension in her lively features. The temptation to loiter with her longer was almost irresistible, but it would not do. If he must figure as her guardian, for the present at least, he could not allow himself to be influenced by her vulnerability.
Behind him, he could hear her lagging steps as she made for the stairs, and he sighed with relief, not unmixed with regret. The last thing he needed was to succumb to the lure of a waif with neither breeding nor background to recommend her. An earl’s granddaughter she might be, but without that acknowledgement, her social position would be uncomfortable indeed.
He could only be thankful his sister had come, despite her reluctance to assume charge of Isolde. He could follow up the brief note he’d sent to Vansittart, stating that he would do himself the honour of calling upon him in the near future. Fortunately, the fellow was not at his Cheshire estates at this present, but in a lesser establishment in Hertfordshire. He would leave tomorrow.
Chapter Ten
Subdued but with rising resentment, Isolde struggled to endure yet another scold from the lips of Alicia de Baudresey.
“I will not put up with your insolence, girl.” A finger was wagged in her face. “And don’t answer back. From now on, you will follow these rules, which should be simple enough even for you.”
Isolde did not trust herself to answer. She would not look away from the woman’s mean little eyes. She had been in Alicia’s charge for two interminable days and already she was longing for Lord Alderton’s return.
Relegated to schoolgirl status, she had been questioned and lectured to, obliged to furnish a catalogue of her upbringing and education, only to have it derided with snorts of displeasure and disgust. And today her preceptress had decreed she must begin upon practical exercises to improve her posture and learn to move like a lady. Isolde had been unwise enough to retort that Lady Alderton had already started to teach her as much. Retribution was swift.
“In future, you will speak only when spoken to. You will perform any task assigned to you without protest or complaint. You will do exactly as I tell you upon every occasion, and if I catch you slacking or lazing about, it will be the worse for you. Do you finally understand, girl?”
Isolde nodded.
“Well? Have you a tongue in your head? Did you hear me?”
“Yes.” Isolde dropped her eyes at last, for fear her real feelings would show. “I understood you.”
“Ma’am,” added the woman pointedly.
What, was she a servant? She swallowed the insult. This was not the moment for defiance. “I understood you, ma’am.”
“That is better.” Alicia picked up a large book that she had brought into the parlour with her. “Balance this on your head and let me see your deportment.”
Relieved that Lady Alderton had trained her in this exercise, Isolde took the book and found it easier to support it on the cap Alicia had decreed she must wear to secure her autumn locks. She walked carefully across the parlour and back again.
“You will practice until I return.”
With which, Alicia swept from the room. Seething, Isolde took one more turn up and down the room and then caught the book off her head and threw it, with some violence, against the door.
“There! That’s how much I care for your deportment!”
The door opened. Isolde gasped as Alicia entered to stand in the aperture, triumph in her blazing grey eyes.
“I knew it. You make a play at docility, but underneath you are a vicious little spitfire. Well, don’t think you will get the better of me, girl. If I am forced to take you in hand, you will feel my wrath if you defy me.”
Isolde put up her chin, though inside she trembled. Venom and spite emanated from the woman, and there was no one to take her part. Lord Alderton had gone, and his mother was too weak and ill to be troubled.
“You will not find me wanting — ma’am.”
It choked her to add the appellation, but until she could make her own way, she must do what she might to appease the woman, who now smiled in a way that showed she was well aware of Isolde’s state of mind.
“Very well, let it be so.” She pointed to the fallen book. “Continue the exercise.”
Under the creature’s basilisk eye, Isolde retrieved the book, set it once again upon her head and resumed her careful walk.
This time, when the woman left, she maintained the pretence for a good few minutes, treading up and down the room as she kept the book balanced on her head, until her thoughts developed into revolving plans inside it.
What if she were to leave? Would it trouble Richard to find her gone? She caught herself up. No, she must persist in thinking of him as Lord Alderton. Else she might begin to depend upon his kindness, and she must not. No matter what he’d said about giving her a home, he had the intention of being rid of her, for had he not said he would contact her mother’s brother, a man she’d thought of as Vere Vansittart until the revelation about the earldom? Was that where he had gone?
The question lingered. He had said nothing of his destination, only that he must be away for a space and that his sister would take care of her. Ha! Much he knew of that.
Or had he known? He must know his sister’s temper? Perhaps he hoped Alicia would tame her into the kind of creature suited to this censorious world.
