Engaging Sir Isaac: An Inglewood Romance

by Britton, Sally

  When Millie returned to the rather opulent estate, she took the horse directly to the stables.

  The Marquess of Alderton kept grand stables, with horses from the finest lines in Europe. The family had been around since the days of William the Conqueror, and their state of living left no one in doubt of the deepness of their ancient pockets.

  After a groom helped her dismount, Millie found a side entrance to the house. A back stair was what she needed, and easily found after she asked a footman for help. One could wander about the large estate for hours and never find the correct room.

  Eventually, Millie found the bedroom appointed for her use. Since she was without a true chaperone, the marchioness had kept her in the family wing rather than the guest wing. Her door was one down from Lady Olivia’s and across the hall from Lady Alderton. Lord Alderton was still in London, along with his eldest son. Where the other two sons were, no one had bothered to tell Millie.

  Sarah, Millie’s maid, had now had an evening and a morning to do her own snooping and gossiping. Hopefully, Sarah had obtained information that would be of use.

  Her tasks would hopefully prove as simple as the first she had performed in London. Mr. Burton had been easy enough to sort out for Lady Sophie. The gentleman not only had enormous gambling debts he had attempted to keep hidden, but he also kept a mistress his wife knew nothing about.

  Sharing that information with Lady Sophie hadn’t given her so much as a shred of guilt. If a man went about ruining his life, it would only be a matter of time before everyone found out about it. So what if she had been the first to share the information with the general public?

  Millie entered her room and rang for Sarah, who was doubtlessly already on her way up if the servants of the household had told her Millie had returned.

  Her next two assignments were her focus now. She had to find something in Mr. Weston’s character to offer up as blackmail to Mrs. Vanderby, and then find a way for Lady Olivia to humiliate the baronet, Sir Isaac.

  If his madness was real, and not generally known, it would be the perfect thing. A whole family could be ruined if madness was found in their family tree.

  But that grounds man, or whoever he was, might have made the whole thing up. She nearly smiled again, remembering his jaunty walk and whistle.

  Sarah entered the room, starched apron clean, a cap upon her head, and a frown fixed upon her face. “Miss Wedgwood, you have need of me?”

  Millie smiled at Sarah through the mirror, allowing herself a moment to relax. “I do. Help me get this habit off, if you will, and tell me how you find your accommodations.”

  “I can’t complain, miss. The maids have a big dormitory in the attics. I’ve been given a prime place sharing with Mrs. Vanderby’s maid.”

  “That is useful,” Millie murmured, stepping out of her dress as Sarah lowered it carefully from her shoulders to the floor. “Perhaps that girl can give you more insight into Mr. Weston’s character. I confess, I am not certain how to work upon him when he does not even arrive for another fortnight.”

  Sarah took the dress away to a closet and clothespress, leaving Millie to pace about in her shift. “I am afraid my foray into Sir Isaac’s territory did not go particularly well. I ran into a rather cheeky servant in the baronet’s employ.” She smirked to herself again, thinking on the way the man had side-stepped her questions and presented himself to her as handsome.

  Clucking her tongue, Sarah brought out a gown of pale blue. “That sounds most distressing, miss. I hope you gave him a set down.”

  “I confess, I did not.” Millie laughed when Sarah gaped at her, horrified. “Oh, I know I ought to have, but he was most amusing.” And there was something about that fire in his eyes she had liked. Not many men of nobility had that sort of brightness to them. A fierceness, really, that made her take notice. Gentlemen in Society, the nobility too, prided themselves on acting either as languidly as cats or as brash as fools.

  Although Sarah appeared unimpressed, she went on to speak of her own findings. The schedule for the day, the mealtimes, the lay of the house, and when certain guests would arrive for various parties throughout the summer.

  “People kept trying to pin down why you were here for such a long time, miss.” Sarah sniffed disdainfully. “I only told them you were a particular friend to Lady Olivia, at least so long as you remained interesting.”

