House of Dreams (32 page)

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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: House of Dreams
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“I only arrived two days ago. I rarely come to London, my lady, although I keep a home not far from here.”
Isabel could comprehend him. He had come to town only to meet
her in the hope of finding a new wife. “'Tis my first visit here, and I am delighted.” She smiled. “There are hardly such interesting sights in Sussex County.”
His eyes widened; his stare became searching.
Isabel grew uneasy.
Finally he said, “I confess to being confounded, my lady. The rumors of your beauty have preceded you. I had expected to meet with a young woman of but nineteen, with startling red-gold hair and a flawless complexion. Rarely have I ever found rumor to be so … ill founded.”
Isabel felt herself flush. “Clearly, my lord, I am no beauty, and I am so sorry you have been misled. But rumor is just that, is it not?”
“I did not intend to insult you,” he said quickly, actually touching her hand. “Have you been ill recently?”
She trembled, drawing away. “You did not insult me. I possess a looking glass. Of course, I do not ever bother to use it.” She could not look at him now. “I am rarely ill.”
A silence fell. She stole a glance at him and saw that he seemed torn. Her own confusion returned. Why was she deceiving this man—who was not only handsome, but who seemed strong of mind and manner?
“Lady Isabel …” He sighed. “May I escort you to dine tonight? The pleasure would be mine.”
Isabel could not believe her ears. “My lord, I have had a tiresome day, and I fear I am unwell. Might we continue this conversation another time?” She was already rushing to the door. “I do beg your pardon, sir,” Isabel cried.
And she did not pause to hear his answer, but she knew he stared after her, in surprise and dismay.
 
 
Isabel fled into her chamber.
“What is this?
What is this hideous and foul manner?” Helen cried.
Isabel started, not realizing that Helen was present—not having expected her back for hours.
“Dear God in Heaven, what have you done?” Helen gasped.
Isabel quickly clutched Zeus, who was not offended by either her odor or her appearance. He licked her neck, squirming in her arms.
“I do not comprehend you.” Helen continued to gape.”This trick—it is to chase away your suitor while you sent me to the market on a fool's errand!”
Isabel could not think of a reply. She was still reeling from her
encounter with Montgomery. Why had he seemed dismayed when she had run from the room? Surely he had been relieved.
“You just see what shall happen when the earl hears about this greatest transgression of yours!” Helen said, hands on her narrow, bony hips now. “You will not get off lightly, my lady, I assure you of that.”
“How loyal you are,” Isabel said softly.
“I am loyal, more than you will ever know. I have cared for you since you were eight years old, and I want but the best for you, Isabel,” Helen disagreed sternly.
“You have a fine way of showing it,” Isabel said, stroking Zeus's silky fur, images of Rob—and Montgomery—dancing in her head.
Never before had she regretted giving herself to Rob. It had been the most glorious evening of her life. How could she regret it now?
Montgomery's keen blue eyes, set in his striking face, filled her mind.
Isabel screwed her eyes tightly closed. She had vowed to wait for Rob, and wait she would. She regretted nothing. She loved Rob, with all of her heart, aye, with all of her soul. But … if only Montgomery were less kind, less clever, and less striking in appearance. If only he were short, fat, and bald, with rotting teeth falling out of his head!
Helen was grim. “I do not understand you. I see the mulish purpose in your eyes. Mark me well, Isabel. Your uncle clearly has summoned you here in order to find you a husband. Have your brains been addled?” She seemed angry. “I know you are not devout, for if you thought to marry God, that I would understand. You must wed and bear children, Isabel. 'Tis the reason God gave you life—and spared yours when your family died.”
“You know nothing of God's will,” Isabel said flatly. And she was angry that Helen would even dare to guess God's will and speak of her family in the same breath.
“Lady Isabel.” Helen drew herself up. “I suggest you bathe this instant and clothe yourself appropriately, and join his lordship downstairs with the rest of the court for supper and dancing.”
Isabel stared. “Tell his lordship I am indisposed, and I cannot join him this evening.”
Helen made a sound of incredulity and she turned and marched from the room.
Isabel sat down on the bed, despairing. Now she was openly defying her uncle yet again. But she had no choice—otherwise Montgomery might glimpse her as she truly was. No good, she thought, could come of this deception. And she was afraid.
But perhaps she was wrong. For the next day she was informed that Montgomery had no wish to press his suit, and that he had left court for his home in the north of England. And Isabel could not help feeling a brief and passing moment of sharp regret.
 
