Fallen (5 page)

"My lady, you have no need to explain yourself to me. It is none of my affair."

A nervous laugh burst from Lady Bottomly at Izzy's choice of words, and Izzy couldn't fight a tiny chuckle herself.

"How can you be so accepting?" the lady asked. "How can you not berate me for my sins and my cowardice? I know that none of this would have come about had it not been for me. I should have been willing to pay the price for my own actions, not expect Eppie to.

"Please, Miss Temple, please let him go. Do not use my mistake to trap him. He'll be miserable, and make you quite unhappy, as well. Believe me, marrying a stranger for a title and fortune can be a… a grave error."

Izzy's jaw dropped in surprise. That someone might have the perception that she was manipulating Lord Blackworth had not occurred to her. Honestly, this whole affair was becoming more convoluted every day. Smiling, she patted the cushion beside her, urging Lady Bottomly to sit.

"I see no reason for prevarication between us, my lady. Since only we three know the truth of the matter thus far, you may as well be party to the rest." She halted when a tap sounded at the door and, after Spears had left an overflowing tea tray, Izzy poured a cup for her bemused guest.

"Please have some, my lady. You seem so upset. And it is so unnecessary. Julian and I have quite got things sorted out to our satisfaction."

"Julian?"

The look of angelic puzzlement on her guest's face made Izzy shake her head. Had the woman no unappealing expression?

Fighting a twinge of envy at the perfection before her, Izzy decided to enjoy the sight of her as she would that of an exquisite bloom, or a fine sunset. Like those things, Celia had been put on the earth to delight the eyes. After all, the lady's appearance cost Izzy nothing. She herself was as she had always been.

She gave Celia a conspiratorial smile.

"I simply remade the man's name. He is now to be known as Julian. It is his second name, and I much prefer it."

"It is? Oh, my, yes. I quite fancy it myself." Celia gave her an assessing look. "How unusual you are, Miss Temple. I never would have thought to change a man's name for him. Do you always go about reinventing your acquaintances?"

"Why should I not? I shall reinvent you as well, if you like. What would you like, to be a bird, free to fly?" She was jesting, yet the sudden flash of yearning behind the other woman's eyes made her wonder.

There was more than a good mind hidden behind that exquisite exterior, there was pain as well. Izzy sobered and said softly, "No one knows you at all, do they, my lady?"

"Perhaps not." Celia looked away. "Tell me, Miss Temple, what do you and Julian have in mind?"

Lowering her voice, Izzy filled her in on the scheme, how they intended to circumvent the betrothals. By the end of the explanation, she and Celia were both giggling like school-room misses.

"Oh, Lady Bottomly," Izzy sighed at last, "you do not know how wonderful it is to have found two such friends with whom to laugh. Julian and now you."

The woman looked startled. "Are we friends, Miss Temple?"

"I would very much like to be, my lady. But of course, if I presume—"

"Oh, no! I did not mean that. It is only"— Lady Bottomly gestured helplessly—"most ladies do not seem friendly to me because, well…"

"Because you are so divinely beautiful that everyone within a mile of you looks like bird dung," Izzy said.

When the woman nodded miserably, Izzy grinned at her.

"Well then, I have nothing to lose, have I?"

When Lady Bottomly began to spout denials, Izzy held up her hand. "I have no illusions, my lady. I know I am as plain as a block of wood."

"Actually, that isn't so. You have some fine features, and with such a friendly quality about you, you seem very appealing."

Said so matter-of-factly, it almost sounded believable. For a moment, Izzy allowed herself to wonder if she was not quite as plain as she had believed.

"I wish it were so," sighed Izzy. "Although I do not think I should like to be as beautiful as you, my lady. It seems rather a burden, now that I consider it."

When Lady Bottomly had to blink back tears, Izzy's heart dropped. Oh no, she had offended her newest friend.

"No one has ever understood that before," the woman whispered. Then she smiled, a sweet glowing smile that quite took Izzy's breath away.

