The Wrong Woman (6 page)

She could say of him that he was being absolutely proper in his attentions to her sister. And his conversation could be charming at times. He spoke well of many things and knew what compliments to pay that would most flatter a woman, though he had not paid any to Isobel. Not that she needed or wanted his compliments.

Isobel found that she was now able to sit in the same room with him without making some embarrassing remark or curling her lip in contempt. Lord Revere’s attentions pleased her sister, so Isobel supposed she might forgive him for some of the past. But not all. Never all.

On the fourth evening after their outing to the park, Isobel had a chance to try her hand at liking Lord Revere a little bit more. He had invited Cat and Isobel to a musical evening at the home of one of his acquaintances, Mrs. Starr. The evening was to feature a new English soprano singing a mixture of works, including some songs by Herr Beethoven, Isobel’s favorite composer.

Cat had never before been to a musical evening like this and had readily accepted the opportunity for a new experience. Isobel herself had been quite excited by the prospect. Her family was not very musical themselves, and so Isobel and Cat both relished every opportunity to experience from others what they could not produce for themselves. And Isobel had heard good tidings of this new, young soprano who was supposed to be the current pride of England.

But as the time drew closer to their leaving, Isobel's nerves began to take over, as they always did when she anticipated these public events. Ten years had not been time enough to forget the embarrassing spectacle she had made at her first musicale. It had not been enough to trip and fall down a staircase at her come out ball. No, then she had gone and solidified her reputation and her nickname by somehow falling out of her chair at her first musical evening. Since then, anxiety had overwhelmed her each time she thought of going out. And so Lord Revere found her alone, pacing the front parlor when he arrived to retrieve them for the concert.

“Good evening, Miss Masters,” he greeted Isobel.

“Good evening, Lord Revere.” She could not still her nervous movement around the room. She felt out of breath and anxious. “My sister will be down soon. She was just finishing her toilette when I came down a few moments ago.”

“There is plenty of time,” he stated and when she did not say anything continued on. “I do regret to say that Jack will not be joining us this evening. He found himself under another obligation.” She nodded absently and continued to move around the room.

Silence fell between them, a silence as uncomfortable as any they had suffered through before. But Isobel was too preoccupied to worry much about it. So it was finally Lord Revere who broke the silence.

“Pardon me, Miss Masters, but you seem very nervous this evening.” Isobel was too anxious to think of a way to avoid explaining, so she answered plainly.

“I
am
quite nervous, Lord Revere,” Isobel admitted but did not expand. She had stopped moving just in front of her guest, but now stood chewing her nails.

After another silence, Lord Revere asked, “Might I do anything to help?”

“Not unless you can erase the past.” With a nervous chuckle, the thought was out before she could consider it. A blush rose to her cheeks.

“No, I have no such magic,” he chuckled, “though it would come in useful.”

His laugh startled her into stillness.

“If I may be so bold, Miss Masters. What is it that makes you so nervous this evening?”

Here is an opportunity to be civil to the man for Cat’s sake.
She took a deep breath and began.

“The truth is, sir, that I do not feel quite comfortable at these things. I always feel that people remember me at the first musical evening I ever attended. I can never calm myself. Sometimes, like tonight, it’s worse and I am overwhelmed by anxiety and cannot sit still.” She tried to smile at him, but the effort only produced a pained look.

This brought some sympathy into his face, and Isobel almost sighed with relief. He did not think her ridiculous. He was not laughing at her silly fears. Then he spoke. It was a simple statement.

“You must learn how to be indifferent.”

“Indifferent? I don’t understand.”

“You must learn to show everyone that you do not care what they think.”

Isobel's eyebrows drew together as she thought about this. “And how on earth would I do that? I have no idea how to be indifferent.”

“It is primarily about confidence in yourself.”

“I have very little of that.”

“Then you must pretend.” He said it as if it were the simplest task in the world.

“Pretend?”

“Trust me, you become much less interesting when people think that you don't care what they say about you. It is only when they smell fear that they pounce.” There was a hint of teasing in his voice.
Is he actually being nice to me? Can I trust him? But what do I have to lose, really? Even if he is laughing at me, my fears cannot get any worse than they are.

“And how do I learn to do this?”

His mouth quirked into a smile as he stepped toward her. She shied away from him, intimidated by his nearness. He stopped when he saw her reaction.

“Well, if you cannot truly
be
confident, you must at least learn how to
look
like you are. Put your shoulders back.” He reached out as if to push them back himself, but stopped before he touched her. Isobel stood up straighter.

“Good,” he said. “If you walk with your shoulders back, you look like you belong wherever you are. No one will argue with you. Now walk.”

Still with her shoulders back, Isobel began to walk forward. Lord Revere stepped out of her way and turned to look at her as she crossed the length of the room.

“Take longer and slower strides. Act like this room belongs to you and you will do with it what you please.”

Isobel felt ridiculous, like a trained monkey doing just what her master said. But he was honestly trying to help her, so she would give him a good effort. As she made her way back across the room, Lord Revere examined her carefully. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Isobel was unused to such scrutiny and it made her nerves return in full force.

“Something is still not quite right,” Lord Revere declared. Isobel slumped her shoulders again and let out a sigh.

“Now, now, Miss Masters, do not be discouraged. I have figured out what the last piece of the puzzle should be. Straighten your shoulders again.” Isobel did as she was told. “You carry yourself well when you walk, but the last piece is your face.”

