Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (22 page)

“
I admit I was curious to see how
far you might let matters go.”

“
Is your curiosity satisfied, my
lord?” she snapped. “Tell me, what would you have done if I had not
refused?”

“
I should have concluded that your
character was…base.” He prevented what was obviously going to be a
heated retort by raising his voice. “Surely, Miss St. James, I am
entitled to wonder about the character of a woman who goes about
dressed as a man.” He waved a disdainful hand at her.

“
Why do you give a fig about what
I do?”

“
You Americans are a
frighteningly—”

They were both startled when someone knocked loudly
on the door. “Hartforde! Is Mr. Boxham in there?” Julia’s worried
voice came through the door. “Send him out here this minute!”

“
Mr. Boxham and I are just coming
to the conclusion of a most interesting conversation, Julia. I’ll
send him out in a moment.” He turned back to Isobel. “What possible
reason could you have for wanting to masquerade as a man, Miss St.
James?”

“
It wasn’t my idea. I write
music—no, Lord Hartforde, I am a composer, and John Faircourt
believes I have talent enough that he agreed to work with me. He’s
helped me immensely! It was his idea. He said if I performed
dressed as a man, people would hear only my music, and he was
right.” She returned his intent gaze.

“
I presume Julia knows all about
this.”

“
She gave me the introduction to
Mr. Faircourt. And she completely agreed with the idea that I
change my clothes here. Father would be livid if he found out. He
would never allow me to continue. All he wants is to see that I get
married. Lord Hartforde, you’re not going to tell him, are you?”
She grasped his arm. “You can’t tell him!”

He looked at her for a moment before answering. “It
means a great deal to you, doesn’t it?”

“
It means everything to
me.”

“
You needn’t worry. I don’t intend
to tell anyone about your little masquerade.”

“
Ian Frederick Boxham is
considered to be John Faircourt’s brightest pupil.” She bristled at
his tone.

“
Miss St. James, you are a very
unusual woman, I’ll give you that. But I’m not at all certain I
understand this peculiarity of yours.”

She shook her head and smiled ruefully. “How odd. I
thought if anyone would understand, it would be you.”

“
I think you had better go before
Julia decides you are in need of rescue.” He laughed at Isobel’s
wry expression. “Perhaps, my sweet little Euterpe,” he said as she
walked toward the door, “you might write a symphony in my
honor.”

She turned to face him before leaving. “I would if I
thought you cared,” she said.

“
And what if I did?” he whispered
as she shut the door after her.

II

“
Isobel!” Julia ran to Isobel when
she opened the door to Julia’s room. “What happened? He didn’t find
out, did he?”

“
No, he did not.” The denial was
automatic. “His valet is ill and he needed someone to polish his
boots,” she said sharply. “Mrs. Peaslea saw me and decided I’d do.”
She quickly began changing her clothes. “What time is it?” she
asked. “Father must be wondering where I am.”

“
Nearly nine.” At her frantic
look, Julia continued. “Don’t worry. I sent word that you were
having supper here.”

“
Why, Miss St. James! What a
pleasant surprise! I had no idea you would be supping with us
tonight.” Alexander smiled his most charming smile.

“’
Twas a surprise to myself as
well,” she said, feeling a little suspicious of his good
humor.

The meal was surprisingly gay. Alexander was at his
most entertaining, and Isobel laughed in spite of herself. The
conversation turned briefly serious when Julia mentioned the
current talk of London: a pamphlet viciously attacking the King for
his attempts to weaken the Prime Minister. “I’ve heard,” Julia
said, “that His Majesty intends to discover the author and exile
him.”

“
George lives in fear of another
John Wilkes,” Alexander said, dismissing the subject. “But enough
of that. After such an excellent meal, I find I am in the mood for
music.” He turned to Isobel. “Tell me, Miss St. James, do you not
play the fortepiano? Would you favor us?”

“
If you have your heart set on
music, I cannot disappoint you, my lord.”

“
Excellent!” Alexander rose and
escorted them to the music room, where he led Isobel to the
fortepiano.

