The Wrong Woman (11 page)

This turned out to be a very good thing because it meant that he was the first to see the hitch in her step as Isobel reached the bottom of the staircase. He was the first to see the look of confusion and then panic that crossed her face. He was the first to see her pitch forward and reach out her hands to catch her fall. He was the first, but he was not the last.

Chapter 12

They are all laughing at me. Again.
It was all Isobel could think as she sat on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. Just like that first night so many years ago, it was only her pride that was bruised.

But why does this have to be?
She wanted to shout the question at the world. What had she done that this should happen to her? Again? Was it not enough that she had endured ten years of ridicule for that first fall. Now she had done it all over. Just as people might have forgotten about it. Just as she had thought to make a new start with launching Cat into society, the nightmare had come back.

She had been feeling too good tonight, too comfortable with herself. For once in the past ten years she had not been thinking about her reputation, but her reputation had not forgotten about her. Isobel wanted to cry.

“Izzy!” Cat knelt by her side.

“You'll soil your dress, Cat, get up.”

“Nonsense. Are you all right?” At least one person here would not laugh at her for this.

“My dear,” Aunt Hetty was not far behind Cat, “are you all right? Have you broken anything?” Two people. Two people in this whole ballroom cared for her and would not laugh.

“I am all right, aunt.”

“Miss Masters.” The deep voice came from just above her. She knew it to be Lord Revere, but she could not look at him. He would remember all those years ago. He must want to laugh at her, too. Angry tears fell from her eyes.

“Miss Masters, can you rise?” His steady hand appeared in front of her. Of course, it was only the gentlemanly thing to do. It was only what he would have done for any acquaintance.

“Thank you.” She could not refuse his help, even if she wanted to shout at him, too. Her wounded pride made her want to lash out. But she could not. It had been no one's fault but her own that this had happened again.

Isobel took Lord Revere's hand as Cat held her other arm. They helped to pull her up. Regardless of the crowd now surrounding them, Cat squeezed her sister into a hug.

“Izzy, you are not hurt?” Cat looked into her sister's eyes. Isobel was grateful for the sympathy and love she found there.

“No, Cat. I promise you that I am well.” Isobel tried to smile even as the tears continued to spill from her eyes. “I only need a moment to compose myself. Perhaps somewhere alone...”

“Of course,” Lord Revere spoke and she realized that he held her by the elbow. Indeed, he was now her main support.

“This way.” He headed away from the crowd.

As they walked away, Lord Revere leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Concentrate on me. Forget everyone else.” Isobel looked up at him. He was smiling at her. His eyes were strangely intent on hers. As they began to walk, she took his advice and concentrated only on the comforting pressure of his arm on hers. It helped her gather her dignity enough to walk through the crowd without crying or yelling. She still felt all eyes watching her and mocking her as she left the room.

Lord Revere led them to a small parlor a few doors away from the grand ballroom. He took her to one of the comfortable-looking chairs in front of the fire.

When he had gently helped her sit, Lord Revere offered to get her a drink. Isobel refused. Cat and Aunt Hetty were buzzing around her, also trying to make her comfortable. Isobel wished they would all just go away and leave her to her temporary misery. She knew that she only needed to wallow in it for a little while and then she would talk herself out of it. But she needed some time to feel miserable. She would not get that when they were around.

“Thank you, everyone, for your attention,” Isobel said firmly. She knew they only meant well. “I am quite well. I only need a moment to myself.” Isobel looked toward her sister and Aunt Hetty. “You both would do me the best good by promising to join the party and enjoy yourselves fully. I may join you in a little while.” Cat's brow creased with worry. “I promise you that I am all right, Cat.” Isobel mustered her best smile.

Then she turned to Lord Revere. “Thank you, sir, for your assistance. But I beg of you to escort my sister and aunt back to the party.”

Isobel was discomforted by the intense way he studied her. Finally, he nodded his head and started for the door, gathering her aunt and sister along the way.