  “They would believe that.” Millie went to sit before the mirror once her dress had been laced properly. “Lady Olivia collects people the way others collect artwork. She shows them off for a time, then relegates them to some back room when she finds a new piece to admire.”

  Sarah put Millie’s hair back to rights quickly. “You are ready to face whatever adventures come your way, miss.”

  “Thank you, Sarah.” Though the maid did not approve of Millie’s actions, she had an unwavering loyalty that remained a comfort. With a light touch, Millie adjusted one of the large auburn curls that hung just behind her ear. The color of her hair might not be fashionable, but she had learned to make the most of it. If her hair was to attract attention, she might as well do her best to make it appealing.

  Millie left her bedroom and went in search of entertainment. Though she doubted Lady Olivia actually wished to socialize with her, playing the part of a recluse in the beautiful house would not be borne. There must be things to keep her amused, rooms where she would be a bother to no one.

  Descending to the first floor of the house, Millie searched out rooms meant for entertainment. A few servants, liveried footmen, raised eyebrows when she opened and closed doors to peek inside, but none forbade her curious exploration. She found the music room easily, with its large piano and artwork featuring the muses. The room even had all the curtains drawn back, as though welcoming any who wished to play upon the instruments, which included an elegant harp.

  She immediately felt a pang of longing for her own instrument, in their small music room in London.

  Millie left that room and kept on her way. Somehow, she did not think Lady Olivia would take kindly to anyone touching her instrument.

  She came across a library after a sitting room and a billiard room, and there she walked inside. If she found a book and nothing more, she could be content enough.

  The shelves were tall, sturdy, and stained a deep black to make the library austere. The many volumes had all been carefully curated to match, no matter the title. Every book was bound in brown leather with black and gold spines.

  Running her fingertips along the books, she read them carefully and recognized a few titles of classic works. Books of philosophy and history. No novels. No volumes of poetry. Not in the grand display of shelves before her. She snorted and lowered her hand.

  “I quite agree,” a deep voice said from behind.

  Millie jumped and spun about, seeing a man lounging on the couch in the room. His hands were behind his head and he stared at her, almost indolently.

  “I beg your pardon. I did not realize anyone was in the room.” Millie tilted her chin upward, not about to be cowed by the man. His dark blond hair and olive-green eyes easily marked him as Lady Olivia’s kin. He must be one of the brothers.

  He shrugged and turned his attention back to the ceiling. “The room is big enough for a dozen people. No harm done.”

  Millie hesitated a moment, trying to determine her best course of action. The family was powerful. Wealthy. Making a bad impression on even one of its members could create trouble for her while she went about Lady Olivia’s task, or in the future. “I am Miss Wedgewood.” There. He could do as he wished with her improper introduction.

  “Neil Duncan. Third son.” He did not glance at her again as he spoke. “Are you Olivia’s latest acquisition?”

  Her lips twitched. “Of a sort, I suppose.”

  He frowned at the ceiling, then swung that frown lazily around to her. “Interesting.” He sat up abruptly and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to study her. “They do not usually admit it, yo
u know. Most of the women my sister parades about in Society.” His eyebrows pulled together. “Miss Wedgewood. I cannot say I have heard that name before.”

  “Millicent Wedgewood,” she said. “And I do not mind admitting my place here. I am to fulfill a purpose, then I will be gone.” Millie gestured to the shelves behind her. “Are there no more books in the house than these?”

  “Not on display,” he said. “Radcliffe novels would hardly be worthy of this—” He gestured at the shelves. “—monument to education.”

  Millie made a sound of understanding. “Then I had best look for amusement elsewhere.”

  “What are you after?” he asked, still studying her as though not sure what to make of her. She felt quite the same about him. He was older than she by at least a decade, yet lolled about like a man of half his age. “Music? Drawing? Flowers?”

