The Gentleman's Daughter

by Bianca M. Schwarz

  ISABELLA CHOSE TO BELIEVE THE moonlight was to blame for the kiss, and her acceptance of it. The strange thing was, she had enjoyed it, and felt a pang of sadness that it couldn’t happen again. Back at the house, she hurried to fetch her sketchbook, hoping to drown those feelings in her art, determined to prove to herself all was as it should be. She found a small table in the drawing room where Emily had claimed Henry for a fourth at whist, and listened to their banter while she worked.

  An hour and a half later, when the dowager declared herself ready to retire and even Emily had to admit she’d had a full day, Isabella put the finishing touches to her drawing, and the whole company gathered behind her to admire her work.

  It truly was an inspired drawing: the charcoal she’d used was the perfect medium to render the dark jagged shapes of the cliffs as well as the shimmer of the waves in the moonlight. There was little fine detail, but she had captured the atmosphere perfectly.

  Henry was the first to comment. “This is quite wonderful. I can’t wait to see what you’ll make of it with your paints.”

  The two old ladies exchanged looks, and Emily jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “You commissioned Isabella to paint the moonrise for you? That’s a marvelous idea—these walls are nearly bare.”

  Isabella smiled at Emily’s enthusiasm and stood the drawing on the mantelpiece to inspect her handiwork from a few steps away. She looked forward to getting her oils out and painting Henry’s moonrise. This way he would always have something of hers; she liked that idea.

  Only that morning Isabella had feared she would never see Henry again if she left with Mrs. Curtis. Of course she’d have to say goodbye at the end of summer, but was it so much to ask of fate to let her enjoy his friendship for a little while longer?

  Fate, or the dowager, had intervened, and now she was staying with Henry and had all the time she wanted to enjoy his company. He had even commissioned a painting, not to mention he had kissed her.

  And then there was Henry’s family. They, too, understood her need to paint, and embraced her art. Isabella had never had much contact with other artists of any kind before, excepting the reverend who had taught her to paint. It was entirely new and wonderful to be part of a group of people who understood the need to create.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ON TUESDAY MORNING THE FOLLOWING WEEK, the ladies boarded the landau, dressed up in their finest day dresses to drive down to Brighton on the invitation of the king.

  The dowager, magnificent in dark blue silk with matching hat and the most marvelous string of pearls Isabella had ever seen, nodded at the ostrich feather in Lady Kistel’s hair. “Are you sure that’s wise in an open carriage?”

  The good lady only shrugged. “No more foolish than a hat, when the wind gusts.”

  The younger women, both in muslin as was customary, giggled at the banter as they took their seats. Emily was in pure white due to her age, and Isabella wore a pale aquamarine gown that brought out her ocean-hued eyes. Diamonds and aquamarines graced her neck and winked from her earlobes.

  Henry, splendid in a midnight-blue tailcoat, embroidered vest, and dove-gray pantaloons, a top hat jauntily perched on his head, surveyed his companions with a sense of pride and took the rear-facing seat next to Isabella. The week she’d had away from her domineering mother had done wonders for Isabella’s sense of self. She made good use of the salon he had cleared for her, producing three paintings and several drawings, and best of all, there was always a smile on her face.

  The king’s luncheon was a relatively relaxed affair in John Nash’s lovely gardens surrounding the Royal Pavilion. They had arrived in good time and took a stroll through the flower beds before they settled on the lawn with the rest of the company. A string quartet flavored the breeze with skillfully rendered melodies, and a large tent, mirroring the turrets and cupolas of the Pavilion, shaded the ladies from the midday sun. The dowager duchess introduced Isabella and Emily to the aging monarch before they settled down to lunch. The food wasn’t as delicate or refined as one might expect from royal kitchens, but Emily declared herself well pleased with the mountain of strawberries served with cream. Due to the relaxed nature of the affair, most guests stayed in the gardens beyond lunch and whiled away the afternoon talking with friends and acquaintances.

