Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (27 page)

“
I don’t intend to leave just
yet.” He crossed the room and stood firmly in front of her
chair.

“
If you don’t go, I shall call a
servant!” She jumped up and would have reached for the bell had not
Alexander prevented her.

“
Isobel, we must talk.”

“
I have nothing to say to you! And
after all this time, I find it hard to believe you have anything to
say to me.” She looked away from him, mortified at how close she
was to throwing herself into his arms.

“
Isobel.” He said her name very
quietly, bending over her. She wanted to resist, but she was
powerless to deny the longing his nearness was creating in her. She
was never sure afterward who it was who closed the space between
them. All she remembered was her arms around him and his lips
covering hers in a kiss that made her cling to him all the tighter
for its tenderness. For one wonderful moment, he was kissing her
back. Then, suddenly, he pulled away.

“
Isobel,” he whispered, taking her
hands between his. “This is not why I came.” As much as he wanted
her, it was unthinkable.

“
Then, why? Why are you here?” Her
eyes were shut tight against her tears, but she felt the tension in
his hands, around hers.

“
I want my life to be free of
entanglements. I am far too set in my ways to change
now.”

“
And I am only an entanglement?”
She pulled away from him.

“
You would be if I let you.” He
reached out to touch her cheek. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you,” he
whispered.

Alexander was back at Hartforde House before he
realized that he had not asked the one question he had set out to
ask her. He sat down at his desk, waving off his secretary, who was
approaching with a handful of letters. He was most certainly not
jealous! The sole reason for his disquietude was that he was tired
of London. “Bloody hell!” he said to no one in particular.

I

Julia came into the drawing room, where Isobel was
sitting on an overstuffed sofa with a book lying abandoned in her
lap. She walked over to her and, with a rustle of her skirts, sat
down. “Dearest Isobel.” She took her friend’s hand and held it in
her lap, her palm resting on top in a protective manner. “You’ve
got to stop moping around like this!”

“
Good morning, Julia.” She smiled
thinly. “How are you?”

“
As fine as can be!” She grinned.
“And you?”

“
I’ve a terrible headache today,”
she said in excuse for her gloom.

“
If I didn’t know better, I’d say
you were lovesick,” Julia teased, thinking it would be a relief
when she and Alexander were married, and shaking her head when
Isobel faded to give even the faintest of smiles. “But you’re much
too levelheaded for anything so frivolous as love!”

“
I am not in love with your
brother!”

“
What a shame. You two would be
such a splendid match.” Julia had always done as much as she could
to encourage Isobel and her brother, though it was ever a tricky
matter because he had so often accused her of trying to foist her
friends off on him (she had never done any such thing) that now he
was doubly shy where her efforts for Isobel were
concerned.

“
Julia, what are you plotting?”
Isobel didn’t like the speculative way her friend was chewing on
her hp.

“
I came by to tell you that I am
going to Sussex for a few days. I am in need of a respite from
London. I was going to ask if you would come with me, but I can see
you are not up to the trip.”

“
I think not, Julia.” She sighed
and picked at her skirt with nervous fingers. “How long will you be
gone?”

“
Oh, a few days.” She stood up.
“Shall I give any message to Hartforde?” Her concern was rewarded
with a sour look.

“
He’s at Ashdown Grey?” She hated
herself for the feeling of relief that flooded over her; it was
business at Ashdown Grey that explained why she had not seen
Alexander in so long. Or had he gone to Sussex to avoid her? For a
moment, she considered going with Julia, but she steeled herself
against such weakness. She refused to humiliate herself for any man
who thought of her as an entanglement.

Julia hid a smile at this evidence of Isobel’s
lovelorn condition by concentrating on adjusting a bow on her
sleeve. When she glanced at her friend again, her face was
impassive. “Well, I really must be going. The carriage is waiting
for me.” She hugged Isobel. “What you really need to do is sit out
in the air. Promise me you will?”

“
Perhaps you’re right.” She sighed
when Julia kissed her cheek.

II

“
I know why you’re in such a foul
mood, Hartforde. “ Julia shook her spoon at him during dinner on
the second night after her impromptu arrival at Ashdown
Grey.

“
And why is that?” The smile he
gave his sister did not reach his eyes.

“
Because you’ve been cooped up
here too long, that’s why.” She took a small bite of her veal. “You
should be in London. Lord Dunsmire is giving a masque next week,
and Lady Dunsmire tells me they have hired a circus all the way
from India!”

“
I can do without your concern,
thank you,” he glowered.

“
Well, there are certain people in
London who miss you.” She fixed him with a meaningful
stare.

“
If you mean Miss St. James, I do
not appreciate your misguided attempts at matchmaking,” he said
sharply, giving her another scowl. He was annoyed to see her look
of surprise.

“
Isobel?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Why should you think I meant Isobel? I was speaking of Mrs.
Vincent. I saw her at Mrs. Hughton’s at-home, and she spoke about
you at great length. I should add also that Lady Donbarton is busy
telling anyone who will listen that your absence from London has to
do with some dark conspiracy or other.” She paused and took a sip
of wine. “Though, now that you mention Isobel, we are all expecting
the announcement of her engagement to Lord Strathemoore. He is so
obviously in love that we shall all be quite relieved when he has
finally spoken to Lord Chessingham. I’m afraid he shall be simply
unbearable until her father consents to the marriage. I never
thought the man would fall in love quite so hard, but he has.”
Julia was pleased to see her news had its intended effect, though
Alexander quickly masked the start it had given him. She changed
the subject. “You know, I thought I was tired of London, but I find
I am already refreshed. Perhaps I shall return
tomorrow.”

