Why not pay a call on the baby? Some might think him daft, wishing as he did to see an infant that was not his own, but the title of uncle far outpaced that of baronet in his favor. His small nephew was also his godson, and the infant had no expectations of Isaac except that he make amusing faces on occasion. Really, it was perfect. A baby’s smiles had a magical ability to cheer up anyone.
Isaac walked through the gardens, making his way to one of the rear doors of Inglewood Keep.
Laughter in the garden drew his attention away from his purpose. Familiar laughter.
Miss Millicent Wedgewood. Isaac pivoted to face the direction where the sound of merriment had originated. What was she doing at Inglewood? Again?
Esther had a soft heart. Her adoption of a lonely soul should not surprise him.
If his sister lingered in the gardens with Miss Wedgewood then Isaac needed to stop and say hello. It would not do to enter his nephew’s domain without at least greeting one of the lad’s parents.
Making his way through the hedges, Isaac went to the fountain at the center of the more ornamental gardens. Another bright laugh confirmed that he had taken the correct path. Rounding the last of the flowering shrubs, Isaac stopped abruptly. He hadn’t fully expected the scene before him.
Miss Wedgewood sat upon the ground, knees angled so that his nephew could be propped against them in a reclined position. A thin blanket was all that was between the two of them and the soft grasses surrounding the fountain. The baby held the woman’s fingers in his fists, swinging them about and grinning toothlessly at his captive.
Esther was nowhere in sight. Had she so much trust in the near stranger already, to leave her husband’s heir in the woman’s care? Not that Isaac suspected the woman to have any nefarious purpose in regard to the baby, but—
She looked up at him and her posture stiffened with surprise. But the startled look faded into a welcoming smile. “Sir Isaac. Your nephew and I were just speaking of you.” She wore a gown of a vivid purplish color that brought springtime to mind, with a bonnet upon her head and a shawl lying upon the ground next to her. The woman appeared quite at her ease in the countess’s gardens.
“That explains the laughter.” Where the quip came from, he could not say, but he was rewarded for it. Miss Wedgewood laughed again, softer this time, and turned her attention back to his nephew.
“Do you hear that, little one? Your uncle thinks we are laughing at him.” She slanted her eyes toward him and lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “We must not tell him the truth.” The baby cooed and waved his tiny fists, still holding tightly to Millie’s fingers.
Millie. The shortened version of her name suited her better than the mouthful of her given name, especially when she made such a pretty picture with an infant under her care. Millicent Wedgewood sounded like a Shakespearian villainess. The name was far too weighty to settle upon someone of her delicate stature, too.
“I find myself curious what you would say about me outside of my hearing,” he admitted, making his way to the fountain to sit upon its edge. “Especially to my entirely impressionable nephew.”
She peered up at him from beneath her wide-brimmed bonnet. “Impressionable?” The auburn-haired woman wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at his nephew, who squealed a happy response. “You see, he is not at all impressionable. He knows I am a silly woman. He will not take me seriously at all.”
Isaac chuckled and folded his arm across his chest, tucking it beneath what remained of his other arm. “You are adept at teasing my curiosity, Miss Wedgewood.”
“Do you hear your uncle?” she asked the baby with an animated expression. “He will not let us alone until we have shared all our secrets. Really. The man has no sense of decorum.” She extracted one hand from the baby and used it to introduce the ribbon from her bonnet to him, dangling it just out of reach. Little Isaac’s focus immediately went to the brightly colored ribbon, and he released her fingers completely in order to grasp the satin instead.
“That may not have been wise,” Isaac noted, thinking of the state of his cravat any time he held his nephew near. His valet always sighed rather hopelessly when Isaac returned from a visit with the child.
Millie shrugged, not the least bit bothered when Little Isaac put the end of the ribbon in his mouth. “I neglected to bring any toys with me. Your sister had an unfortunate accident with a large pot of paints. This wee one was in the room with us, and most upset by the lack of attention. I brought him outside while his mama went to change and clean up. The outdoors always puts me on the mend when I am out of sorts.”