  Emily was bubbling over with the excitement of her first completely adult engagement. She declared herself delighted with her introduction to the king, even if she intimated to Isabella that his multiple chins and rotund midsection reminded her of a walrus. But bit by bit the excitement caught up with her, and settling on a blanket spread at Grossmama’s feet, she soon dozed off in the afternoon heat.

  Some time later, Grossmama’s voice, in a rare state of agitation, penetrated the fog of Emily’s slumber.

  “… that’s why I told the boy he had to make other arrangements for the child. Hortense would make her life a living hell, were I not there to prevent it. She is not to be trusted with the task of bringing Emily out, and I’m too old to do it right. A stepmother is really Emily’s best option. I just hope Lydia Chancellor unbends enough to accept the child. Henry is head over heels for Isabella.”

  Emily was fully awake now, but stayed perfectly still so as not to alert her elders to it. What was that about Aunt Hortense? She knew the woman was a stickler and always found fault with her, but it had never occurred to Emily that Grossmama continually intervened on her behalf.

  Lady Kistel did her best to calm Grossmama. “Oh, Ruth, don’t worry so. The Chancellor girl seems to like Emily well enough. Henry will marry Isabella, Emily will have a home, and before long, there will be brothers and sisters. She’ll be just fine.”

  Emily must have inadvertently moved, for Grossmama’s next words were hushed. “Shh, I think the child is waking. No sense in worrying her pretty little head with any of this. As you say, it looks like it will end well enough.”

  IT WAS PAST FOUR O’CLOCK in the afternoon by the time the ladies climbed back into the landau to begin their journey back to Henry’s estate.

  As they drove through the streets of Brighton, Emily looked around, trying to imagine what her life would be like without her great-grandmother’s protection or her father’s money. Would she be a servant girl, ordered about by a less-than-kind mistress? Lost in her ruminations, Emily caught the eye of a rather unpleasant but somewhat familiar-looking individual in a hand-me-down suit. He stood outside the posting inn on Main Street, and as recognition dawned in his eyes, he grinned at her with glee, revealing a large gap in his front teeth. But before Emily could react in any way, he tipped his hat at her in a mock greeting and ran into the inn.

  Emily spotted the same man later on the road behind them, but he never came close enough to worry her, so once safely back at Charmely, she promptly forgot about him.

  The man on the road, however, took careful note of the driveway they went down and turned his mount back toward Brighton with the air of a man who had a plan and news to sell.

  FOR THE REST OF THE week Henry and his company were blessed with glorious weather, but on the following Monday, the wind picked up, making the top of the cliffs a little uncomfortable, so Henry suggested a walk to the chapel further into the Downs. The ancient sanctuary would make a lovely motif for Isabella to teach Emily more about painting, and would provide shelter for the ladies if needed. It was an easy and pleasant walk along the little stream, with a ripe cornfield to the left, barley on the other side of the brook, and the Downs in front of them. Soon enough they left the fields behind and climbed higher into the hills until they reached their destination.

  Henry saw Isabella and Emily settled under a grand old oak tree, then opted to climb the hill ahead of them while the women painted. The oak they sat under and the little stand of trees behind the chapel were the only trees on the sheep-dotted grassland for some distance, so he could see them and they could see him. Once on top of the hill, he sat to enjoy the unobstructed view of the cliffs. The ocean below sparkled
to the horizon in the summer sun, prompting contemplation. Henry remained there for some time until he saw his daughter pack up her painting gear, wave to him, and head back down the path to the house, no doubt in search of lunch. Isabella continued her work, and Henry took a detour on the way down to another lookout to give her plenty of time to finish what she had started.

  When Henry made it back to the chapel an hour later, the painting stood finished against the tree trunk, and Isabella was stretched out on her back in the tall grass. At first Henry thought she was looking up into the crown of the tree, but her eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell with the regularity of sleep.