  “Do you mean to make yourself helpful?” she asked, unable to hide her amusement. “I was given to believe you did not like people, Lord Neil.” Olivia had told her that much about her brother, and that he would not be a hindrance to Millie’s assignment.

  Lord Neil shrugged. “Nothing else to do today.” He stood and stretched. “I have the feeling you are not attempting to make a prize out of a third son. Are you?”

  She shook her head. “I am afraid not.”

  “No idle flattery either.” He grimaced. “Very well. I am disposed to like you for that alone, Miss Wedgewood.” Though his words were said flatly, she sensed a hint of humor to them. Millie studied him thoughtfully.

  “Excellent. Then perhaps you could tell me if your family has a place where one might draw, with ready supplies. I much prefer to work with wood and ink, but paper would do just as well.”

  “There is a room reserved for that sort of thing. Back of the house. Second floor.” He held his arm out. “My mother and sister have no talent for drawing, so it is not a well-appointed box.”

  “That is a shame.” She took his arm, her mood lightening somewhat. It seemed her candid attitude had elicited the same from him.

  Two strange encounters with two very different sorts of men would give her something to puzzle over, even if she found nothing more for entertainment. Society’s description of Lord Neil as a charming, lazy sort fit well enough. But what was she to believe about the mysterious Sir Isaac? Until she met him, the only opinion she had worth any sort of thought was Lady Olivia’s. She had made it clear he was a scoundrel, an insulting sort, who would as soon laugh at a person’s misfortunes as he would a jest.

  Perhaps the man at her side might offer some insight. He would likely be acquainted with the baronet. Yet Lord Neil’s small kindness gave her reason to hesitate. If the time came she needed another ally in the house, it would be best to keep him ignorant of the true purpose of her visit.

  When he left her in a room with a large window, wide drawing table, and a sheaf of paper, Millie settled in quite comfortably. She would wait until Lady Olivia sent for her. There was no use making herself a nuisance to her hostess. She was not truly a guest, only a means to an end.

  Chapter 3

  One of the worst things about holding a prominent place in the neighborhood, even if it was as insignificant as baronet, was that it meant Isaac had certain duties and responsibilities to perform in the neighborhood. His current duty, though, was only his because his brother-in-law was permitted to bear grudges.

  “Thank you for coming with me,” Esther said for the third time since he had assisted her into his gig. “Turning down an invitation to dine with the marchioness would have made everyone uncomfortable for months.”

  Isaac glowered at his sister. “I hardly think it fair that Silas can declare war on the family, and you are still expected to dance attendance upon them.”

  Esther cut him a look laden with a reprimand. “Silas’s little feud with Lord Neil will come to an end eventually. I bear the man no ill will.”

  “He was flirting with you. A married woman. While your husband was away.” Isaac was firmly on the earl’s side. And he had his own reasons for wishing to avoid the family.

  “Most of the haute ton would see that as perfectly normal,” she reminded him. “Affairs abound in London among the titled. And everyone knew my marriage to Silas was not a love match. Or at least they suspected, even if it was never said aloud.”

  “I cannot understand why you are so quick to excuse his behavior,” Isaac said, hunkering down in his seat without a care for how it would rumple his clothing or cravat.

  Esther shrugged and peered out the window at the darkening sky. “I know what it is to be left on the outside of things. As a third son, I’m certain Lord Neil has had more than his share of lonely moments. Especially as part of the marquess’s family. Lord Neil was older than the lot of you, I was younger, and your club left both of us out. When there are not many children of the right sort of families to get on with, it is a trial when the few about refuse your company.”

  The argument was not a new one, and as Isaac still thought his sister a trifle too sensitive about their childhood play, he let the conversation drop. Lack of friendship as a child should not be seen to justify poor behavior as an adult, especially in the case of one as irritating as Lord Neil.

