Louise Allen (18 page)

They were crushed into a corner now, his hand under her skirts as she lifted her leg to hook it around his hip to give him access. It was mad, insane, they were both so angry, both so—

The sharp clip of heels on marble was like a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. Isobel gasped, found her feet, pushed at Giles even as he spun round instinctively to shield her.

‘Geraldine,’ Giles said. His mother.

From behind him Isobel could see the dark sheen of black satin, the glitter of diamonds. She pushed her way free to stand at his side and confront the other woman, her chin up.

‘You little fool,’ the Dowager hissed. ‘So you lied to me. You will be sorry for this. Very sorry.’

Isobel simply turned on her heel and walked away. Neither of them made the slightest attempt to stop her.

The passage turned and she jumped at the sight of someone coming towards her, then she saw it was her own reflection in a long glass. Her bodice was awry, her hair half-down, her skirts crumpled. With hands that shook Isobel righted her gown, twisted the loose ringlets back into order, fanned her face with her hands until the hectic colour began to subside, then went out into the ballroom before she had time to think about what had just happened.

‘Mama.’ Lady Bythorn was deep in conversation with the Dowager Lady Darvil, but she turned with a smile that became rigid when she saw Isobel’s face.

‘Are you unwell, my dear? You look quite—’

‘Flustered,’ Isobel hissed. ‘I know. Mama, I must speak with you alone. Urgently.’

‘You have the migraine?’ Lady Bythorn said clearly as she got to her feet. ‘Do excuse us, Georgiana, I fear Isobel is suffering from the heat—we had best go home. Come, dear.’

With a suitably wan smile for Lady Darvil, Isobel let herself be led to the hallway and fanned while their cloaks were found and the carriage called.

‘What is it?’ her mother demanded the moment they were inside. ‘Has someone been referring to the scandal?’

‘No. Mama, the Dowager Lady Faversham found me in the retiring room and said the most horrible things. She blames me for the injuries Mr Harker suffered.’

‘Oh, my heavens! That frightful creature. I knew Frederica Leamington could not be trusted not to invite the wrong sort of people. Did anyone hear her?’

‘Only Pamela Monsom and she is very discreet. There were other people in the room, but they did not hear exactly what she said and when she left I explained that she was upset about Mr Harker’s scars and they were very sympathetic. But they are sure to gossip.’

‘And now your name will be linked with his,’ her mother observed grimly. ‘There is nothing to be done but brazen it out—thank goodness he was not there tonight!’

Isobel bit her lower lip. She did not feel capable of confessing to her mother that Giles Harker had indeed been at the ball. Her body still quivered from his touch and from the anger that had flashed between them.

‘There, there.’ Her mother leaned over in the shadowed interior to pat her hand. ‘It will be all right. That woman has such a dreadful reputation that no respectable person would believe a word she has to say.’

But I do. She said I would be sorry, and she meant it
.

Chapter Eighteen

‘W
hat the devil are you about?’ Giles planted himself squarely in the corridor to block his mother’s furious, impetuous path. She was quite capable of sweeping out into the ballroom on Isobel’s heels and continuing this scene there.

‘You fool,’ she snapped at him, eyes flashing. ‘You aren’t content with having your face ruined for the sake of that little madam, but now you are getting yourself entangled with her. She’ll be the ruin of you! She’s an earl’s daughter—Bythorn won’t stand for it and he has influence.’

‘And he never slept with you, so you can’t play that card,’ Giles drawled, hanging on to his temper by a hair’s breadth. ‘I am not entangled with Isobel Jarvis—’

‘Hah!’

‘We were merely continuing an argument.’

‘An argument? I have heard it called many things, Giles, but never that!’

‘I am not having an affair with the girl.’

‘No,’ the Widow said grimly. ‘You fancy yourself in love with her.’

‘I am not in love with her. I am considering strangling her.’

‘Listen to me! I have found you the perfect wife, Giles,’ she said as he turned on his heel.

‘Really?’ he threw back over his shoulder. ‘Some plain daughter of a Cit?’

‘No. Caroline Holt, the daughter of Sir Joshua Holt.’

‘And what is wrong with her? Or the family, that they should consider allying themselves with us?’

‘There is absolutely nothing wrong with Miss Holt who is tolerably pretty, intelligent and twenty-three years old. What is wrong with her father is a series of investments that have gone badly wrong, an estate mortgaged to the hilt and four unmarried daughters on his hands.’

Giles turned round fully to face his mother. ‘So Caroline is the sacrificial lamb. You buy her for me, Holt pays off the debts and the other girls can enter the Marriage Mart with some hope of attracting respectable husbands. Provided they aren’t seen with their brother-in law, that is.’

‘Exactly. And you get a well-bred wife who will be grateful for all we have done for her family.’

‘How did you find her?’ he asked even as he wondered how he was managing to keep his temper, and the urge to storm into the ballroom and drag Isobel out of it, under control.

‘I have excellent enquiry agents.’