"No, I do not imagine so. I only saw you as blessed with gifts I could never have," confessed Izzy. "I suppose this is one of those times when a happy medium is most desirable. Tell me, my lady—"

"Please, call me Celia. When I am with you, I do not really want to be a lady." When she recognized the double meaning of her words, Celia clapped her hand over her mouth.

Izzy grinned at her, enjoying the woman's newfound easy manner. "Very well, Celia, when you are in my presence, I shall do my best to see that you feel most unladylike."

Watching Lady Bottomly be driven away in her opulent carriage, Izzy wondered when she would see the woman again.

Then she remembered the Waverlys' ball. Celia would be there. Although that was a bracing thought, the subject of the ball depressed her.

It was a dream and a nightmare at once. All her life Izzy had longed to see the world her mother had described to her, a world of laughter and light. A place where lovers danced 'til dawn, and dancers fell in love. But it was a fairyland tale for someone like herself.

At least she need not worry about going through it more than once. When Julian saw her in that glittering setting, like a dirt clod on a diamond necklace, he would doubtless see the wisdom of avoiding future humiliations.

She sighed. She would simply have to bear it. It was important to him, and she did like him so. She liked his eyes and his voice and the warmth that radiated from him like the comfort of a fire.

It was very improper for her to think of a gentleman in terms of his body heat. He was a person, a man of many parts. She smiled to herself. Oh, and weren't they just glorious parts?

She steered her thoughts to more decorous ground. He was intelligent, as well. He dressed beautifully. He liked to laugh. Merely thinking about him eased the loneliness of several years' making.

As a distantly related orphan, Izzy had never been a real member of the family, nor did she wish to be any longer. Neither was she able to befriend the household staff, being one of the employers. Not that she would have minded, but there were none so class-conscious as the servants themselves.

Her work had always kept her too occupied to seek friends outside the house, although Julian had changed that, as well. Yesterday, Hildegard had called her into her sitting room, fawning and thanking her for taking care of the housekeeping, governess, and gardening duties while the household had been "between servants."

Izzy laughed to herself as she made her way outside to the gardens. The last housekeeper had left four years ago, raging at the impossible conditions, and there had not been a gardener for six years. There had never been a real governess. Izzy had been given care of the children's education as soon as she had turned sixteen.

Recently, Hildegard graciously had exempted her from governess duties, but Izzy's gratitude was tempered by the knowledge that Millie was too old to need her any longer, and Sheldon was destined to leave for school shortly. Apparently, more freedom than that was too much to hope for.

Izzy was thankful enough that the boy would be gone during the next few months. He was a poisonous little rodent, prone to practical jokes and barnyard humor. His tricks became dirtier every year, and Izzy shuddered to think of him as a man. Millie was a pale, slender version of her mother, parroting Hildegard's words and attitude ad nauseam. Both children were less than brilliant, and educating them had been a thankless trial.

Running the household also had been a frustrating chore. Caught between Spears, with his resentment of her control, and her cousin's unrelenting frugality, she had struggled to keep the household from disintegration.

The gardens were her sanity. They were the one place free of the cousins. Hildegard never stirred from the house except to step to a carriage. Millie disliked soiling her slippers and hems in the fresh-turned earth. Most blessedly of all, Sheldon was reduced to uncontrolled sneezing by the blooms Izzy grew wherever there was room.

Thinking of Sheldon, she cheerfully entered the greenhouse and cut an armful of flowers to arrange in the house.

Humming off-key, she was entering through the kitchen when Spears found her.

"I shall take those, miss. There are two dressmakers awaiting you in Madam's sitting room."

"Thank you, Spears. I should like most of those to go in the entrance hall."

"Yes, miss," smirked the butler with a trace of his old insolence. "Whatever you say, miss." He did not particularly care for Sheldon, either.

Leaving the snickering butler to his task, Izzy reluctantly made her way to Hildegard's sitting room. More ugly gowns, she thought. Perhaps dropping Julian's name would loosen her cousin's tight fist. Izzy longed for colors, even common brown or an inexpensive blue.

Stepping into the room, she was greeted by a sour-faced Hildegard and two of the most fashionable women she had ever seen. Effusive and thickly French, they flew about her, pulling off her cap and stripping her of her gown. The taller of the two carried it to the corner of the room between two fingers and dropped it expressively on the floor.