Her throat ached and she struggled to keep back the threatening tears. She did not belong here, or indeed anywhere. It was hard to feel unwelcome in every sphere. If she’d married one of the soldiers, she could have coped. But Papa would never h
ave permitted her union with a common soldier and none of the other officers had shown the least disposition to like her in that way. Indeed, they treated her very much as if she were a young sister, if not a fellow officer, engaging her in swordplay for practise and challenging her to shooting matches. Sitting around a camp fire with a coterie of soldiers and officers together, quaffing wine and swapping stories of comic antics or derring-do, induced a feeling of camaraderie, rather than romance. She was treated with indulgence, but never a hint of anything untoward.
For the first time it occurred to Isolde to wonder whether that was due to her father’s influence. Or to Madge perhaps? Once Madge had her in charge, and she was obliged to wear petticoats at least some of the time, she had rarely been permitted to partake of such companionable evenings. Only now did she realise she had been shielded from the possibility of male advances. Papa had not wanted her to marry into the military. Was that because he had secretly entertained the notion of her coming here to Bawdsey Grange to become a proper lady? Had this been his design all along?
Why had he not spoken of his ambitions for her? She could have told him how little she wished for such a life. She might have found a place for herself in the only milieu she understood. Now it was too late, and she had become a burden where she little wished to be.
A resolve formed in her mind and settled in her bosom. She would not conform. Let them understand that she was different. If Alicia de Baudresey supposed she could bully and mould her into something she was not, she would soon learn her mistake.
With which, Isolde allowed the book to slip from her head and set it down on the table. Opening the door with caution, she peeped into the hall. The coast was clear.
Isolde slipped out of the room and started towards the corridor. A flash of colour caught her eye and she looked up, freezing in place. Alicia was on the landing, in conference with the housekeeper.
The pit of Isolde’s stomach vanished, despite her brave resolve. She eyed Alicia’s back. She had not turned. With luck, she’d not heard anything.
But Mrs Pennyfather was facing her, she must be able to see her. Praying she would not look across at her, Isolde stepped backwards as silently as she could, keeping her eyes on the pair. She felt the door behind her and stealthily turned the handle just as the housekeeper’s glance flicked once and caught her eye.
Isolde held her breath. An eternity passed. Then Mrs Pennyfather was once more regarding Alicia de Baudresey, who was still talking.
A soldier’s daughter, Isolde knew when it was prudent to retreat. She whisked herself back into the parlour and let her breath go in a whoosh, leaning back against the closed door.
Defiance would have to wait.
Chapter Eleven
Vansittart’s attitude was welcoming, but Richard remained wary. There was a calculating look in the fellow’s eye that he mistrusted.
He was a man of some stature, although his waistcoat strained above a rounded belly and there was puffiness about the eyes, signs of middle age and perhaps a too fond addiction to the fleshpots. He wore the years well otherwise, and managed to appear at once urbane and conscious of his superiority.
Richard found himself disliking the man and strove for fairness. He had no knowledge of Vansittart beyond his letters, but the tone of these was evident in every motion and gesture.
“Make yourself at home, Alderton. I’ll ring for refreshments.”
His host moved as he spoke to the bell-pull hanging beside the fireplace and gave it a tug. Turning, he gestured to one of the spindly elegant armchairs set in the space before the fire.
Richard sat, watching the other take a seat, with studied grace, upon one opposite.
“You need not have taken the trouble to make the journey in such inclement weather, my dear Alderton. A letter would have sufficed.”
Richard braced himself. “Not to discharge my errand.”
The man’s brows rose and he looked pained. “I am sorry to hear it. This does not augur well.”
Not averse to a diversion from his true purpose, Richard chose to seize upon this opening. “I’m afraid it does not. To be blunt, Vansittart, to accede to your request — or should I say demand? — would ruin me.”
A laugh escaped the other’s lips. “You are very frank, sir.”
“I have need to be. What is more, I cannot conceive why you should require my assistance, when it is plain you must have sufficient means of your own.”
He described an arc with his hand, taking in the handsome proportions of the saloon in which he had been received. It was a large apartment, decorated with sparsity but elegance in the manner of Adam with his signature delicate white tracery against blue walls, a couple of slim-legged half-tables set against them and two neat sofas matching the chairs in which they sat, the cushioning picked out in brocaded blue.
“Ah, but appearances can be deceptive, my dear fellow. We contrive to present a suitable front, but an impoverished earldom is no sinecure.”