She sat down. “Have you something you’d like to
hear?” She played a scale. “Mozart? Handel? Boccherini? I also know
all the latest tunes.”

“
Play anything you like.” He sat
down and watched as she began to lose herself in the haunting
strains of a piece he did not recognize. He had to admit she was
possessed of no little skill. He closed his eyes, letting the music
wash over him, its sensuous melody winding around him, touching his
very heart as the last trembling chords echoed in the room. He
opened his eyes to see her looking directly at him and for a moment
he had the uncanny feeling he was seeing into her soul, before she
looked down and began to play a popular tune that, until now, he
had always liked. He said nothing when she finished playing, and at
last Isobel colored and turned to Julia.

“
It really is quite late.” Her
words were clipped. “Julia, would you be so kind as to lend me a
servant to see me home?”

Alexander stood as he spoke. “I am going out this
evening and should be more than happy to see you home first.”

“
That isn’t necessary,” Isobel
said quickly.

“
Nonsense. ’Tis no trouble at
all.”

“
I recognize that tone,” Julia
said, looking from one to the other. “It means he won’t take no for
an answer. I’m afraid Hartforde is even more stubborn than you, if
such a thing is possible.” She, too, stood up. “You played
wonderfully, Isobel. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going out
myself a little later.” She nodded at Alexander when she left,
worried about what had ready happened between Isobel and her
brother.

III

“
It seems silly to take a carriage
just to go down the street,” Isobel said as Alexander helped her
in.

“
It is for my convenience, not
yours.” He swung up into the seat across from her after telling the
driver to take them first to Redruth. “I shall be continuing on
after I drop you. I wanted the chance to speak with you privately.
I’m afraid,” he said after a moment of silence, “I owe you an
apology.”

“
I believe you do.” She drew her
cloak tightly around her.

His eyes held hers in the dim light. “I apologize if
earlier I faded to take your musical accomplishment seriously. Even
I can identify genius when I hear it. That first piece was yours,
was it not?”

“
Yes!” Isobel was so surprised at
his praise she forgot to be nervous at being alone with him. “Did
you really like it?” The carriage rolled to a stop.

“
Indeed, I did.” Alexander
signaled the driver to stay where he was. “Perhaps I understand
your peculiarity after all.” He was smiling at her, and she was
powerless to look away, just as she was powerless to stop him when
he unexpectedly moved to her side and bent his head to her mouth.
Once again, she felt that dizzy sensation and she clung to him,
wanting more, yet not knowing what it was she wanted. “Isobel,” he
groaned in her ear. His hands circled her waist as he took her lips
in a soft kiss. His touch was making her head whirl and she heard
his words through a fog of passion. She leaned against him as his
hands stroked her throat. Dreamily she found herself looking up
into green eyes darkened with desire. “What a trusting little
creature you are,” he said softly. “You are fortunate I am a man of
honor, or else—”

“
Or else what?” She
smiled.

He reached across her to open the door to the
carriage. “Or else”—he took a deep breath—“I would not be sending
you home right now.” He stepped down from the carriage to help her
out and lifted her hand to his lips when she was standing beside
him. “Will you permit me to call on you?”

“
Whenever you like, my lord,” she
said breathlessly.

Alexander waved off his footman as he got back
inside. As he sat, looking at nothing in particular, the walls of
the carriage seemed to close in on him. He pulled down the glass
and stared out at the street. Had he really asked permission to
call on her? The words had just come out; it wasn’t as though he
actually meant them. An entanglement with Isobel St. James was the
last thing he wanted.

The night Preston Hawes lost one hundred pounds to
Mr. William Fordham had turned out to be the luckiest night of his
life. It was obvious Fordham was connected with someone of
considerable influence, and Hawes was almost certain he knew who it
was. The more he proved he could keep things to himself, the more
money Fordham paid him for copying. And the more sensitive the
documents got, the more he was going to ask for. Hawes sipped from
his glass, smiling because at last he was able to indulge his taste
for fine port.

