The Gentleman's Daughter

by Bianca M. Schwarz

  Grossmama

  Before he turned his attention to his daughter’s letter, Henry called for William. “Be so good as to go downstairs and book a suite for my grandmother and my daughter on the first floor.”

  William frowned at the idea of the little miss not staying with them, but knew better then to second-guess such a decisive order. “When will they arrive?”

  “Some time during the next three days, I should think.” Henry gave a resigned shrug and turned back to his missives.

  Emily’s letter was not much longer than Grossmama’s, but it made Henry smile at his daughter’s view of the events and his grandmother’s wily ways.

  Dear Papa,

  Julia, the silly widgeon, couldn’t get her viscount to come up to scratch in time for a June wedding, so we are under threat of a July house party. Thankfully, Grossmama came up with the plan to escape to Brighton to see you, and we are leaving tomorrow. If you are courting someone and I’m in the way, Grossmama will take me to Charmely and we’ll go for long walks on the cliffs. Grossmama says the ocean is quite stirring, so maybe I’ll do some sketching. She also says Brighton has a brand-new pier and bathing machines and some fancy shops, so I’m certain we’ll have no trouble amusing ourselves even if you are busy.

  I can’t wait to see you.

  Your loving daughter,

  Emily

  Henry poured himself a brandy from the carafe at his elbow and wondered how much time he had before his relations descended upon him. He’d have to take their safety into consideration as he continued his investigation. Lord Astor had meant to harm him through Emily, and he had no way of knowing if the Knights were also willing to use her against him. Perhaps sending them on to his estate up on the cliffs would be best, but then he wouldn’t be on hand to protect Emily.

  Knowing time was short, Henry decided to do a little drinking in the local taverns. He hoped where there was one servant willing to talk, there would be others. Henry knew Brighton was the right place, but when the right time would be, and what it would take to draw out the players in this game, was another matter.

  Unfortunately, tongues weren’t wagging as freely that night, and all Henry could discover was that Mary had gone to London willingly.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE NEXT DAY DAWNED AS WET AND WINDY AS the night had been, inducing Isabella to stay in bed an extra hour. Thursday was Mrs. Curtis’s “At Home,” prompting Isabella to avoid the breakfast parlor. Instead, she spent a blissful hour drawing the one exotic spire of the Royal Pavilion she could see from her bedroom window.

  She wanted, more than anything, to go to the pier and look at the waves. The ocean had so many moods and she didn’t want to miss this one. Isabella had little hope of escaping the horrors of a rainy day At Home, however; her mother placed too much importance on it.

  It was almost comical to what lengths the baroness was prepared to go to ignore her daughters’ wishes and bully them into marriage when she herself found no joy in her own. Isabella’s sister Grace had had the good sense to fall in love with a wealthy baronet during her season and was happy enough in her marriage. But Isabella was certain both her other sisters had been pressured into marrying for status and had no real fondness for the men they now shared their lives with.

  The only reason Isabella had withstood her mother’s cajoling, and then later her tirades, was the knowledge she couldn’t accept a proposal from any man. Of course no one knew that, so her family assumed she was just being difficult, or overly choosy, or both. Not being able to share her secret had separated Isabella from all those around her, but telling her mother or any of her siblings had never been an option, and the threat of the wedding night outweighed Isabella’s fear of her mother’s displeasure. She had refused the two offers she had received during her season, prompting the baroness to call her every name available to a lady of breeding, but in the end Isabella had gone back home to the Cotswolds to plan a life independent of marriage and her mother.

  And yet, here she was, once again trying to persuade everybody involved she truly had no wish to marry, and her mother, the most unhappily married woman in all of England, refused to allow her to know her own mind. It was frustrating, but then again, the charade gave her a chance to paint the ocean.

  In this spirit, Isabella donned a primrose-yellow high-waisted gown with tiny orange blossoms embroidered around the modest round neckline and the little puffed sleeves. The dress was too girlish for her, the color not strong enough for her liking, but it was pretty, and wearing it would appease her mother.