Of course, Geraldine had always prided herself on being able to find out anything about anyone. It was how she made such good choices in her lovers, avoided blackmailers, kept away from men with wives who had connections that would be dangerous to her and always found the right place to invest her money.

‘I hope you have not made the Holts any promises.’ His body was throbbing with frustrated desire. He felt as though he had been kicked in the gut and he had an overwhelming need to break something. ‘Because I am not marrying the girl, for which she should be profoundly grateful. I have told you before, there is nothing you can buy me, least of all a wife.’

A dismissive flick of Geraldine’s hand was all the acknowledgement she gave that she had heard him. ‘Caroline Holt is not going anywhere far from her home in the wilds of Suffolk,’ the Widow said with a thin smile. ‘She will wait until you come to your senses about the Jervis chit.’

‘My senses are perfectly in order, ma’am. My refusal to marry Miss Holt has nothing to do with Lady Isobel.’

‘Liar!’ she threw at him. ‘She ruined your looks and yet you lust after her like a—’

‘Mother,’ Giles said. It stopped her in midrant. He never called her that unless he was deeply angered and she knew it. ‘I have it on good authority that a broken nose and a couple of scars gives me an interesting air of danger. Really, I should thank Lady Isobel.’

The Widow took a deep breath. ‘I would sacrifice everything for you, Giles. I would do anything to ensure your future.’

It was guilt, he knew, although she would never admit it, or probably even recognise it. Her actions had made him a bastard—now she would fight tooth and nail to force society to accept him.

‘I can look after my own future,’ he said, not unkindly. He hated it when her voice shook like that. ‘Society accepts me for who I am and I make my own way in it. Go back to Carstairs and stop plotting: I’ll not have Lady Isobel insulted.’ Knowing Jack Carstairs, her current youthful lover, he would be scouring the house trying to discover where Geraldine had got to, well aware that he would probably have to extricate her from some scrape or another when he did find her.

Giles walked away with the firm intention of getting drunk. Behind him he thought he heard Geraldine repeat, ‘Anything,’ but he was not certain. Besides, there was no need to worry—there was nothing that she could do to harm Isobel. He was her only dark secret and Geraldine would not risk involving him in further scandal.

* * *

‘Who is your letter from, Isobel?’ Lady Bythorn glanced up from her own correspondence. ‘You’ve been staring at the same page for minutes. Is the handwriting bad?’

‘No. No it is from Jane Needham. I am just...thinking.’

We are all in the best of health and the children are flourishing despite being cooped up with the dreadful weather
,
Jane had written
. Nathaniel wants a puppy and Annabelle wants a kitten, so I foresee scratches all round before much longer. The oddest thing happened the other day: there was a stranger staying at the Needham Arms—we heard all about him because, as you know, we hardly ever get any strangers in the parish and the rumour was he looked like a Bow Street Runner. Which is pure fancy of course, because no one here has ever seen a Runner!

But he came to the house asking for you and when I saw him and told him he was mistaken, that you do not live here, he just brushed it aside and said he’s heard you stayed here sometimes. I demanded to know his business and he said he had been sent by a distant relative of yours, a sea captain, who was estranged from the family and was trying to make contact again, but who did not want to go directly to your parents. It sounded the most perfect nonsense to me and I said as much and he bowed himself off. But the thing that worries me is, when Molly went out for firewood yesterday afternoon she found him talking to the children in the yard—they had gone to look at the puppies.

She sent him about his business and I have had young Wally Hoskins go with them everywhere since then, just in case. But if he was intending to kidnap them—why these children? We are not wealthy, he must have realised that.

I thought I had better tell you—because of him asking for you by name. Perhaps I am worrying too much and he is just what he said. Or slightly mad. But I must confess to being anxious
.

‘Mama, do we have any relative who is, or was, a sea captain? Or any relative who is estranged from the family?’

‘A sea captain? Or someone estranged? Goodness, no, I do not think so. In fact I am certain. Why?’

‘Oh, Jane met someone who said something that puzzled her. She must have misunderstood.’

‘No doubt she did. I cannot help but think that living so secluded as she does cannot be good for her.’

Isobel folded the letter, then opened it again. The mysterious man had been asking for her and then he was found with the children.
Annabelle
.
Lady Faversham’s words came back to her like a curse, even though it had been almost a month since they were uttered.
You will be sorry for this. Very sorry
.

She could not possibly know and Isobel had seen neither her nor Giles since that night. And yet Annabelle was Isobel’s only weak spot, the only secret she was desperate to keep. She tried to tell herself it was pure fancy, yet she could not be easy in her mind.

* * *

Three days later there was another letter. It began,
Do not leave this lying around, for I cannot write in such a way that would disarm suspicion if your mother reads it and yet convey my anxiety adequately. The strange man is still hanging around the neighbourhood—and still asking questions about us. When you were here, how long you stayed, what happened to Ralph, how old the children are—he has looked at the parish registers, I am certain, for Mr Arnold found him right by the cupboard where they are stored and it was not locked.