  He pulled his gig to a stop before the large, white marble steps of the Marquess of Alderton’s country house. The massive building loomed over the drive with columns, curling ornaments about the windows, and too many chimneys to count. The entry was grand, too, with white and black floors, a sweeping staircase leading to the first floor, and liveried servants at every doorway.

  If Isaac had even a tenth of Lord Alderton’s wealth, his home would be set up well enough for half a dozen generations. As it was, he only brought in enough revenue to keep from selling off his land.

  But as no one knew of Isaac’s circumstances, he kept his head high and his smile tight. Silas was assisting him. They would set things to rights soon enough.

  The one bright spot to his evening, the only thing he anticipated with any amount of enthusiasm, was the possibility of seeing the woman who had trespassed upon his property two days previous. She had held herself with such poise, even when he gave her insult merely by not acting as submissive as a servant ought to a gentlewoman.

  What would her reaction be to seeing him again when she realized he was Sir Isaac, the man she had attempted to spy upon?

  “What are you grinning about?” Esther asked in a whisper as they stepped onto the first-floor landing.

  “Nothing of great importance.” Isaac counted the steps from the landing down the wide hall to the parlor. The activity, simple as it was, kept him calm. Stepping into a room full of people all speaking and moving about, perfume hanging heavily in the summer air, was the very sort of situation he preferred to avoid.

  The press of bodies at the last assembly he had attended, seven months previous, had left him physically ill. The weakness of his mind had never made itself manifest until after he had returned from war. Who grew sick in a crowd? Who had to spend days nursing an aching head and endure nightmares as payment for being among their neighbors?

  Apparently, Isaac did. He had heard that war left its mark upon men’s hearts and bodies in strange ways. But he had hoped losing his arm had been enough of a price to pay.

  The fates had other plans for him, it would seem.

  Best to stop worrying over it and focus on something he could control. Such as his reaction to the unavoidable shock of that red-headed woman.

  Isaac and Esther entered the parlor, and the marchioness stood near the door ready to welcome them. “Sir Isaac, such a pleasure to see you again. We were sorry to miss you in Town this Season. Lady Inglewood, welcome. Such a shame that your husband could not join us this evening.” Though Lady Alderton would never be praised for warmth of character, she always presented a picture of the perfect hostess. Her stately bearing reminded one and all of her relationship, distant though it was, to the royal family.

  Esther made the approp
riate comments. Or at least, Isaac supposed she did, while he allowed his gaze crawl over the room in search of the woman who thought him a servant. He did not want to miss the moment of recollection upon her face. The sudden surprise.

  But she was not to be found.

  Perhaps she had already left the country?

  Disappointment settled upon his shoulders, more heavily than he expected something as simple as a stranger’s absence to cause. He had sincerely looked forward to that moment of diversion.

  A small squeeze of his arm informed him Esther was ready to move away from Lady Alderton and into the room to greet other neighbors. Only those who held titles or great wealth were in attendance that evening. The Parrs were present, as was Lord Sterling, and the Kimballs. Merriweather Kimball made a show of batting her eyes at every male in the room as was her custom.

  Thankfully, Esther turned their path toward some of the least objectionable of their neighbors; Mr. Ashford, his son and two daughters. Their family owned a vast amount of land, and shares in a mine further north. Isaac kept his shoulders squared and his expression as pleasant as possible while they spoke. He was not in the mood for much chatter himself.

  More guests arrived. Where there had been a comfortable ten people in the room, now it was nearer twenty. Heat crawled up the back of Isaac’s neck and a soft buzzing began in his ears.

  He started a mental count to one hundred in his mind, in French. That distraction would see him through until they came to the dinner table, where he could sit and distract himself with food and drink, and focus only on his table companions rather than the room as a whole.

  A ringing soprano broke through the din, “…and this is Miss Wedgewood, a particular friend of mine.” Lady Olivia, sour in nature, had still somehow managed to cultivate the voice of an angel. At least she had dropped the foolish lisp she had adopted the previous year.