  She was adorable in her repose, all soft and relaxed, so Henry decided to let her rest for a few minutes more. He settled down next to her in the grass, his left arm folded under his head barely ten inches from hers. It was lovely to share this intimate moment with her, even if she was unaware of the sharing. He watched the sway of the branches above them and listened to the wind in the leaves and the steady rhythm of her breathing, but when he caught himself dozing off, he thought it better to wake Isabella before they missed lunch altogether.

  Henry lifted up onto his elbow and picked a long-stemmed purple flower to brush along her nose and cheeks in an attempt to wake her gently. “Isabella, my love, wake up, it’s time for lunch.” Her nose twitched where the blossom tickled, and she sighed in her sleep, but didn’t wake. After a few attempts, Henry abandoned the flower on her breast and allowed his fingers to caress her face. He kept his voice low, not wanting to startle her. “Wake up, my love. Time to head back to the house.”

  She leaned into his touch, smelling of hay and sunshine. So encouraged, Henry moved closer and used his nose to caress along her hairline, then placed a chaste kiss on the crest of her cheekbone. Her lips were slightly parted and she made a tiny sound of pleasure in the back of her throat when he placed his cheek to the side of her face, so he whispered in her ear, “Will true love’s kiss wake you?”

  A barely audible sigh of contentment was his answer, so he kissed both her closed eyelids and trailed kisses down her nose till he captured her lips in the gentlest of kisses, breathing in her breath, brushing his lips against hers. She turned toward him like a flower to the sun, making him think she had indeed awoken, and he deepened the kiss just a little, touching his tongue ever so lightly to the inside of her parted lips. Isabella sighed with what he interpreted as longing, prompting him to cup her face with his hand, and keeping his lips soft and gentle, he continued to kiss her with a fervor he had rarely experienced before. True love’s kiss indeed.

  But amidst this most perfect kiss Isabella suddenly stiffened. Her eyes flew open, and before Henry knew what had gone wrong, she had pushed him away, jumped to her feet, and fled down the path toward the house and the safety of female company.

  Henry was stunned at first and called after her to wait, but when she didn’t slow, he thought it best to let her go. She may have some maidenly objections to being kissed, but she seemed to have reveled in his touch, and that knowledge made him confident he would be able to make this right as soon as he could talk to her and assure her his intentions were entirely honorable.

  HALFWAY DOWN THE PATH, ISABELLA calmed enough to slow to a walk. She knew there’d been no need to run from Henry. He had not pinned her to the ground, hadn’t groped her or forced her legs apart …

  Quite the opposite, Henry had let her go immediately, and his kiss had been gentle, lovely actually. But the old panic had gripped her, making her bolt. Now her heart raced as much from running as from the panic, and she even felt a bit of remorse that she hadn’t been able to enjoy Henry’s most perfect kiss. Isabella touched her fingertips to her lips and felt the tingle of Henry’s gentle touch once again. She’d have to give him a reason and tell him it couldn’t happen again. But she’d treasure the memory of his lips on hers, of his hand cupping her face, of knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he cared for her.

  Isabella entered the house through the garden and headed straight upstairs to wash her hands. She’d been keeping secrets for close to seven years and had learned that as long as you ate regular meals, no one asked too many questions regarding your well-being; so she freshened up and went downstairs to eat.

  Lunch was served as a cold buffet in the breakfast room, and when Isabella entered, Henry was already there filling his plate. The only other person in attendance was a footman, ready to serve them tea or coffee.

  Henry turned to her and smiled, presumably to put her at ease. “We are late for lunch, my dear. The others have already eaten. My grandmother and Lady Kistel have settled down for their naps, and Emily is in the stable. It’s just you and me, I’m afraid.”

  Isabella gave him a crooked smile and selected some cucumber and tomato slices to go with her chicken breast. “That’s quite all right, I don’t plan to make a long affair of it.” She sat down opposite him and they ate in silence.

  Finishing first, Henry waited for her to swallow her last bite before he asked quietly, “May I speak with you in private for a moment?”

  It seemed Henry had come to the same conclusion she had: the kiss needed to be discussed. Holding his gaze, she nodded somberly.