Isaac studied her face, the slight upturn of her nose, the freckles dotting her cheeks. How old was she? Over the age most ladies of rank or means came out into Society. “I feel the same. I have been walking about all morning trying to regain my balance, actually.”
Why had he made that confession?
The woman’s head tilted, but whether from curiosity or the way his nephew tugged at the ribbon, Isaac could not tell.
“Are you off balance often?” she asked.
“No.” He lied. But it was the only acceptable answer a man in his position could make. “Are you?”
She lowered his nephew to the blanket and tugged off her bonnet, putting it on the ground next to the baby so he could more easily entertain himself with the ribbons.
“I would never admit to being anything other than perfectly poised.” She flashed him a smile, granting him a brief glimpse of her dimple again. His breath caught for a moment, startled by how attractive that expression made her.
He needed to move about in Society more. Never in his life had he been attracted to a woman with her coloring, or her petite frame. He much preferred women with golden curls and tall, willowy forms. Before the war, that was the sort of woman who had turned his head. Not that he had paid much attention to women at all since his return. A fact his sister constantly brought up in conversation.
“Is something the matter?” she asked, and Isaac blinked, realizing she had caught him staring at her.
“Not at all. Merely thinking.” He nodded to the blanket. “Might I join you down there? I actually came up to the house to pay a call on Isaac.”
“That might be confusing someday. The shared name.” She smiled and moved aside, creating a larger spot for him to sit. “I think that is why I am not precisely named for my mother. She wished to avoid any difficulty a shared name would bring.”
Isaac left the fountain for the blanket, settling upon it and leaning forward to gain the baby’s notice. The child’s eyes narrowed at him a moment, then the baby squealed and started kicking his legs in excitement.
Isaac could not hold back his smile when his namesake recognized him. “Good afternoon to you, too,” he said. “I hope you have conducted yourself as a gentleman in Miss Wedgewood’s company.”
“Quite so,” Millie answered while the baby kicked and made contented baby sounds. “He is the perfect companion, and an expert at listening without interrupting.” She leaned back, resting her weight on her hands, and turned her face up to the sunlight. “I fully expect he keeps confidences, too.” She closed her eyes, and he heard the deep breath she drew in.
Isaac rescued her hat’s ribbon from the baby. He tugged off the glove he wore using his teeth and then dangled that above Little Isaac until the baby caught the soft leather in his hands.
Without his permission, his eyes went back to Millie. He traced her profile, the softness in her face. But there was no peace in her expression, gentle or not. He could see tension in the curve of her neck, the slight downturn of her lips. Though someone else might think her repose was one of contentment, Isaac sensed something else entirely.
“You perplex me, Miss Wedgewood.” The observation slipped out before he knew he wished to speak it aloud.
A tight smile appeared on her lips. “I believe that is what ladies are supposed to do to gentlemen, sir.” She tipped her head to the side and opened her eyes, meeting his
gaze directly. “You have but to ask it, and I will tell you whatever you wish to know.”
“You said you are with the marquess’s family due to your mother’s wishes. Mothers wishing to better their social standing, and that of their children, are no unusual thing. But why do you bear the burden of your whole family? And why the Marquess of Alderton?”
A line appeared in her forehead briefly but smoothed away again as she adopted a more ladylike posture. Which was impressive, considering they both sat upon the ground. “Lady Olivia presented an opportunity, and an acceptable rung of Society. My mother is not used to where we have settled. My family, until only a few years ago, held a much more respected place.”
The baby started to fuss, likely upset about the lack of attention upon him. Isaac carefully turned the little one over, giving him the amusement of pushing himself up on his chubby arms. The boy would be crawling about on all fours soon, if his nursemaid was to be believed.
“What happened to lower your family’s esteem?” he asked, watching his nephew. “I have been out of Society myself for many years, with the war, so I cannot say I am at all aware of your family or their circumstances.”
