Louise Allen (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

‘M
ama. Papa. May I speak with you?’

‘We have been speaking to each other for the last half hour,’ Lord Bythorn pointed out. But he folded his copy of the
Morning Chronicle
, laid it beside his breakfast plate and waited.

‘I mean, in private. In your study.’ Isobel’s chest felt tight, her breakfast—what little of it she had managed to eat—was sitting uneasily in her stomach and she was all too aware of her parents’ anxious attention.

‘Very well, if you can keep that confounded puppy of yours out of it. It has already destroyed my slippers and it has only been in the house twelve hours.’

‘Thank you, Papa.’ He was making a joke out of it, bless him.

* * *

‘Now, what is this about, eh, Isobel?’ He sat behind his big desk, Isobel and her mother in the two wing chairs in front of it. ‘This looks uncommonly like a confession.’

‘It is.’
Trust
,
she reminded herself.
Too late to back out now
.
Just trust them, they love you
. ‘In the last few weeks before Lucas was killed, we were lovers.’

She heard her mother’s sharply indrawn breath. Her father’s face went blank, then, to her surprise, he said, ‘Shocking, but not so very unusual.’ There was the very faintest suspicion of a smile in the fleeting look he sent her mother. Isobel opened her mouth to blurt out a question and shut it hurriedly.

‘After he died, I discovered I was pregnant.’ This time the breath was a gasp and her father’s face lost its smile as the colour ebbed out of his cheeks. ‘That was why I stayed with Jane. She is not the mother of twins: her daughter is mine. Your grandchild.’

The silence was broken only by her mother’s sob, quickly stifled with her hand. Isobel reached out her own hand, hesitated, then withdrew it.

‘You could not trust us to look after you?’ her father asked with a gentleness that warned her he was keeping a tight rein on his emotions.

‘No,’ Isobel admitted. Only the truth would serve now. ‘I was not thinking very clearly. I wanted Lucas and he was gone—I was frightened that the child would be taken from me. I could not trust anyone except Jane.’ The tears were running down her mother’s face now. This was as bad as she feared it would be—she had hurt them dreadfully. ‘I am so sorry. I did it for the best.’

She turned and this time took her mother’s hand. It stayed in hers and, after a moment, the fingers curled around her own. ‘Her name is Annabelle.’ It was her grandmother’s name.

‘Why now? Why are you telling us now? Is something wrong with her?’ Her mother clutched her hand with a desperate urgency.

‘She is perfect and she is well. No, it is not that. I realised I am never going to marry and have a family. And I saw that I was depriving you of your grandchild and that was wrong. And I have been thinking a lot about trust, these past few days—and I knew I should have trusted you from the beginning.’

‘Who knows about the child?’ her father asked.

‘Jane’s old family retainers, but they would never betray her secrets and they adore Annabelle. The doctor, and he is a family friend.’ She saw their relief and knew she had to shatter it. ‘And the Dowager Marchioness of Faversham and her son, Giles Harker.’

‘What! That wanton creature? How in blazes did she discover this?’

‘She feared I would marry Giles and that there would be a great scandal which would harm him. She uses enquiry agents all the time, it seems, so she set a man to find what secrets I might have. Her intention was to blackmail me into giving up Giles.’

‘Marry him? Give him up?’ Her mother stared, aghast. ‘You are not having a liaison with that man?’

‘I am in love with that man,’ Isobel corrected gently. ‘But, no, we are not lovers and I will not marry him—she is quite right, the scandal would ruin him. He will not admit he loves me because he thinks it would ruin
me
.’

‘You love him? He is a—’

‘So is our granddaughter,’ Lord Bythorn said and her mother gave a gasp of dismay. ‘Will he and that woman hold their tongues?’

‘Oh, yes. She had no other motive than to protect her son, she will wish me no harm once Giles has convinced her I am no threat to his standing or his career.’

‘Hah!’ Lady Bythorn said, swiping ineffectually at her eyes with a tiny scrap of lace.

‘Mama, he saved my life when I would have drowned. He was scarred defending my honour.’

‘True enough,’ her father admitted. ‘Can we see Annabelle? Or must you keep her from us?’

