A Season for the Heart (12 page)

“But I fear I do not—comprehend,” stammered Pommy. “You have scarcely met His Lordship—I had no idea he had—had offered for you—”

Isabelle sighed. “I doubt if the Earl would recognize me if he met me in his porridge,” she said glumly.

Pommy, stifling the desire to smile, was privately of the opinion that any male fortunate enough to get a glimpse of Miss Boggs’s perfection would find it impossible to forget her, no matter where he subsequently met her, but she did not wish to start an argument at this crucial moment in Isabelle’s explanation. Instead she patted the other girl’s hand gently and asked, “Then if the Earl has not offered—?”

“It is Papa,” Isabelle stated. “He is at matchmaking again! First it was Mr. Alan Corcran, but since Papa has met the Earl, nothing less will satisfy him! It is too dreadful!”

Pommy snatched at the remnants of her poise. “But surely it must be the Earl’s prerogative to make an offer, must it not? Your father cannot—”

“My papa is capable of anything,” Isabelle assured her. “He has taken it into his head that Lord Austell has—has compromised me—eloped with me from my Great-aunt Sophronia’s home—spent several nights with me on the road—oh, I cannot tell you all the dreadful nonsense he has talked!” Tears swelled upon her lower eyelids, threatening to fall.

“Do not cry, Isabelle,” commanded Pommy. “We must keep our wits about us, do you not see that?”

“Yes, Pommy,” agreed Isabelle with deep admiration. “I knew if I could just get to you with my problem, it would be solved in a twinkling!”

“Well, perhaps not quite in a twinkling.” Pommy demurred. “But surely in a few days at most, if you will be good enough to give me all the details of your papa’s scheme.”

“I think I shall be able to do so,” answered Isabelle, frowning fiercely in her effort to remember the details Pommy had requested. “First, he talked a great deal about how obliged we must be at His Lordship’s condescension in rescuing me. That was the first day. Then he questioned me as to everything which had happened from the moment I left Great-aunt Sophronia’s doorway. Then he quizzed me about you, Pommy, and what relationship you bore the Earl. I said,” the beautiful eyes pleaded for understanding of this invasion of her friend’s privacy, “that His Lordship had told me you were his niece.” Upon Pommy’s nod of encouragement, she continued. “The next day Papa called me into his study and told me he had made inquiries, and that the Earl of Austell had no nieces, only a nephew, Mr. Gareth Masterson, and two distant cousins, both at their last prayers.”

“I am Lady Masterson’s companion,” Pommy managed to say quietly. What sort of vicious scandal-broth was the vintner stirring up?

“Well, I told him what his Lordship had said, but Papa only laughed and rubbed his hands in the way he has when he has made a good bargain. It was then he told me he was going to seek an interview with the Earl, and present to him the necessity of a marriage to save his own good name and mine. So I came to you. For I
do not
wish to marry the Earl!”

“What is this?” demanded a new, very masculine voice from the doorway. Gareth strode into the room and confronted the two girls upon the love seat.

Isabelle raised her lovely pale blue eyes and took in the male magnificence standing before her. “Oh!” breathed the vintner’s heiress, and blushed enchantingly.

At the same moment, Gareth was caught in a stare at the exquisite beauty before him. His anger drained away visibly, to be replaced by a look of wonder and awe.

“Who,” demanded Gareth without removing his gaze from Isabelle’s face, “is
this
?”

“It is Miss Isabelle Boggs,” said Pommy, a little annoyed at an interruption at this moment, “and her father intends to blackmail the Earl into marrying her.”

“Never,” said Gareth simply. “I would rather marry her myself.”

“That is all very well,” snapped Pommy crossly, the task of dealing with
two
beautiful nitwits presenting itself as more than she could endure, “but Mr. Boggs does not wish a mere heir when he can get an Earl.”

“Would you say ‘mere’?” objected Gareth. “I have a fine estate and enough money to take care of a wife—as Mama has been so frequently reminding me of late.”