“That is a very direct question,” she murmured. “But as you would learn the answer soon enough if you asked the right people, I suppose there is no harm in telling you our history.” Her voice had softened, almost to a whisper. Then the silence stretched long enough that Isaac looked up again, eyebrows raised. He knew the question was impertinent. Most would find it bordering on rudeness.
Her face had paled, and her lips pressed together so tightly they were bloodless. But she did not appear ready to cry. Rather, a flame of hostility danced in her eyes. The tilt of her chin was fierce, almost daring. She was not, he realized in that moment, a woman one wished to cross. There was fire beneath her skin, burning in anger.
“My family was ruined when we gave insult to a duke’s grandson, and he took it upon himself to remove us from Society.” She stated the truth without embellishment of tone or words.
Isaac had nothing to say. Not immediately. He stared at her, uncertain. Most would mumble an apology, try to end the moment of discomfort. He had witnessed it many times himself, when people asked about the loss of his arm and he told them without pride or bravado it had been blown off because he was not where he was supposed to be at the moment the loss occurred. He only treated the loss lightly when with his friends, the people who knew him. Strangers had no business asking such questions.
Yet he had asked this woman to answer a similar inquiry.
“Forgive me for asking, Miss Wedgewood. My sister says the war made me forget my manners. Perhaps she is right.” That was the right thing to say this time.
She shrugged, lowering her eyes and lifting her bonnet. She smoothed the ribbon Little Isaac had gummed and drooled upon. “I did not have to answer. You said you preferred directness. I offered it to you. But now you owe me an answer, sir.”
That seemed fair. “You have but to ask the question.”
“Might we be friends now?”
Of all the things she might have asked, he hadn’t expected that. “Friends?”
“I have few enough of them.” She put the bonnet back upon her head, leaving the ribbons to dangle loosely down her shoulders. She tilted her head down, the bonnet’s brim obscuring her expression somewhat. “Never mind. It was a foolish thought. I will not be in the neighborhood long.” She spoke dismissively, but there was a hint, the barest touch, of vulnerability in her voice.
Why would a woman such as herself, an outcast of Society or not, wish to befriend him? He had been nothing but rude to her since their first meeting.
He hadn’t made it easy on anyone, not even his sister and Silas, to act as friends. Truly, the only reason his morose moods and unsociable behavior was tolerated by those he counted as friends was due to the longevity of their relationships. They were patient with him, because they loved him. He hadn’t allowed anyone new to come close to a relationship with him.
Strangers generally saw only the social mask he wore that lied to the world about the state of his mind. Yet the unfortunate Millie Wedgewood hadn’t even seen that pleasant falsehood.
“Then perhaps we can make it a temporary arrangement.” Isaac watched as she raised her head, her eyes widening. “I will be your friend for as long as you are in the neighborhood. Does that suit you?”
Her posture relaxed and a hint of her playful smile returned. “It does. Thank you.”
“Here you are,” Essie’s voice said from the break in the hedges. “I am terribly sorry, but it took much longer than expected to put myself to rights.” She came across the grass, fixing Isaac with a serious frown. “I hope you have behaved yourself, Isaac.”
“Me?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I always behave myself.”
His sister’s expression well told how much credence she gave that remark. “Has my son caused as much trouble as his uncle?”
Millie laughed while Isaac started to splutter a protest. “I assure you, my lady, both Isaacs have put me completely at ease.”
Essie bent and swooped up her baby in her arms, causing the little one to squeal happily. “That is exactly what I wish to hear. Come now. Let us all go inside for some refreshment. Isaac, I assume you will wish to keep us company for a time?”
Isaac came to his feet without difficulty and with enough speed he was able to offer his hand to Miss Wedgewood to help her stand. He had forgotten his glove on the ground, so when her bare hand landed in his, soft and small, it surprised him enough that warmth bloomed in his chest.