Now I am alone.

Isobel's head dropped to her chest as she sighed. The tears came again, but this time she did not fight them. She began to cry out all the frustration of her disappointment and bruised pride.

* * * * *

Lord Revere had obeyed Izzy and brought them back out to the ballroom though Cat had noticed his reluctance. He'd politely escorted Aunt Hetty to a chair and then asked Cat to dance. She had accepted, of course, but her mind was not on the steps or the man. Cat thought, instead, of her sister sitting there in that dark room all alone. Probably crying. She wanted to run back and throw her arms around Izzy. But then she would only put on a brave face for her sister rather than getting on with being angry and upset.

Izzy's misery had been plain on her face. And Cat was miserable because there was absolutely nothing at all she could do about it. It pained her to see her sister in such distress, especially after such a triumphant entrance. Cat had never seen her sister look so confident and happy and beautiful. She knew that Isobel did not believe herself pretty, but Cat could see how the flattering dress and the fancy hairstyle had made her feel. She had begun to believe a tiny bit. She had been radiant as they entered the ballroom. But no one had been looking. Except for Lord Revere.

Cat looked now at her partner. Lord Revere was very competently performing the steps of the dance, but he made no conversation and kept glancing off in the direction of the room where they had left Izzy. Whenever he did, his brow furrowed in a look of concern.

A good sign
, Cat smiled to herself.
I hope he's thinking about Izzy
.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Lord Revere spoke. “I hope that your sister is all right.”

“I am sure she is.”

He nodded, still distracted. “Maybe we should go and check on her, just to be sure.”

The dance came to an end and Cat curtsied to him. “Would
you
do that, please, Lord Revere? It would be awfully kind of you.” Cat flashed her most brilliant smile.

He bowed. “Of course, Miss Catherine.”

“Wonderful.”

Cat did not wish her sister harm, of course, but this was working out even more perfectly than she and Aunt Hetty could have planned. Lord Revere and Izzy were going to be alone together.

As he strode off, Cat returned to where Aunt Hetty was seated.

“Finished dancing already, my dear?”

“My partner was otherwise occupied…” She grinned.

“You mean?” Aunt Hetty followed Cat’s gaze. Lord Revere disappeared around a corner. “To your sister?” She raised her eyebrows with the question.

“Mmmhmm. His own suggestion, too.”

“Even better!” Aunt Hetty’s eyes flashed with delight. “Perhaps he will finally decide to kiss her.”

“Aunt!”

“Jealous, my dear? I thought we had discussed your feelings for Lord Revere.”

“I am a little jealous driven particularly evil. I have never been kissed before. But I am also happy for Izzy. But what makes you think he will kiss her?”

“Oh, my dear. You are perhaps to young to recognize it, but the look that was on Lord Revere’s face when he saw Isobel told me that he very much desires to be more than a friend to her.”

“A look?”

“He could not keep his eyes from her, which is saying something with you right by her side. I do hope that your sister has the good sense to realize how she feels and let him kiss her. I fear she may refuse and all will be lost. I suppose we shall see. In the meantime, there appears to be a very handsome young man walking this way. I do believe he is going to ask you to dance.”

Chapter 13

Miles felt a twinge of guilt as he left the dance floor. Perhaps he should stay and dance with Miss Catherine. She was the woman he intended to marry, after all. She was a very good dancer, too. He should go back. It was what the Baron of Revere should do.

But Isobel Masters would not leave his mind. Even while he was dancing, he remembered how she had looked at the top of the stairs. Each time he remembered the scene, he understood himself a little bit more. And each time his heart reached further toward her.

As Miles rounded the corner, he nearly ran into a petite form heading the other way.

“Mrs. Tremain,” he bowed and attempted to move on. He did not wish to see her now.

“Lord Revere! How fortunate that we should meet here... I was only this moment thinking of you.” She moved a step closer to him.