‘No! Of course I will not. But we cannot acknowledge who she is, you must see that. Her prospects are good now—her birth seems perfectly respectable, she will grow up without any stain, a Needham. And her supposed father was Lucas’s half-brother, after all.

‘But we can visit. She calls me “Aunt,” so it is only natural that you should take an interest in her. Jane can visit us here and bring the children.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Lady Bythorn brightened, sat up and rubbed her palms over her wet cheeks. ‘My
granddaughter
!
Oh, my goodness.’

‘And what of you, Isobel?’ her father asked.

She shook her head. ‘I cannot marry. I cannot hide this from my husband and even if I did find someone, I dare not risk Annabelle’s reputation by telling him before I am wed.’ She added, ‘I will finish this Season, I do not wish to cause any further talk.’

‘Oh, my dear.’ He sighed and shook his head, but when he looked at her there was a smile lurking under the heavy dark brows. ‘But thank you for my grandchild.’ As she got up he rose too and came round the desk to embrace her. ‘I had hoped, after Needham’s death, you could have found a good man who would love you.’

‘I did, Papa,’ she said. ‘But it seems I cannot have him. I must write to Jane.’

* * *

The Season was in full swing now. Isobel hurled herself into it as though the sea of frivolity and pleasure could wash away the pain and the longing. Only her parents’ delight in hearing about Annabelle kept her spirits up and the arrival of some portrait sketches that Jane had asked the village schoolmaster to make had them in a frenzy of planning for a visit just as soon as the summer came.

Taking tea after dinner a week after her return, Isobel overheard her father in conversation with their host. ‘...remodelling the entire West Wing of the Priory,’ Lord Roehampton said. ‘Got a very promising young architect working on it—Harker. But I was forgetting,’ he added, lowering his voice. ‘He’s the man who stood up for Albright over that wretched business your daughter fell victim to. Good show, that. His mother’s a menace in society, but he can’t help that and, to do him credit, he stands by her. Loyal, as I said to Lady Roehampton when she was cavilling about employing him. The man’s got the instincts of a gentleman.’

‘Yes,’ Lord Bythorn said slowly. ‘It seems he has.’

Isobel stared at her father, a hope forming in her mind so improbable, she hardly dared try to think it through. As the three of them sat in the carriage on the short ride home through the streets of Mayfair she said abruptly, before she could give herself time to lose courage, ‘Papa, if Giles Harker came to you now and asked for my hand in marriage, what would you say?’

‘My love, he would not do such a thing. He knows it would cause a scandal. I think I’ve discovered enough about the man by now to know he won’t hurt you,’ her father said gruffly.

‘But if he did, would it cause a scandal if you said
yes
?’ she asked. ‘I know it would if you forbade the match and we ran away together. But if it was seen that you approved, would that not make all the difference?’

‘Isobel!’ her mother interjected. ‘You cannot marry a man born out of wedlock.’

‘Why not? I am not going to marry any other man and it seems to me that if it does not hurt anyone else, then I may as well be happy as not! It is not as though I wish to be received at court again or spend my time at Almack’s. Papa—if you gave us your blessing,
would
there be a scandal? One that would hurt you and Mama, be difficult for Frederick at school? One that would ruin Giles’s business?’

Her mother moaned again at the word
business
, but her father said, after a pause, ‘You heard me talking to Roehampton? I must confess, I see Harker in a different light now, with all that has happened. No, I do not think it would cause more than a seven-day wonder, not if I gave it my blessing and your mother received him. You have enough of a reputation for eccentricity already, my dear.’

‘Oh, Papa!’ She launched herself across the carriage and hugged him, squashing his silk hat. ‘Thank you!’

‘But he will not ask me, will he?’ Lord Bythorn said gently, setting her back on her seat. ‘The more he cares for you, the less likely he is to approach you again.’

‘No,’ Isobel agreed. ‘So I will just have to ask him.’

Her mother subsided against the squabs with a moan. ‘I knew I should have brought my smelling bottle!’

* * *

The first thing was to find out where Giles was, Isobel decided as she sat up in bed the next morning nursing a cup of chocolate in her hands. The work at Wimpole could not have been completed yet, but she assumed that, like Mr Soane, he would have several commissions in hand at any one time. Some she knew about, such as Lord Roehampton’s West Wing, but Giles could be anywhere.