Assisting her to stand, Isaac did not immediately relinquish her hand. She raised her gaze to his and offered him a tentative smile, a blush appearing upon her cheeks. “Thank you, Sir Isaac.”
He tilted his head forward. “Miss Wedgewood.” When she released her hold on him, following after Essie to the house, Isaac curled his hand into a fist. How strange. Between their discussion and that simple touch, something had shifted. He had pledged himself her friend. That had to account for the sudden feeling, the awareness of her size, and the strange urge to keep her hand tucked in his.
He scooped the glove up from the ground and gathered the forgotten shawl and blanket at the same time. Then he followed after the ladies, his earlier somberness tucked away. Hope that the afternoon might prove more pleasant than his morning made Isaac’s step lighter.
Chapter 9
Spending an afternoon in the company of Lady Inglewood and her brother did more to damage Millie’s confidence than anything had before. They were good people. Of course, Sir Isaac had been a bit grumpy at first, but given the man’s protective nature, she understood why he had viewed her with suspicion. One had but to see him with his infant nephew to glimpse a gentler side of him. And nothing about Lady Inglewood indicated she was the prideful peacock Lady Olivia had claimed.
Millie sat in the music room with the family, between the countess and baronet, before dinner. They had arranged a short row of chairs facing the pianoforte where the earl himself entertained them with a new piece of music from Austria. He played quite well, and apparently his performance was not the first of its kind.
Not a single member of the marquess’s family had welcomed Millie. Nor had anyone been as kind to her as the people in the room at that very moment. Yet she had agreed to earn their trust only to betray it. Lady Olivia would settle for nothing else, and Millie’s mother expected her to perform her part to put them back at the top of Society.
When the earl finished the lively piece, his countess applauded him, and Millie did as well. Sir Isaac, with only the one hand, clapped it heartily against his thigh.
“That was most entertaining, Silas,” said the baronet. He had let his guard down enough that he wore an actual smile. The warmth in his countenance, now fully relaxed, set her much more at ease.
The countess rose gracefully from her chair and went to her husband, looking over the music with him to choose ano
ther piece. Millie folded her hands in her lap and turned to Isaac, again wondering what he had done to earn the enmity of Lady Olivia.
“I had no idea he enjoyed playing,” Isaac said, catching her glance. “Not until after he and my sister were married. We have been friends nearly all our lives, and still he managed to keep that a secret.”
Millie turned her attention back to the couple at the instrument when Lady Inglewood laughed, her husband’s deep chuckle joining hers. They appeared perfectly content in each other’s company and shared such a joyful look between them that it seemed they had forgotten they were not alone in the room.
“They care very much for each other, I think,” she said softly.
Sir Isaac shifted in his chair, leaning closer to her. “I am afraid it is more than that. The two are in love. The circumstance makes it quite difficult to be near them. Only see, the way they stare at each other.” One corner of his mouth came up as he described the scene, and she obediently took in the married couple. “He dares to look upon her as though she is the only woman worth so much as a glance. And she, my younger sister, appears to completely adore him. That is always how it is with them. Quite rude, really, to speak to each other with no more than a glance, leaving the rest of the world out of the conversation.”
Indeed, Millie saw the warmth between them. Felt it. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like to experience such love and devotion. She tried to cover the tenderness of feeling with her jest. “Yes, quite rude. Married people ought not act like that. They ought to be cold to one another. We should, in fact, question whether they like each other at all rather than the opposite.”
Isaac chuckled and leaned closer, his shoulder nearly brushing hers. His breath warm against the nape of her neck. “I completely agree. Imagine, though, how difficult it is for me as a brother to one of them. Here I must sit, through every event and gathering, and pretend I do not see how my sister flirts with her own husband. I am terribly ashamed.” But the glint in his eye said the opposite. He was happy for his sister, for all he jested over the situation.
Engaging Sir Isaac: An Inglewood Romance Page 10