“I do not wish to be married to the Earl,” Isabelle repeated, “but it is of little use to object, for Papa has often told me that he never takes ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Perhaps your papa has a surprise in store,” said Pommy grimly. A dozen schemes were flashing through her head; if she could only secure a few minutes’ peace, she would be able to decide which one offered the best chance of succeeding. She looked at the two handsome creatures before her. It seemed they had scarcely moved in the last few minutes.

“Gareth,” Pommy said clearly, “why do you not ring for tea to be brought in ten minutes? I shall take Isabelle to my room, where she can wash the tears from her face. Then I shall bring her back here to you, and we three can surely find a way out of this bumble-bath.”

Although it was evident that Gareth was reluctant to let the Beauty slip from his sight even long enough to wash her perfect face, he grudgingly agreed and went to summon Mikkle and relay the order for tea. Pommy escaped thankfully with Miss Boggs, whom she set to tidying up her already flawless person while her mentor sat on the bed and ran hastily through the plans which had presented themselves to her agile imagination. She had almost settled upon one, which involved flight by night to the continent, where Isabelle would be wooed and won by a Prussian nobleman of distinguished lineage, thus satisfying Mr. Boggs and freeing the Earl from the threat of blackmail, when Isabelle said idly, “My papa is going to wait upon the Earl tomorrow, during the Musical Soirée. He is sure that with all his guests present, Lord Austell will not wish to cause a scandal.”

Pommy had an impulse to scream at her. Instead she said coldly. “Why did you not tell me we had so little time to maneuver? I had thought of a scheme which would have suited us very well, but this does not give me time to put it into action.”

“I could go back to Bath and stay with Aunt Tabitha,” proposed Isabelle humbly.

“No, for I think now that your papa will proceed with his blackmail whether you are in London or Land’s End,” said Pommy honestly. “I must tell the Earl what threatens him. It would not be fair to let him rush blindly upon his fate. You see that, do you not?”

Betraying her father’s plans to the proposed victim did not bother Isabelle. She nodded happily enough and said, shyly, “That young gentleman downstairs—is he your brother?”

Pommy, in the throes of a new invention, contented herself with a brief, “No.”

“Cousin?”

“No.”

“Is he—your fiancé?”

“He is the Earl’s nephew and heir. His name is Gareth Masterson. His style, the Honorable,” explained Pommy, accepting the fact that her self-invited guest would not leave her in peace to plot a way out of their difficulties, a way of saving the Earl, until her curiosity had been satisfied. There was only one thing to do: inform Lord Austell of the danger as soon as possible, and let him save himself. It seemed poor spirited, but Pommy was sensible enough to know when she was out of her depth.

She led Isabelle down to the drawing room where Gareth waited, standing guard over the tea tray. His gaze went at once to Isabelle. She smiled shyly at him. He took her hand and led her to the love seat, where he sat down beside her. The fact that his six-foot frame rather crowded the available accommodation did not appear to disturb either of the pair.

They gazed at one another.

Sighing, Pommy poured hem each a cup of tea and left them. It was more important to send a note to the Earl than to play gooseberry for a couple so besotted that they had quite forgotten she was there.

Nine

When Lady Masterson came down to dinner she was startled yet pleased to see her son in close converse with a modishly attired and most beautiful young girl. Pommy had made sure that she herself was already dressed for dinner in her emerald silk, and was chaperoning the pair, so that Her Ladyship might not be disturbed by any flouting of
les convenances
. Gareth sprang up as his mother entered; Pommy was glad to observe that he neither flustered nor bullocked, but presented Miss Isabelle Boggs to Lady Masterson with cheerful grace, informing her that he had taken the liberty of inviting Pommy’s guest to dinner.

Her Ladyship graciously seconded the invitation, but Miss Boggs, suddenly made aware that her visit had lasted quite two hours, said very prettily that she must depart on once. In spite of warm entreaties to change her mind, Isabelle remained quietly adamant. She took her leave with all the correct civilities, and Pommy was inclined to credit Mr. Boggs with having secured the services of an excellent governess for his ewe lamb.

