Forbidden in February (6 page)

She stood and he followed suit, but he remained silent when she took the tray. She could feel the weight of his stare as she fled the room.

Her heart heavy, Isabel pulled out her lap desk when she reached her small bedroom and perched on the edge of her bed. When she realized she was moving slower than normal, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. She was just a companion, not a member of the family, and she needed to be practical. Even if Robert changed his mind and remained at the house, he would have no need for a companion.

She pulled out a small sheet of paper, prepared her quill, and began to compose a letter to the agency that had helped her find her current position. She’d been avoiding this task since Mrs. Milton passed away, but it could no longer be put off. Her heart ached as she wrote the words that heralded the end of her stay at the house she’d come to consider her home.

When she was done, she let out a slow breath that did nothing to ease her heartache and set the paper on her bedside table to allow the ink to dry. Normally, she would have composed the letter in the library where Mrs. Milton kept a supply of sand to sprinkle over the letter to aid in that task, but she couldn’t do so while Robert occupied the room. And there was no point in waiting until he’d left for the day. She’d already overstayed her time in that house and needed to come to terms with the fact that she’d soon be interviewing for a new position. With luck, the search wouldn’t take long. It was too much to hope, however, that her next employer would be as good to her as Mrs. Milton had been.

The soft rap at her bedroom door startled her. She set aside her quill and lap desk with quick, efficient movements and moved to the door, wondering all the while what Mrs. Harris needed from her. But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Mrs. Harris who stood in her doorway.

Her heart began to race as she stared at Robert, powerless to stop the thrill of anticipation that surged through her, especially when silence stretched between them for an impossibly long time. But instead of propositioning her again, which she half expected him to do, he cleared his throat and glanced away—no doubt taking in her neatly made bed—before looking back at her and taking a step backward.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. We can speak in the hallway.”

He turned away and she cursed herself for being a fool. What was wrong with her? Would she so quickly throw away her virtue for a brief affair with this man?

“Of course,” she said, closing her bedroom door with a soft click as she joined him the hallway.

“It slipped my mind earlier that I have a letter for you. It had been forwarded to my mother’s solicitor.”

She wanted to ask him why he’d felt the need to deliver the letter personally but stopped herself in time when she remembered he was in service. He’d be used to doing such things himself rather than calling upon a servant to deliver the letter for him.

For a moment, she thought that perhaps the agency had learned of Mrs. Milton’s death and was contacting her about another position they’d already found. But that hope was dashed when she recognized the handwriting on the letter he held out to her. Somehow she managed to push away the dread that was threatening to consume her and thanked him in a normal voice. But she couldn’t keep her hand from shaking as she reached for the correspondence.

He noticed, of course, and tilted his head, concern evident in the way he wrinkled his brow. “Has something happened?”

Silently she cursed her cousin even as she tried to smile at the man before her. “It is a letter from my cousin. He doesn’t normally write, and for a moment I worried that something might have happened. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? I can wait while you read it.”

She shook her head—that was the very last thing she wanted. “That won’t be necessary. But thank you for your concern.”

He didn’t believe her. She could tell by the way his eyes remained on her face for longer than necessary before he finally nodded. “I’ll be in the library for another hour. Then I’ll be off. If you need anything, you’ll find me there.”

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

When he turned to make his way back down the corridor, she spun on her heel and returned to her bedroom. She stood just inside the door, her heart still racing, but now it was from dread. She stared down at Bertram’s letter, her fingers clutching a little too tightly to the edge of the folded paper, and tried to slow her breathing. But the memory of the last letter he’d sent to Mrs. Milton was still fresh in her mind. Having failed in his attempt to have Isabel’s employer dismiss her, she’d hoped he’d given up on trying to control her. The letter, this time addressed to her, was proof that the opposite was true.

Lowering herself to sit on the edge of her bed, she took a deep breath and broke open the seal. Her fingers weren’t quite steady when she unfolded the letter.

Cousin,

I hope this letter finds you well.

First, I want to offer my congratulations on having found an employer who seemed not to care about the backgrounds of her servants.

I’ll admit I was a little put out when I realized Mrs. Milton wouldn’t be releasing you from your position. I’d almost given up hope that you would return to fulfill your duties to the family. But given the nature of your employment—a companion, after all, deals with the elderly and the infirm—I had every confidence that your current position would come to an end. I won’t bother to offer my condolences… neither of us would think them sincere.

I am writing now to give you the opportunity to return on your own terms. The marriage I’d arranged for you still has a very real chance of going through, but understandably you’ll have to make it up to your future husband for forcing him to wait so long.

We both know it is unlikely that you’ll find another household that cares so little about the type of person it employs.

Yours,

Bertram Durham

Isabel crushed the vile note and threw it away from her.

Ever careful, ever the opportunist, her cousin had made sure not to give himself away in writing. They both knew she was innocent of any crime, but that hadn’t stopped him from writing to Mrs. Milton and accusing her of heaven only knew what. Her employer hadn’t shown her the letter, but Isabel gathered that her cousin had accused her of having loose morals. He’d hoped, of course, that her employer would cast Isabel from her home, but that hadn’t happened. For some reason, Mrs. Milton hadn’t asked her if the accusations contained in the letter were true. She’d simply told Isabel that the letter had arrived, but had gone on to assure her that she could remain in her position as long as she was needed.

Isabel knew without a doubt that her cousin would repeat his lies, telling anyone who might hire her that she couldn’t be trusted. Of course, he was too smart to admit to spreading lies in his most recent correspondence.

She wanted to throw something more substantial than the crumpled letter but resisted the impulse. She’d hardly get a letter of recommendation from Robert if she destroyed the furnishings in her room.

She collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, her mind whirling with thoughts of worst-case scenarios for her future. If she should find another position, her cousin was correct in his assessment that it was unlikely she would retain that position once he started spreading lies about her character. No one wanted a wanton or a thief caring for their sick or elderly relations.

But the alternative was too horrible to bear. Of all the men her cousin could have chosen for her to wed, she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d wanted her to marry someone three times her age. She supposed she could have borne it if she liked the man, but she couldn’t think about Mr. Windham without shuddering. She’d heard the rumors of his cruelty to his first wife. When she’d mentioned it to her cousin, however, Bertram had laughed at her concerns. All he’d cared about was aligning himself with a wealthy family.

She’d hoped he would cease to press her when she turned of age, but that hope had proved fruitless. What would it take for him to finally leave her in peace to live her life?

She could try to flee north, but she had no way of knowing how long she could live on fifty pounds. Would it be enough?

If she wed someone else, Bertram would have no choice but to abandon his plan to use her in furthering his own future. But who would she marry? The only person she’d met who she’d even consider marrying was Robert. She couldn’t stop a half-hysterical laugh at the thought. She could just imagine the expression on his face if she proposed marriage to him.

He may not want to marry you, but there is something else he wants from you.

Her amusement died abruptly as soon as the errant thought entered her mind.

If Bertram was going to tell all and sundry that she was a woman of loose morals, she might as well be ruined. Mr. Windham was a lecherous old man, but he was also one who liked to present an outward façade of piety. He would never marry her if he learned he wouldn’t be getting a maiden on his wedding night.

The only way to win this battle was to call Bertram’s bluff.

There’s nothing to stop him from trying to find another suitor, one who won’t care about the state of my maidenhead.

She shook off the thought. It was true, but hopefully by the time he found someone wealthy enough to suit his needs, she’d have saved enough money to travel north and set herself up somewhere he’d never find her.

With renewed determination, she rose from the bed. Bertram had left her with no choice… she had to proposition Robert Milton.

She’d tried to hide it, but Robert had seen her worry when he’d given her the letter from her cousin. Worse, if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d also seen a spark of fear. That didn’t contradict what she’d told him about the reason for her concern, but he couldn’t help thinking there was more to the situation than she wanted him to know. He’d respected her need for privacy, however. Heaven knew he’d received more than his share of correspondence from his mother that he’d also wanted to keep private. Remembering now how dread had settled over him each time he’d received a letter and how he’d ignored those last missives when he’d thought his mother was lying about her illness, he could well understand how something as simple as a letter could have so much power over one’s mood.

Disappointed when Isabel didn’t come to see him, he made his way downstairs, his thoughts turning to the fact that it had started to rain. He didn’t mind the cold and even enjoyed snow, but there was nothing worse than rain on a cold day.

When he didn’t see Walters, he started toward the wardrobe that housed his greatcoat and hat, but halted midstride when Isabel stepped into the hallway from the front room. His heart warmed when he realized she’d been waiting for him.

Looking at her, he was struck once again by just how much this woman tested his control. He wondered if he had a similar effect on her. Given how he’d botched their introduction, it was impossible to tell if the bouts of self-consciousness he’d witnessed came about because she felt a similar attraction to him or because she was worried about another unwelcome advance. It made interacting with her, much as he enjoyed it, more than a little uncomfortable.

At least she wasn’t avoiding him, though he supposed he wouldn’t blame her if she were.

“If you have a moment, Robert, I need to speak to you about something.”

Her use of his first name took him aback, but he very much liked the sound of it on her lips. He couldn’t tell if she was even aware she’d done it.

He followed her into the front room. When she sat on the settee, some instinct prompted him to take the chair opposite so he could examine her expression. He didn’t miss the way she clenched and unclenched her hands together in her lap, nor the fact that she found it difficult to meet his gaze. What on earth could have been in that letter to make her so tense?

Half-afraid she would burst into tears or change her mind about confiding in him if he pressed her, he waited for her to speak. When she finally did, she still didn’t meet his gaze.

“I find myself at a loss as to how to broach this subject with you.”

It almost seemed as though she was embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed, and from what he’d seen of her eyes during the fleeting looks she’d aimed his way, it didn’t appear as though she were on the verge of tears.

“I promise not to bite your head off… again.”

She smiled, and this time when her gaze met his, she didn’t look away. “Your mother was very kind to me. And no, I’m not referring to the money she left me. She allowed me to remain in service here when many others would have turned me out.”

He didn’t know what he’d expected her to say, but he wouldn’t have guessed she was about to confess some secret to him. His thoughts went immediately to his mother’s letters. She’d mentioned Isabel a few times, but rarely as her companion. Instead, she’d dangled Isabel beneath his nose as an inducement for him to return to London. He’d assumed that, like his mother, she was a woman who was looking for a protector, but her reaction to his proposition had led him to believe otherwise. Was it possible he’d been correct in his original assessment?

No, he thought. The woman before him now was no light-skirt. He would stake his life on that.

“What did my mother overlook?”

There was no mistaking her embarrassment when her chin dipped and heat colored her cheeks.

“My cousin sent Mrs. Milton a letter telling her that I wasn’t a person of good character.” His eyes widened in surprise, and she rushed on, her words stumbling over each other in her rush to reassure him. “He wasn’t telling the truth. I don’t know what exactly was in that letter—your mother never said—but I can guess. I do know it was filled with lies.”

“Lies that my mother didn’t believe.”

Isabel’s eyes searched his, and he saw the moment she realized he believed her. Her shoulders relaxed and she took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to lower his eyes to her chest.