  Moving her chair back, Henry offered his arm. “Excellent, my dear. The study should do.”

  Isabella placed three very proper fingers on his arm and walked beside him, but left a foot between them. She didn’t want to be rude, but had to make it clear in every way: there could be no physical intimacy between them. She noted the tiny crease between his eyebrows and knew he hated this new distance. Truth be told, so did she, but it had to be. No good would come from deluding herself, and even less from giving him hope.

  BOTH HENRY AND ISABELLA WERE so thoroughly occupied with their own thoughts, they didn’t notice Emily stepping into the shadow of an alcove under the stairs.

  The girl had seen Isabella return on her own without her painting or her bag. Then, when she saw her father come back a few minutes later, carrying all Isabella’s things, she figured they had quarreled. Concerned, Emily decided to find out what the problem was so she could tell Grossmama. Their polite distance over lunch worried her even more, and prompted her to follow them to Henry’s study. She slipped into the adjacent salon, where she knew a connecting door would make it easy enough to hear what was said if she pressed her ear to the keyhole.

  HENRY LED ISABELLA INTO THE room and shut the door. Leaving it ajar may have put his friend at ease, but what he had to say was for her ears only, and her answer was for him alone. Isabella looked nervous, but didn’t object, so he guided her to a chair by the empty fireplace and waited for her to be seated before he spoke.

  “My dear Isabella, let me begin by offering my apology for startling you.” Rubbing the crease between his brows, he added, “That was not the reaction I had hoped for.”

  Isabella blushed furiously, but held his gaze and took a deep breath. However, before she could answer, he raised his hand to stop her. “Please let me say my piece.” He cleared his throat. “I enjoy our friendship very much, and it makes me happy you are getting to know my daughter and my grandmother. They are both very important to me, and it warms my heart to see all of you getting along so well.”

  Isabella smiled for the first time since the incident under the oak tree, relieved Henry steered things into the realm of friendship. “Thank you. I do too.”

  Pausing to enjoy the moment, Henry mirrored her smile, then continued, “But, my dearest Isabella, what I feel for you goes far beyond friendship.”

  The smile died on Isabella’s face. She lowered her eyes and shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

  Henry saw her reaction, but took it for nerves and pressed on. “I’m in love with you, my darling, and it is my fondest wish you should become my wife.”

  Isabella jumped up, startling both of them, and walked to the window in agitation, fighting back the sudden tears behind her eyes.

  “Please don’t.” She turned
to Henry, and her voice broke as she repeated, “Please don’t ask me.”

  Henry had moved to her and pulled her into his arms before he knew what he was doing. “Shh, darling, if it causes you this much anguish, I won’t ask.”

  There was no panic this time, just the comfort of his arms. Isabella rested her forehead on his chest and let the tears flow. “I can’t marry you, Henry. I wish I could, but I can’t.” With that, she extricated herself from his embrace, knowing it wasn’t fair for her to rely on his kindness, and quickly left the study to seek refuge in her room.

  Henry let her go, momentarily lost for words. Eventually he let out a heartfelt “Damn it!” and stormed off to the stables. He needed to clear his head, and a gallop along the cliffs might just do that. Something was very wrong and he needed to figure out what, for both their sakes.

  ON THE OTHER SIDE OF the connecting door, Emily let out the breath she’d been holding ever since she’d heard Isabella say “don’t.” She slumped down into her billowing skirts and shook her head sadly. She knew they loved each other, any fool could see that, and she thought she knew why Isabella wouldn’t even let her father propose. Isabella was a good person, and they had become friends. Emily had seen the Baroness Chancellor’s disdainful looks. She hadn’t paid much attention to them, but after hearing that not even her own aunt wanted Emily in her family, there was no doubt in Emily’s mind the baroness would raise objections to Isabella’s marriage if she, Emily, was part of the bargain. And since Isabella knew how much her father loved her, Isabella had stopped him from proposing. There was only one way to solve this so Papa could be happy with the woman he loved: Emily would have to leave so there was no need for him to choose.