While Gareth was seeing the guest out to her waiting carriage, Lady Masterson fixed Pommy with an inquiring eye. “What a
very
beautiful young woman,” she began.

Pommy smiled. “She is the pretty widgeon I told you of, who fell in front of our carriage.” She was sure Her Ladyship had immediately recognized the girl from Pommy’s description. There could surely not, even in London at the height of the Season, be two girls as ravishingly lovely as Isabelle! “A Nonesuch, is she not?”

“Quite the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” agreed Gareth’s mother with commendable modesty, “and pretty behaved, as well.”

There could be little doubt that Lady Masterson had also recalled the information that Mr. Boggs was as rich as Croesus, but such considerations would weigh lightly with one of Her Ladyship’s wealth and lineage. What might interest her, thought Pommy, noting the speculative gleam in the beautiful silver eyes, was that this flawless-looking heiress was obviously as biddable as she was beautiful, and might serve to anchor Gareth in London. Lady Masterson smiled gently and prepared to go in to dinner with great contentment.

To her satisfaction, Gareth announced that he had thought of an excellent scheme, if his mama approved? Being urged to reveal the nature of this scheme, he said he had had the notion of procuring tickets for the theater for his mother, Pommy, and of course, their new friend Miss Isabelle . . . perhaps a quiet little dinner beforehand, at a place Uncle Derek had spoken of . . . if his mama thought it would not bore everyone to tears—? He looked at Lady Masterson with his heart in his beautiful eyes.

No lady, least of all his mother, could resist such an appeal. Her Ladyship said she thought it a capital plan, and she was sure they would all enjoy it very much indeed. Since it was the first time her son ever volunteered to go on the Town, even in so circumspect a fashion, Lady Masterson positively beamed upon him. And upon Pommy, for she correctly attributed his new interest in social activities to the introduction into her household of the Earl’s protégée.

Pommy said all that was proper to encourage the scheme, and no one would have known, from watching her smiling little face, that the devious brain behind it was hard at work planning not only how to apprise the Earl of his danger, but also how to assist him actively in combating it.

In the event, it was almost noon the next day before she was able to get away to deliver her warning. First, the new dressed arrived for Her Ladyship and Her Ladyship’s companion from Mlle. Lutetie. These had to be tried on, criticized, admired, and finally hung up in the armoires of the two ladies. Then there was a nuncheon to be got through, for Lady Masterson, bustling and pleased with her new interests, was eager to talk to Pommy about the heartening change in Gareth’s attitude. Pommy could see that her need for him was not obsessive; she did not wish to possess all his time and attention, merely to be assured that he would remain near her.

When Lady Masterson could at length be persuaded to lie down upon her bed for a rest to prepare her for the night’s festivities at the Musical Soirée, Pommy escaped thankfully. She did not feel it proper in her to request the use of one of her hostess’s vehicles, so she merely put on her bonnet, one of the new walking dresses which she could not resist, and smiling gently at the surprised young footman, Chelm, went out the door and into the Square.

She had marked the presence of a stand where a hackney coach might be hired. She had still a few shillings of her savings left, for the Earl had told her pretty sharply not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and then relented enough to inform her that he would send on the bill as soon as Mlle. Lutetie presented it. There was no difficulty in securing a hackney coach, and Pommy found herself before the Earl’s impressive Town house in the twinkling of hooves (as she told herself with a chuckle). She was a little abstracted as she paid and tipped her Jehu, but managed to pull herself together, mount the steps under the handsome portico, and wield the knocker. When she gave him her name, the Earl’s butler received her with such flattering attention that she wondered if His Lordship, on receiving her note, had given his servant a hint of her possible arrival. Within a minute she was ushered into a noble library. From behind a massive desk, Lord Austell rose to greet her with a welcoming smile.

“Pommy! This is a pleasure! May I offer you a cup of tea?”

“Thank you, no, Milord. I have just lunched with Lady Masterson.”

The Earl dismissed the waiting Tupper with a nod, then helped Pommy to a comfortable chair near the window, where the light fell softly over her piquant face.