  In a bid to avoid the dreaded hairpins, Isabella instructed Sally to fashion two thin braids with the hair just above her ears and twist them with the rest of her hair into a loose chignon, securing it with two horn pins. Sally then wound a pretty blue satin ribbon around the creation for added hold. It was soft and comfortable, and Isabella liked it very much, but doubted her mother would. Shrugging, she stood, grabbed a light blue knitted shawl, since the summer air had cooled considerably with the rain, and headed to the drawing room.

  She found the salon already well stocked with matrons her mother’s age and three unattached gentlemen who had come to look her over in the light of day. Not one of them was under forty, and two of them featured a sad lack of hair. They all bowed dutifully over her hand and remarked on the weather, lamenting the rain on account of her tender constitution, and praising it on account of their crops. Isabella had a hard time keeping a straight face as she sat beside her mother and drank her tea.

  By a quarter past eleven she had just hidden her third yawn behind a dainty embroidered handkerchief when Sir Henry and Lady Kistel were announced, brightening her mood considerably.

  Henry settled Lady Kistel in a chair close to the fire, and bowed over the baroness’s and Mrs. Curtis’s hands before he turned his attention to Isabella.

  “You look lovely this morning.” He assessed her and her outfit more closely. “Yellow becomes you, but I would like to see you in a silk the color of a ripe wheat field. It would bring out your coloring marvelously.”

  Isabella shook her head at his rather affected little speech, but had to admit a flax-colored silk gown would be to her taste as well. “So it’s the fashion maven who came to visit, is it? Would you like to come along the next time I visit a modiste?”

  Henry grinned at the idea. That was exactly what he wanted to do, to peel her out of her dowdy yet girlish clothes and have someone design gowns for her to highlight her assets rather than hide them. He employed his best dandy lisp. “Indeed, nothing like an afternoon spent discussing fashion.”

  Isabella giggled at his tone of voice, but averted her eyes, so he changed the subject.

  “I hope there were no consequences to your adventure yesterday.”

  The dimple in Isabella’s cheek reappeared. “Not even a sniffle. I told you this wasn’t the first time I’ve survived getting wet.”

  “Yes, you mentioned that.” He took a cup of tea from Mrs. Curtis and leaned his shoulder against the wall next to Isabella rather than taking a seat across the room. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Would you brave the elements once more? I borrowed one of those enormous umbrellas from the hotel and was hoping you might take a rainy stroll with me to look at the waves.”

  Isabella drew in a quick breath to tell Sir Henry she very much wanted to go, but then let it out again, knowing her mother wouldn’t release her from the At Home.

  Henry saw her hesitation and leaned down to murmur close to her ear, “Do come with me. I know you want to see the waves.” He enjoyed the familiarity with which she leaned toward him despite the fact they were in a rather crowded drawing room.

  “I can’t leave yet. It’ll be at least another half hour before everyone has departed, providing no one else arrives. My mother isn’t likely to let me slip out whilst we still have guests.” She shrugged apologetically. “These At Homes are part of her battle plan to marry me off.”

  He lifted his tea cup with a smile. “I d
on’t mind waiting. I will just remain right here and keep your suitors at bay.” He nodded toward the three middle-aged gentlemen who occupied chairs opposite the sofa Isabella and her mother were sitting on.

  Isabella batted him away, wrinkling her nose. “They seem harmless enough. It’s you my mother has set her sights on. You better not let her maneuver you into a proposal.”

  Henry decided to ignore her comment; she clearly wasn’t ready to give a proposal any consideration, and he wasn’t ready to make one. But it was never too early to take out the competition, so he lowered his voice further.

  “Looks can be deceiving, my dear. The one who still has all his hair is Baron Tillister, a widower with three children under the age of ten, and a mistress in a flat in Bloomsbury. The gentleman with the many watch fobs and the bad waterfall is Mr. Wickham, an aging rake. He is too set in his ways to ever make an agreeable husband, but his brother is a viscount whose wife has failed to present him with a child in fifteen years of marriage, so it now falls to Wickham to secure the succession. He is probably trolling for a wife here because he is too notorious in London to get within shouting distance of any of the debutantes. The third one seems to be a simple country squire, but as I said, looks can be deceiving.”