He is very subtle about it, which, I confess, worries me most of all, for it seems
professional
somehow. It is only by piecing together bits of gossip that I can see a pattern in his questions, for he never interrogates the same person for long. I have spoken to the few servants who were with us that year and who know the truth so they are on the alert. I cannot see how he would approach Dr Jameson, who, besides, would never say anything.

Can you make any sense of this, dearest Isobel? I vow I cannot. I have hired two of the Foster brothers—you recall what a size they are—and they patrol the house and yard at night and one of them is always with the children by day. It is doing dreadful things to Nathaniel’s vocabulary
!

It would not take much effort for anyone to find out where she had spent that year after Lucas’s death—they had made no secret of it at the time, quite deliberately. Isobel’s refusal to allow any friends or relatives to visit had been lamented by Lady Bythorn to all her circle and had been attributed to hysterical grief followed by a sad decline. The very openness of her mother’s complaints seemed to disarm all suspicion that there was anything to hide and Isobel’s reluctance to socialise since her return had contributed to the diagnosis of a melancholic temperament.

‘Jane is unwell,’ she said to her parents, the letter tight in her hand. ‘I must go to Hereford.’

‘Now?’ Her father put down the copy of
The Times
he had been muttering over and frowned at her. ‘In the middle of the Season? All that way?’

‘It would take me only twenty-four hours, even if I go by the Mail, but if I might take a chaise, Papa, I could do it in less time and more comfortably.’

‘Certainly not the Mail,’ her mother said firmly. ‘And a chaise? Oh, dear, you know how those things bring on my migraine and they do your father’s gout no good at all.’

‘I can go with Dorothy, Mama, there is no need for either of you to disturb yourselves. If we leave before luncheon and take a basket with some food we can go right through to Oxford for the night with only stops for changes—and there are any number of most respectable inns where I could find a private parlour.’

* * *

It took almost an hour of wrangling to convince her parents that she could not possibly abandon her friend when she was unwell and worried about the children. That, yes, of course she would come home just as soon as she could and not miss the Lavenhams’ ridotto which promised to be the event of the Season. And yes, she would take the greatest care on the road and not speak to anyone unless absolutely necessary and certainly no gentlemen.

It was only then, as she organised her packing, that the apprehension churning in her stomach turned to real fear. If she was ruined, then that was just too bad, although she was very sorry that the disgrace would distress her parents. But for Annabelle to be exposed as an illegitimate child would destroy all her prospects as well. And what of Jane? There might be penalties for allowing a false record to be entered in the registers. Would it even cast a shadow over little Nathaniel’s legitimacy?

It had to be Lady Faversham behind this, for surely Giles would not do anything to hurt her, however angry she made him. It was only as she climbed into the chaise and waved goodbye that she realised she had no idea what she could do when she reached Hereford. But she could not sit in London while her child was in peril and leave Jane to face whatever this was alone.

* * *

‘You were right—Geraldine’s up to something and she’s planning to go to Hereford of all places.’

‘Are you certain?’
Hereford
.
Giles put down his knife and fork and stared at Jack Carstairs over his half-eaten breakfast. His mother’s lover had arrived at his Albany chambers without warning and seemed decidedly put out.

Since the confrontation at the Leamingtons’ ball Giles had been at pains to avoid Isobel. It would do her reputation no good to be seen with him and it seemed he could not trust himself to keep his hands off her. There were two things he could do to protect her: stay out of her way and make certain his mother did her no harm.

Before Jack’s arrival, it had occurred to him after a night of tossing and turning that the best way to circumvent Geraldine was to discover where Isobel was vulnerable. He was certain there was something, something more to her past than the simple loss of her virginity to her fiancé.

Unable to sleep, his remedies had been either a cold bath or distraction. Shrugging into his robe he had taken a candle and pulled the
Peerage
off the shelves. He might as well start by getting the family straight: Isobel’s family, the Jervises—no, after ten minutes he could see nothing out of the ordinary there.

Then, on impulse, he looked under Needham. The current viscount was a half-brother of Lucas who had drowned in January 1797. He looked at the other entries for the same name.
The Hon. Ralph Needham decd
. Lucas’s other half-brother, he worked out. And he had died on the same day as Lucas, Giles realised, flicking back to check.
Married Miss Jane Barrymore, by whom issue Nathaniel and Annabelle
. Twins born posthumously in September 1797.
Longmere Manor, Gaston, Hereford
.

Hereford rang a bell. Isobel had mentioned it with a note of longing in her voice and then, when he would have questioned her about it, for the area was unknown to him, she had abruptly changed the subject.

Giles had stared at the entry, working out the relationships. Ralph was Lucas’s younger half-brother. That was a close connection to Isobel, but what did it signify and how could it harm her?
Lucas and I were lovers
, she had confessed. But what of it? She had been betrothed to the man. He ran a finger over the close-packed black lines of type, half-formed ideas worrying at the edges of his mind.