There was only one person in London who might know, and Mama would have the vapours if she thought her daughter was going anywhere near her. It did not seem to have occurred to her parents that if she married Giles then the Scarlet Widow would be her mother-in-law, which was probably a sign that they believed there was little chance that such a thing would ever happen. Well, time to worry about that later, she thought philosophically. Just at the moment it was the least of her worries.

‘Will you fetch me a London directory please, Dorothy?’ she called.

‘Yes, my lady. Just one moment. This dratted dog has chewed the tassel on the curtain tie.’ The maid sounded exasperated, but Isobel knew full well that she doted on Maude and sneaked biscuits to her in her basket.

‘Here we are.’ Dorothy bustled out of the dressing room with the book in her hands. ‘Heard about an interesting shop, have you, my lady?’

‘Er...no. I am just looking up the address of a new acquaintance.’

Lady Faversham lived not so very far away in Bruton Street. Close enough, in fact, not to need the carriage. ‘My blue walking dress and the dark blue pelisse and the velvet hat this morning, Dorothy. I have some calls to make, but I can take one of the footmen with me, so you can carry on with those alterations.’

* * *

An hour and a half later, at an unconscionably early hour to be making a call, Isobel was admitted to Lady Faversham’s elegant hall by her equally elegant butler.

‘I am sure that if it is a matter concerning Mr Harker her ladyship will wish to receive you,’ he said, admirably concealing any trace of speculation. ‘If you would care to wait in here, my lady, I will enquire.’

Giles’s name did indeed open doors. Isobel was received by her ladyship who was reclining on a chaise in her boudoir in a confection of lace and sea-green gauze that roused a pang of envy in Isobel’s breast.

‘What do you want with my son now?’ the Widow demanded, narrowing ice-green eyes at her.

There did not seem to be any point beating about the bush. Isobel took a deep breath and said, ‘To tell him that if he asks for my hand my father will give it to him willingly. There will be no scandal, he will be welcomed into the family.’

‘What?’
The Widow stared at her.

‘My parents have accepted that I will never marry anyone else. They are grateful to Giles for what he has done for me. And,’ she added as the Widow opened her mouth, ‘they know about my daughter.

‘And also—’ she slipped in before Lady Faversham could speak. ‘I am well dowered, well connected and perfectly placed to help Giles’s career. All I need to know is where he is and I will go and propose to him.’

‘Propose? You have courage, I will say that for you. And if I object?’

‘Why should you be so spiteful?’ A hint of colour touched the older woman’s cheekbones under the powder. ‘If he does not want me, he can always refuse. If this is some sort of trick, you have the instrument of revenge in your own hands.’

‘I only want him to be happy,’ Lady Faversham said and to her horror Isobel saw one tear roll down her cheek. ‘And he is so stubbornly independent. Will you make him happy?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Isobel said. ‘I promise.’

‘Excellent.’ With a dab of lace the tear was gone, taking the momentary weakness with it, and the green eyes defied Isobel to ever recall she had seen it. ‘He is at Wimpole Hall.’

‘Thank you.’ She turned to go, then on an impulse swung round. ‘Where did you purchase that exquisite robe?’

‘Mirabelle’s,’ the Widow said and, to her amazement, smiled. ‘Buy blue, not green. Blue and silver.’

* * *

Giles floated on his back in the plunge pool, ears below water, the steam coiling and rising around him. It had been a long, hard, damp day up at the Hill House supervising the demolition and the salvaging of the best stone and he had become chilled to the marrow.

The heat soothed his body, but the more he relaxed physically, the more his imagination could work and the worse the pain in his heart was. The gentle lap of the water made him think of Isobel’s caressing fingers, the silence gave her voice space to echo in his mind.
I love you, Giles
.

He had done the only thing he could for her and her daughter, he told himself for the thousandth time. He had left her, he had silenced his mother and he had refused to tell Isobel what was in his heart.
Cruel to be kind
. The easy cliché mocked him. Cruel to be perhaps less cruel in the long run, that was the best he could hope for.

Before Isobel had come into his life he had never felt lonely. Now he ached with it. Here at Wimpole, as the bustle of the family’s preparations for their departure to Ireland gathered momentum, he could have company every hour of the day and evening if he chose. But he knew he would feel this alone in the midst of thousands without Isobel.