 
Sussex summoned her to him, not the next day, but four days later at noon.
“A warning, Isabel,” Helen whispered to her as they hurried through the many halls of the court.
Isabel's tension, already high, increased. She was dreading this encounter, quite certain her punishment for her deception of Montgomery would be strong and brutal. Sussex was known to be a man of little tolerance; he rewarded his allies generously and dealt with his enemies harshly. He had never been known to forgive a betrayal. Isabel prayed he loved her a little, and that he might show her the mercy he did not show the others fallen from his favor.
“I did not inform your uncle of your treachery.”
Isabel stopped. She stared, stunned. “But—”
“The deed was done and there was no undoing it. I saw no reason for you to suffer, as I have every hope you have realized the error of your ways, and may soon suffer enough as it is.”
Isabel remained stunned, and she did not reply.
Helen had not betrayed her.
“I trust it will never happen again,” Helen said, low.
Isabel hesitated, then nodded quickly. She would deal with the next suitor when the time came, and not one moment sooner. But dear God, for now she was spared the rod—if not exile back to Stonehill.
“Good,” Helen said firmly.
They were following Sir Thomas. Isabel was suddenly detained by a hand upon her shoulder. She stiffened in surprise and turned.
Familiar, beloved blue eyes met hers.
Isabel felt her own mouth drop open, even as her heart skipped wildly. Rob!
“Isabel?” Robert de Warenne asked incredulously.
Instantly, heat flooding her cheeks, Isabel curtsied. The noise of the crowded room had vanished, it was now absolutely silent, and all she could hear was her own thundering heartbeat and her own rapid breathing. She forgot everyone, everything else. Rob. He was here. Finally—
after all these years.
“Please, rise,” Rob said, and then his hands were beneath her elbows and he was lifting her to her feet.
And Isabel took in every one of his beloved features, noting all the changes, and all that was so painfully familiar. He had matured. His jaw had hardened, his nose was straighter now, more full. There were lines at the corners of his dazzling blue eyes. In fact, he was far more striking than he had been as a youth of twenty—for he was a grown man.
He was also gaping at her. “I can hardly believe this encounter,” he finally exclaimed. “Isabel, how beautiful you are.”
And Isabel met his gaze again and felt tears coming to her eyes. For she saw in his regard all that she needed to see. “Rob.” She stopped. And smiling, “Hello.”
He smiled then, for the first time—his teeth had remained white and even. “My lady,” he said, and he released her elbows to bow. “A sight you are, Isabel.” His jaw flexed then and he touched his chest. “My heart pounds as if I am in the midst of battle.”
That was when Isabel realized how finely he was clothed. His doublet was gold velvet. Cuffs of French lace spilled from his sleeves. His hose was also gold, but satin. His dagger was bejeweled. A huge pendant lay on his chest, suspended by a thick gold chain; it was either a ruby or a garnet. Isabel noticed that he wore two rings—a sapphire and a pale green gemstone that might have been jade. And there was a badge on his left sleeve. Isabel recognized that it belonged to the queen.
“Rob, we have so much to talk about,” Isabel managed, thinking that he had done very well for himself, indeed. And she was overjoyed for him, for them both. For hadn't his lack of means been the issue standing in their way? Surely Sussex would change his mind about their match now.
“Indeed we do,” he said, and suddenly he was taking her hand.
A cough sounded behind them. Isabel suddenly remembered that Helen stood there, listening to their every word, Sir Thomas behind her. Dread filled her as she stiffened, and her gaze flew to Rob's. She turned. “Helen, I wish you to meet my cousin, Sir Robert de Warenne. Lady Helen Courtney, Sir Robert.”
Robert bowed; Isabel saw how direct and piercing Helen's regard was. Her heart sank—Helen was no fool. “I am more than pleased to make your acquaintance,” Robert said, smiling at Helen. Then, to Isabel, “It is Admiral de Warenne now, my lady.”
Isabel almost gasped aloud in surprise and pleasure, but she managed to stifle the sound. “You have risen in the world, Rob.”
“Yes, I have. The queen rewarded me personally for my defense of Ludgate against the traitor Sir Wyatt.” His eyes found hers and they were sparkling.
“Admiral de Warenne,” Isabel breathed, loving the sound of his title upon her lips.
“So you fought the rebel forces?” Helen asked coolly.
Isabel looked at her pinched expression and was afraid that she suspected everything.
“Indeed I did, as did many other of the queen's loyal followers.” Rob turned to Isabel, arm extended. “I have business with the council, but that can wait. Let us walk in the gardens, for there is so much to say. I am sure you do not mind, Lady Helen?”
Helen was not doing a good job of hiding her disapproval. “Lady Isabel has been summoned to meet with her uncle, the earl of Sussex. We must not keep him waiting.”
“Her uncle, my cousin, will not return from the queen's business until much later in the day,” Rob said with a quick smile. “You will be waiting here for several hours, of that I can assure you. Thomas, I will deliver your charge safely back to the earl. Come, Isabel,” he said, not giving Helen another chance to interfere while Sir Thomas, who clearly knew Rob, nodded deferentially.
Rob knew his way well through the corridors and halls of the royal residence, Isabel realized. She remained dazed as they hurried away from the crowded rooms close to the queen's receiving rooms. She had to reassure herself from time to time that it was really he; she would steal a quick glance at his perfect profile and her heart seemed to burst with happiness. And he would glance at her too, she knew, when she turned her head away.
Sunlight spilled into the vast hall they had entered. Only a few courtiers were passing through, and ahead, beyond the massive columns supporting the high, vaulted ceiling, Isabel saw a small garden filled with flowers and trees.
And she also saw a man of medium build standing with his shoulder against one column, staring somewhat morosely outside.
Rob's strides slowed as they approached. “Don Alvarado,” he said firmly. “Good day to you, my lord.”
The man, a Spaniard, turned. Isabel had never seen so much finery or such jewels, and he made the rest of the courtiers seem shabby in
comparison to his splendor. He bowed. “Admiral de Warenne, good day.” His accent was heavy—and difficult to understand. His glance fell upon Isabel.
“May I be of service, my lord?” Rob asked with deference. Then, in French,
“Je voudrais vous aider, s'il vous plait.”
“Je suis bien, merci.”
Don Alvarado was glancing at Isabel again.
“Oh, forgive me, I have failed in my manners,” Rob said.
“Pardonnez moi.”
Rob turned to Isabel. “Alvarado de la Barca,
el conde de
Pedraza, an envoy from Prince Philip, king of Spain, heir to the emperor, betrothed and beloved of our queen.”
Isabel curtsied, not really liking the count's stare and wishing for nothing more than to be alone with Rob. “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord,” she said in French, after Rob introduced her.
They exchanged a few words, the count never smiling, his gaze far too intense, until Rob made their excuses and hurried them away.

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