Although Izzy could not agree more with her about the dress, she resented their high-handed manner. Hildegard often had ordered Izzy's dresses along with her own and Millie's, but she had never bothered to have Izzy fitted before. Julian must already be having an effect on Hildegard's pocketbook.

The smaller dressmaker, whose broken English was unintelligible, snapped mysterious orders at Izzy, all the while measuring madly. The two exclaimed with delight over her waist, bemoaned her bust, and stopped dead when her hair fell from its pins.

They walked once around her then, whispering fervently to each other. They must have come to some agreement, for they smiled widely at Izzy, then fled the room and the manor.

"Well, that was fascinating. How do you survive it every year?" commented Izzy acidly to a tight-lipped Hildegard. Then, sweeping her gown over her head, she left the room to go repair her hair.

In her own small chamber, Izzy muttered irritably as she twisted her hair atop her head once more. It took many minutes each morning to tame her wildly curling locks and she resented having to do so again. Finally satisfied that not one stray hair was out of place, she picked up her habitual cap to replace it on her coif. Catching sight of it in her small mirror, however, made her reconsider. Holding the cap in her hand, she sought to remember why she had ever begun wearing it years ago.

Her memory snagged on Hildegard's biting commentary on the impropriety of a spinster of twenty-two going about with her hair uncovered.

Gazing at the cap with fresh appraisal, Izzy wondered for the first time if Hildegard might be envious of her hair. Although it often exasperated her, Izzy far preferred it to Hildegard's lank, thin locks.

Now that she considered it, no one at the house party had worn plain white muslin caps except the servants. Celia certainly had not, and she was at least twenty-five. Of course, she was not a spinster, but there had been a few widows at the gathering and not a one had covered her hair with anything so large and plain. Their caps had been lacy and very dainty.

Well, if it was improper, so be it. She moved swiftly to the window and cast out the offending cap. At the sight of the wilted white thing flopping down the lawn, she ran to the chest to snatch up her spare caps and launch them one by one across the greening expanse.

They looked for all the world like madly overgrown mushrooms. Brimming with satisfaction, she ran pell-mell down the stairs, and went about supervising the dinner preparations with a light heart.

«
^
»

When on the Wednesday next Julian again called on Marchwell manor, he saw a hired coach pulled up on the circular drive to the house entrance. Strapped on top were two trunks made of fine, glossy wood and bound with brass. They gleamed in the afternoon light, yet the coach was old, and the horses even older. He wondered if this was another example of the family's secret frugality.

There was no footman to take his horse, so he tied Tristan to a nearby tree. He hoped the stallion would leave no horse apples on the lawn. He had a feeling there was no stableboy, either.

The manor's front doorway stood open. Hesitating, Julian looked about the deserted grounds once more. As no one was in sight, he entered unannounced.

Standing just inside, he gazed in awe about the entrance hall. He had taken no note of it on his previous visit, being rather distracted at the time. Now he wondered how he could have missed it. It was definitely splendid.

Splendidly hideous. Abundant white marble statuary stood out against costly black marble floors, stood out to the extent that there was little room for Julian to stand. A huge, ornate mirror multiplied their number dizzyingly. Every surface reflected light: the glossy marble, the mirror, even the mirror's gilt frame. It was blinding. He closed his eyes against the horror of it.

They flew open when he heard quick footsteps.

"Oh, Julian! How wonderful to see you." A cheerful Izzy bustled into the hall. Dressed in the same style of dull, dark dress as before, there was no reason for her appearance to lift his spirits so. "If you do not mind waiting just a moment, I need to put these down."

She carried an enormous bouquet of the most hideous yellow blooms he had ever seen. They glared like lurid beacons in the stark decor of the hall. Humming happily off-key, Izzy placed them lovingly in a vase on the carved table beneath the mirror. She spent a long moment fussing with the flowers.

Julian suspected she was not very skilled at floral arrangement, for her technique required a great deal of shaking of stems and waving of blossoms. Soon, dusty yellow pollen covered all the nearest surfaces.