“You must excuse me, Mrs. Tremain,” Miles tried to be polite to his friend's wife. “I was on my way somewhere.” He bowed his head again and tried to move around her. But she stepped into his path and held her hand up against his chest to stop him.

“We are alone here, Revere. Would you not like to take advantage of the situation?” Her knowing smile disgusted Miles.

“No, thank you.” Once again he tried to move away from her without success.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“A friend needs me.” He did not want to offer any more.

“A friend! Do you by chance refer to that fat and clumsy pig you picked up off the floor earlier? How
kind
of you to do your duty. I am sure you made an impression on her sister. She
is
the one you hope to marry, is she not?”

Miles seethed.

“Isobel Masters is a better woman than you will ever be,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“You defend the silly thing?”

“Yes. And I will defend her against all that you can say. She is a good woman.”

“Look who is acting righteous! My dear Revere, I am saying nothing that you have not said yourself.”

The words stung. She spoke the truth. “I know and I was wrong.”

“A man repentant of his words and actions. I have rarely seen your kind, sir.” She twined her hands around his neck and pressed her body to his. “I think I like you even more for this show of gallantry.”

Miles grabbed her hands and removed them from his neck. He pushed her away. “Mrs. Tremain. Before this we have always been in public spots, so I have not freely spoken my mind to you. But since you have cornered me in private, I will say this to you finally: I do not want you. I never will. Even if you were not my friend's wife, I would avoid you. I would
never
seek you out. I have seen what a good woman looks like and you are not her. Never approach me again about this.”

He moved away before she could say anything more. His heart pounded with anger at what she'd said and all his bile rose at her proposition. Even two weeks ago he might have been that kind of man, but now... Now he wanted to be better. Not only for himself, but for her.

Her
.

Miss Catherine, he must mean, of course. He was courting Miss Catherine. And he wanted to be a good man again for her. Would she think him a good man?

With this question in his mind, Miles entered the room quietly enough that she did not seem to hear him. Isobel was sitting in the chair where he had last seen her, staring into the fire. The room was warm and the soft light made her skin and red dress glow, just as he remembered from the staircase. His pulse quickened at the memory.

“Isobel?” Her proper name rolled naturally off of his tongue. He said it quietly, but it was enough to startle her. Miles saw her put her hands to her face, as if to wipe away something.

“Yes?” She barked the word at him but did not look up.

“Isobel? I...” He paused and shook his head, unsure what to say. This was outside of the realm of anything he'd ever thought to encounter in his life. Miles took a deep breath. “I... I came to check if you were all right.” It came out as a statement. She kept her face turned away.

“Isobel?” She must look at him. Miles strode to the chair and knelt before her. But she buried her face in the wing of the chair.

“What is the matter?”
Please trust me. Please.
It was painful for him to know that something was wrong and to be powerless to help.

“Nothing, Lord Revere, please go away.”

“Tell me,” his voice was firm. “Please.” She flinched at the command but did not look. “Please,” he whispered. The pleading in his voice drew her gaze to him. A tear rolled down her cheek and, without thinking, he reached up to brush it away. He knew immediately it was a mistake. Not because of her reaction, but because he wanted to touch her again.

Isobel took a deep breath. By the firelight, her blue eyes were dark and sparkling with tears. An unfamiliar feeling grabbed at his heart.

She searched his face.

“What is the matter?” Miles whispered the words, unable to make a louder noise for fear of betraying himself. Tears still dripped down her face.

“They laughed at me. Again.”

Again
. The sad word repeated in his head.
Again
. There it was to condemn him.
Again
. All those years ago he had been the one to laugh. And now he saw what it had done to this woman before him, what he had done by his laughter. He had never known, had never guessed that so little laughter could produce so much pain. It stabbed into his guts.

“No one was laughing, Isobel. No one was laughing this time.” But could he promise her that they were not laughing at her?
Again
. Society was cruel and could not stand faults, especially in a woman. He had been there to watch her eaten alive ten years ago. And now the whole nightmare was playing out again.