He had been accepted at two clubs in London, but
Brook’s, more popularly known as the Savoir Vivre, in particular
was a triumph over his undistinguished background. Nominally a
coffeehouse, it was renowned for the high stakes and drinking that
went on inside its hallowed walls. There was a steady hum of low
voices coming from the men gathered around the gaining tables,
punctuated now and then by moans of despair or words of
encouragement, as was appropriate to the case. Winners there were
never so vulgar as to shout. In its fashionable interior, the port
flowed like water, and though food could be had, few bothered to
leave the tables for it. They merely waited for the servingmen who
scurried around to replace empty bottles with full ones. The
fortunes gambled there each night were astounding. These
aristocrats lost ruinous sums without so much as a blink, and it
required all of Hawes’s poise to seem unconcerned when thousands of
pounds were bet on a single rubber. Of course, he didn’t have
enough money, not yet, anyway, to join the high-stakes games, but
he enjoyed cards as much as the next man.

Lord Hartforde, with whom he sat now at the card
table, was as good a gambler as he had ever met. Hawes had played
with the marquess once before and had counted himself lucky to come
out only a little behind.

“
So, Mr. Hawes, any relation to
the Manchester Haweses?” Hartforde asked conversationally as he
dealt the cards.

“
On my mother’s side, Marquess,”
he lied.

For a time they were silent while they played. Hawes
played badly. He could not help wondering what Lord Hartforde would
do if he were to tell him everything he knew and everything he
suspected. He wondered how much his information would be worth to a
man who stood to lose everything.

I

By the end of March, Isobel was devoting herself
almost exclusively to working with Faircourt on their upcoming
subscription concert at which her first symphony was to be
performed. Up to this point, even her longer compositions had not
been written for a full orchestra, and although Faircourt’s opinion
of the symphony was positive, when she heard the orchestra playing
the work in its entirety, two of the movements sounded so dismal
that she almost despaired of it. Only Faircourt’s continued
encouragement prevented her from giving it up.

Because she and Faircourt were rehearsing with the
orchestra almost daily, Julia had insisted on Isobel staying at
Hartforde House, and Isobel had gratefully agreed. It meant she
would not be faced with having to make difficult excuses to her
father regarding her whereabouts. The earl did not seem to care how
often his daughter went out, or even where she went, so long as it
was fashionable, but he made a point of asking about her outings so
that he might offer his opinions on them.

At Isobel’s suggestion, Julia had taken the
precaution of explaining to Mrs. Godwaite that it would be
necessary for Mr. Boxham to enter the house frequently because he
was providing sample work for some vaguely-alluded-to project of
great importance to her ladyship. If Mrs. Godwaite ever wondered
exactly what the project was, it was not her place to ask
questions.

Lord Chessingham was pleased enough at the
arrangement; he thought Isobel was spending her time with society
and in proximity to Lord Hartforde. In truth, Isobel’s only
reservation about staying at Hartforde House was due to her dread
of seeing its owner.

After the night when the marquess had asked
permission to call on her, Isobel had spent one entire week
overcome with happiness, but as days went by without his appearance
or sending so much as a note, her happiness turned to confusion,
then resentment, and when she finally did happen to see him, the
meeting was marred by a curious tension. His failure to call on her
or explain his neglect went deliberately unacknowledged, and it had
created a wall of reserve between them.

She generally woke up at eight and had a leisurely
breakfast alone by half past. Julia, of course, did not arise until
much later in the day. So far she had not seen Lord Hartforde even
once during her stay, until one morning when he joined her at
breakfast. To her great surprise, they got on quite well, but then
she knew he could be charming when he wanted to be. Her triumph
came the very next day, when he joined her again. She would never
forget the look on his face when their conversation concerning
Virgil was interrupted by the arrival of Lord Strathemoore, who had
come to take her riding in Hyde Park. She jokingly told Lord
Hartforde it was only this interruption that had saved him from
having to admit her point. On her way out, she wished with all her
heart that he would be stricken dead with jealousy. To think she
had begrudged Lord Strathemoore this morning out!