Isobel sat very still, letting the reality of how
irrevocably her life was changed sink in. When Bridget had first
delicately mentioned the possibility that she was with child, she
had told herself it was impossible. It couldn’t happen to her when
there was so much going on, so many important things she had to do.
Now she gently closed the medical book that had confirmed her
disaster. She wanted to shout that it was unfair, she had plans for
her life, it couldn’t be true.

She could still see the way Faircourt had strutted
around the room when he told her his news. It was not long after
the subscription concert and he had been full of their success. “I
think,” he had said proudly, “I may say in all candor that you have
arrived.”

“
What is it?” She had been smiling
at him.

“
Here.” He handed her a
letter.

“
From the duke of Mallentrye?” Of
course she had instantly recognized the seal pressed into the
blood-red wax. It broke with a satisfying crack and she had eagerly
read the letter; the heavy paper had felt so solid in her hands.
The duke was giving a reception for the King and he wanted to
commission a lengthy piece from Mr. Ian Boxham. “Congratulations,
my girl!”

“
I’ve got to get to work! I’ve got
only a month!” That day she had thought herself on top of the
world.

She moved the book aside and, picking up pen and
paper, began to write:

My Lord Hartforde,
You must believe me when I say I would not write to you unless it
was necessary. However, I have the misfortune of informing you that
our misalliance has had a disastrous consequence. It is likely—nay,
my lord, ‘tis certain—I carry your child.
I am—
Isobel

She blotted the letter and, after directing it, went
to find someone to deliver it to Ashdown Grey. Whether Alexander
wanted entanglements or not, he had them now. But, for the first
time in her life she had no control over what was going to happen
to her, and she hated it with all her heart.

I

Alexander was in his study, feet up on the desk,
feeling very nicely, thank you, when the butler knocked and timidly
opened the door. “What is it, Brosham?” he snapped.

“
A letter has arrived, your
lordship.”

“
From whom?” He motioned to him to
hand over the letter.

“
From Miss St. James, I believe,
milord.”

Alexander waved the letter under his nose. She
hadn’t even bothered to perfume her first love letter. “Miss St.
James?” He humphed. “I’ll show you what I think of her!” With that,
he turned and tossed the letter into the fireplace behind him,
watching as it slowly blackened and finally caught fire. “She means
nothing to me!” He splashed more liquor into his glass and
swallowed it in a gulp. “You may go now,” he said, not taking his
eyes off the portrait of his late wife.

The day after Isobel’s letter arrived, Alexander
told the butler to close up the house and gruffly informed his
valet they were leaving the next day for Hartfordeshire.

II

“
Heavens!” Peters said quietly
when he came in the next morning to help Lord Hartforde dress. He
stepped to the window and pulled open the curtains, letting the
early morning light fall on the chair where his lordship was still
sprawled. His clothes were rumpled, his hair untied and falling
down to his shoulders. Peters shook his head when he bent to pick
his coat up from the door, where it had been tossed. His lordship
smelled more than a little of brandy. He folded the garment over
his arm and rang the bell, giving quiet instructions to the servant
who appeared a few moments later. “Good morning, my lord,” Peters
said when he heard a groan from the chair.

“
Good God!” Alexander sat up and
covered his face with his hands. “What time is it,
Peters?”

“
Half past six, sir.”

There was another groan from the chair. “I need a
bath, Peters.”

“
I’ve taken the liberty, my
lord.”

At half past nine, just over two hours into the
drive to Hartfordeshire, they stopped to rest the horses. Alexander
paused as he was stepping up into the carriage. “To London,” he
said.

“
My lord?” the driver
repeated.

“
You heard me. To
London.”

Strathemoore’s eyes widened in appreciation as
Isobel came down the stairs. She was wearing a dress of
ivory-colored satin with a neckline that scooped daringly low. Two
rows of delicate ivory-colored lace trimmed the cuffs at the
elbows, narrowing to a point at the edges. Her only jewelry was a
double strand of pearls at her throat. Her hair was pulled back in
an austere style, serving only to enhance the simple elegance of
her gown. She blushed as he bowed, brushing his hat just inches off
the floor.

“
Good evening, my lord.” Isobel
held out her hand, pleased with the impression she seemed to have
made on him. His lips brushed her fingers, and, when he did not
immediately release her, she pulled her hand from his
grasp.

“
You are a vision tonight!” he
exclaimed, his eyes lingering on her. His fingers lightly brushed
the top of her shoulder as he helped her on with her wrap. “I shall
be the envy of every man alive.”

“
Really!” She laughed, tapping his
chest with her fan.

“
You look ravishing.” He bent his
head and quickly brushed her shoulder with his lips as he moved to
her side, watching anxiously for her reaction to the liberty he had
taken.

“
You are a rascal,” she
said.

When they arrived at the opera house, Strathemoore
saw with pride that Isobel had the attention of every man in the
place. He was sure each wished he was escorting the lovely (and
someday to be rich!) Miss St. James. He knew they made an
attractive pair, and he was elated that she had encouraged his
attentions. Feeling inordinately happy, he took her arm and led her
toward his box, taking care to go the long way around.

“
May I get you anything?” He
hovered over her as she sat down.

“
No, thank you,” she said, looking
around distractedly until she realized Strathemoore had said
something to her. She was beginning to regret that she had agreed
to come; his familiarity was making her uncomfortable. “I’m sorry.
What did you say?” Why couldn’t she keep herself from thinking
about Alexander, blast him?

“
I was saying I heard Mr. Boxham
play at Lord Sheffield’s the other day. He was quite spectacular.
I’ve heard he is something of a musical genius,” Strathemoore
repeated his comment. “One of England’s few.”