  Isabella cocked her head at him. “And I wonder what it means that you know all this about these men.”

  Henry grinned. “Oh, it just means I live in London and keep my eyes and ears open.”

  Isabella shrugged. She had no plans to entertain any offer from any man and therefore could afford to be indifferent. “But are you not just as bad? You have an illegitimate daughter, and are rumored to have had dozens of mistresses.”

  Henry had the good grace to blush, but had a sudden urge to explain himself. “It’s true, I’m no paragon of virtue, but all my transgressions are out in the open. I don’t sneak around or try to hide the fact I’m a sexual being. My last mistress, Eliza, even lived openly in my house for three years, until six months ago when she informed me it was time for me to find a wife so I could keep my promise to my daughter. She didn’t think it would be fair to my future wife for her to remain.”

  Isabella was startled by this speech, especially considering the setting it was delivered in. She glanced at her mother, but the baroness was involved in a conversation with Lady Kistel and the rake in need of a brood mare, and seemed completely oblivious to her hushed conversation with Sir Henry. Isabella, her cheeks burning, looked back up at Henry and wondered whether he had loved this Eliza. “She seems quite the woman, your last mistress.”

  “She is indeed. I wager you would like her, and she you. Eliza is independent and strong like you, has an insatiable thirst for knowledge, and loves nothing better than a good adventure.” Henry’s smile was full of fond memories.

  Isabella saw the softness playing around his lips and felt a sudden pang of jealousy. “You love her.”

  Henry looked at her sharply, gauging her reaction, but ultimately decided to tell her the truth. “What was between Eliza and me never was a grand romantic passion. Our feelings were born out of friendship, and now that she is no longer with me, it is the friendship that remains.”

  It wasn’t lost on Isabella that he didn’t confirm or deny his love for Eliza. Isabella doubted his feelings were truly in the past; how could they be? He had lived with this woman for three years. She doubted anyone could turn their feelings off that easily.

  “Where is she now, do you know?”

  Henry could see some of Isabella’s thoughts reflected in her expressive face. It was clearly not comfortable for her to talk about another woman he cared for, but he found that somewhat reassuring and had to give her credit for not shrinking from the conversation. Isabella was an unusual woman in many ways. “Eliza is staying with a mutual friend, helping him recover from an injury.”

  Isabella concluded this Eliza wasn’t completely out of Sir Henry’s life, since he knew precisely where to find her. It was irrational and quite unexpected, but she had to admit the existence of another woman in his life bothered her.

  Not willing to examine these thoughts and feelings any further, Isabella was relieved when their tête-à-tête was cut short by the departure of the three gentlemen and the last of Mrs. Curtis’s friends.

  As soon as the other guests had departed, Henry addressed the baroness. “Lady Chancellor, would you kindly give me leave to take your charming daughter for a walk down Marine Parade to the new pier?”

  The baroness was startled speechless, but only for a moment. “Goodness gracious, Sir Henry, why ever would you want to take Isabella for a walk in the rain when you can sit comfortably right here and visit with her?”

  Henry smiled politely while he wondered how the creative free spirit sitting beside him could have been born to such a stiff, prosaic woman. “Indeed, madam. But the ocean makes such a dramatic display when it’s churned up like it is at present, and I discovered yesterday Miss Chancellor is fascinated by the ocean, so I suspect she would like to see it.”

  Baroness Chancellor shot her daughter a despairing glance, but ultimately decided if the man was smitten enough to risk getting wet to please Isabella, she wouldn’t stand in his way. “By all means, Sir Henry. If Isabella wants to get battered by wind and rain to watch water, and you are willing to take her, you have my blessing.”