It occurred to Richard that the décor of this room had not been evident in the hall, which, now he thought about it, had appeared rather dim and dingy in the winter light. A footman had granted him entrance to Greville House, making haste to usher him into this saloon before going to fetch his master. It was conceivable that the rest of the place would not bear comparison. And the Cheshire estates must cost a pretty penny to maintain.
Richard took instant advantage of the man’s candour. “In that case, I confess I wonder at your participating in a scheme that demands a great deal of capital.”
The tart note did not have any noticeable effect on Vansittart. He gave vent to a soft laugh.
“But in a bid to repair my fortunes, what else? And from what you say, if you are similarly circumstanced, I should suppose you would jump at the chance to secure a share.”
Richard did not even try to keep the contempt from his voice. “In slavery? I think not, Vansittart.”
For a split moment in time, the urbane expression vanished in a look of pure fury. And then the fellow was again smiling. “If that is what you understood, Alderton, I fear you are wide of the mark.”
“Indeed? Then how would you explain the increased need for so-called workers?”
“Not merely workers, my dear fellow. We need machinery and land.”
“And who will work that land? Who will sow and tend and pick your cotton on that land? You will need an increased labour force, will you not?”
“But you have quite misunderstood the matter, my friend. The investment is in the cotton trade, not in human trafficking. What sort of a fellow do you take me for?”
Richard chose not to answer this last, sticking to his guns.
“I am not utterly ignorant, Vansittart. The cotton plantations are manned by the forced labour of slaves. I can have nothing to do with such a project.”
“Your father was not so nice in his views.”
“Perhaps he did not fully comprehend the ramifications.”
Vansittart’s lip curled. “Oh, he knew.”
He was silent for a moment, his features for once free of the false smile as he drummed the fingers of one hand upon his knee.
Richard took opportunity to study him and a slow sense of familiarity grew. Was there a hint of red in the shorn locks? Unlike many gentlemen of his generation, Vansittart had left off wearing a wig, preferring a natural style which utilised the curl of his pale brown hair in a fashion flattering to his undeniably good looks.
As if he became conscious of Richard’s regard, the man looked up, triggering a flash of recognition. He had Isolde’s eyes!
The abrupt recollection of his mission caused Richard to jerk into speech. “As I told you at the outset, sir, I did not come for this particular discussion. Or only in passing.”
The man’s brows drew together. “You dismiss it thus easily, Alderton? Your father made me a promise. Have you no honour?”
“Have you?” Richard returned.
Vansittart sat up with a jer
k. “What the devil do you mean by that?”
“I will tell you.”
Now the moment had come, Richard hesitated. He had thought of various ways to introduce the subject, but none of them came to mind. All he could think about was the image of Isolde’s woebegone features.
He got up, unable to bear the comparison with this man — her uncle, if the business proved true. Did he doubt it? Isolde was ignorant of all but the family name, as she had supposed the title to be.
Crossing to a wide window, Richard looked out over spacious grounds. Had circumstances been otherwise, Isolde would have been well acquainted with them, with this house, even had she lived elsewhere. This was her rightful milieu, where she belonged. Yet he could not see her here. Not the unconventional girl she had become.
He became aware of the silence and turned his head. Vansittart had not moved, instead watching him with puzzlement in the eyes too like Isolde’s for comfort.
Richard squared his shoulders. He must do this. She deserved no less.
He turned, facing the man and looking him in the eyes.
“I believe you had a sister once.”
Shock sent the man’s eyebrows soaring. “What in the world —?”
“Lady Mary Greville, I think.”
Vansittart was on his feet. “I don’t know what you mean by this, Alderton, but let me say here and now that I will brook no interference in my family affairs.”
“Very proper, sir, but this matter happens to have fallen into my lap, and as it nearly concerns your family, I have no recourse but to bring it to you.”
There was nothing of urbanity now in Vansittart’s countenance, marred instead by a scowl. “Explain yourself, if you please. What do you know of Mary?”
“Nothing at all. Except that her daughter has been sent into my charge.”
The man looked thunderstruck. “Her daughter!”
“Isolde Mary Cavanagh.”
An ugly sneer creased the other man’s mouth. “Do you tell me that snivelling rascal had the gall to try to palm off his brat upon me?”
“No, I tell you nothing of the kind,” Richard retorted, furious at his reaction. “Captain Cavanagh sent her to my father. They were friends. It seems my father agreed to become her guardian should Cavanagh have the misfortune to lose his life.”
In Honour Bound (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 1) Page 6