  Henry bowed to the baroness and winked at Lady Kistel, who had watched the whole scene with a little knowing smirk on her face. “May I leave Lady Kistel in your tender care until we return? I’m certain she would much prefer to remain by the fire.”

  “Of course, Sir Henry. We will have lunch, and Sally will accompany Isabella.” Turning to her daughter, the baroness added, “You better go fetch your cloak and a sturdy hat to cover your hair. It’s already falling apart, and God only knows what the wind will do to it.”

  Incensed on Isabella’s behalf, Henry bit his tongue and led her out into the hallway. “I, for one, like the way you fixed your hair today, but a hat would help with keeping the rain off.”

  Isabella quirked a half smile and headed for the foyer. “Don’t mind my mother; she’s always like this.”

  Henry couldn’t help himself. “Harsh and demeaning?”

  She barked out a sad little laugh. “She doesn’t mean to be, and I’m quite used to it.”

  Isabella’s maid was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Henry took the cloak out of Sally’s hands and helped Isabella into it. “I’m not sure what I object to more: that your own mother treats you like this, or that you are used to it.”

  She stepped to the looking glass to button her cloak and tie her bonnet securely under her chin. “It’s no matter really. In a few months I’ll be moving into my very own cottage, and from then on, will have to endure her disapproval only on major holidays.” Turning to her maid, she inquired, “Are you sure you want to brave the rain? You don’t have to come.”

  The maid made big round eyes. “You can’t go out with a gentleman alone. It ain’t proper.” She then grinned from ear to ear. “Besides, Sir Henry brought one of them giant umbrellas for me, too, and I can’t wait to try it out.”

  Isabella smiled at her maid’s enthusiasm and nodded her thanks to Henry. Not many men of their class would have spared a thought for the comfort of a servant.

  They headed out into the light but steady summer rain, Henry holding the umbrella aloft and Isabella stepping close enough so it might shelter them both, while Sally followed a few paces behind. However, as soon as they turned onto the Marine Parade, the wind picked up, driving the rain almost horizontally against them. But Isabella paid no mind: she was utterly captivated by the churning gray mass in front of them.

  The ocean was an awesome sight, with waves taller than a man crashing onto the beach and sending up giant plumes of spray as they broke against the cliffs to their right. With the powerful swells constantly pulling at it, the pier seemed fragile, as if constructed of kindling. Isabella questioned the wisdom of walking onto it, but
couldn’t contain her excitement at the prospect of coming closer to the mighty waves.

  They kept close to the houses along the waterfront and halted under the awning of one of the hotels fronting the pier.

  “Can we get any closer?” Isabella asked.

  Sally looked at her mistress as if she’d lost her mind, but Henry rather admired Isabella’s spirit of adventure. He smiled at the worried servant. “It’s safe enough, but you can watch over your mistress from here, Sally.” Then he offered Isabella his arm and stepped onto the wooden quay. Isabella eyed the structure with some uncertainty, but having Henry by her side made her bold enough to follow.

  The closer they got to the surf, the louder grew the roar of the crashing waves. Once they came abreast with the water’s edge, Henry led her to the railing and they watched the foamy waves race over the sand, escaping the confines of the ocean only to be pulled back into the brutal undertow. Isabella longed to stick her toes into the water there, just to feel its sheer power.

  Eventually they ventured farther out onto the pier to contemplate the massive swells as they broke in big crystalline rolls. At the end of the pier they were surrounded by foam-capped peaks reminding Isabella of an etching she had once seen in a book. The artist had turned the foamy caps into racing white horses galloping toward the shore. The whole spectacle was so full of mystery and drama, it was spell-binding.

  They stood there for a long while, huddled under the umbrella and watching the storm-whipped waves rolling and crashing into shore. Eventually Henry turned to her. “Does it help you paint the ocean, to see it in this wild state?”

  She continued to watch the drama just below them, but a smile played around her lips. “Of course it does. It’s akin to painting a portrait: the more sides to a person’s character you get to know, the more of their personality comes through in the finished painting.”