“My face?” Isobel was suddenly conscious of herself in a new way. What could he mean to say about her face?

“Your face must not look so timid and scared. You must project confidence especially there. Now, you have seen the haughty expression the Countess of Deal wears?” Isobel nodded. “Imitate that expression for me.”

Isobel looked at her shoes as she composed her face. When she felt she had got it just right, she drew up her shoulders and raised her head. With her left eyebrow arched as high as it would go and her lips pursed together into a tight little bow, Isobel tilted her head back and looked down her nose at Lord Revere. She felt herself to be the very picture of confidence. It was working very well to make her feel that she could conquer the room this evening.

Until she heard the most unaccountable sound coming from across the room.

Miles Shepherd, Baron of Revere was either choking on his own tongue or he was about to expire from laughter. For a moment, Isobel was highly offended. She had done just as he asked.
Why is he laughing at me?
Panic bubbled up inside of her.

But he did not stop and soon Isobel could not resist the contagious mirth. She began to laugh because he was laughing.

When he finally caught a breath, Lord Revere choked out, “You did that too well!”

Isobel answered through her own laugh, “Stop laughing at me or I will be entirely unable to do that again.”

“I can't stop laughing. And please
never
pull that face again or I will laugh myself silly.”

“Then what I am going to do to survive tonight?” Isobel began to sober. She still had to face the evening before her and the dread that her clumsy feet would trip her and she would again make a spectacle of herself.

“Well, you certainly cannot pull that face. You would have me laughing at quite inappropriate times.” He paused to think. “But what if you only
thought
about that face? That might give you confidence. And it would certainly make you think of something besides being nervous.”

“Yes, it would make me think of you being unable to control yourself.” Their eyes met. Both attempted to be serious, but lasted only a moment before Lord Revere smiled again and sent them off into giggles.

“Well, this is much better than being afraid, isn't it?” Lord Revere had moved closer. The force of his smile at close range momentarily dazzled Isobel. Isobel grew suddenly nervous again with his imposing presence so close to her side.

“And besides, I will offer you one of my arms to lean on as we walk in. I am sure Miss Catherine will not mind.” Lord Revere held out his arm to her and they took a turn around the room. The man was so sure of himself and of her that Isobel began to grow more confident.

When they had made a circuit of the room, Lord Revere stopped and turned his head to her, their arms still linked together.

“I shall sit beside you tonight. You may grip on to me if you feel yourself falling out of your chair.”

So he does remember.
Somehow the thought did not sting as much as it once might have.

“Izzy? Lord Revere?” A very confused Cat appeared just as Isobel pulled the forbidden face again and sent herself and Lord Revere into another fit of laughter.

* * * * *

His long-unused abdominal muscles ached from the exercise. And each time Miles thought of the face Isobel Masters had pulled, it threatened to send him off again. He would have to be very careful of looking at her this evening, or he would surprise the crowd with his untimely cackling. He had already surprised himself tonight. First, by his desire to help Miss Masters and then by his genuine enjoyment of her company.

But the mental upset of those surprises could not compare to the feeling he was having now in the carriage on the way to Mrs. Starr’s. Separate from the ache of muscles he never knew he had, Miles felt as if giant birds were flapping around his insides and perching on his organs. He was quite unused to the feeling and did not find it at all pleasant. It seemed like a fit of nerves. But he had been to a hundred musical evenings before.

Miles felt like a riding master watching his pupil take the reins for himself. Miss Masters had listened to his advice. But would it work? What had begun as only an exercise in calming her nerves had become a kind of experiment. And it was making Miles anxious. He wanted Dizzy Izzy to be a success.

He looked across the carriage at the sisters chatting happily together. Miles knew that Miss Masters did not like him. She had even shied away when he’d moved to help her in the parlor. But he knew that she had good reason for her feelings.

And still, in those moments of anxiety, she had trusted a man she hated. She had been honest and shared the truth of her feelings with him. Remorse — yet another surprising emotion — rose in his mind. The sisters seemed so open with each other. With everyone, really. In his decade and more in town, he had carefully cultivated his hard exterior. It was necessary to his survival. At least he thought so. But in their company these past days, Miles had felt at ease. It was hard to resist the teasing playfulness that existed in the Masters household. It had been like having Wesley back again…

The carriage arrived at the music hall before his mind could venture too far into that dangerous place. The nerves kicked up again as he descended from the carriage and turned back to assist Miss Masters and Miss Catherine out of the vehicle. As he took Miss Masters’ hand, he saw a look of mischief in her eye. Miles pressed his lips together, preparing to stifle the laughter if she pulled that face again. Miss Masters refrained, but the smile reached his face anyway.

Before he could help Miss Catherine alight, Miss Masters had already started into the building. She strode confidently forward. He wasn’t sure if anyone else was watching, but he certainly noticed that a different Isobel Masters had entered the room this evening. The fluttering in his insides settled a bit.

Miles offered his arm and walked with Miss Catherine into the music hall.

“I don’t know what you have done for my sister, Lord Revere, but I sincerely thank you.” Miss Catherine’s smile lit her face.

“I have done nothing.”

“Well, whatever that ‘nothing’ was, it has made a sudden change in Izzy, one I am very glad to see. She is usually so nervous before these events even at home. It is hard to calm her down.” The young woman paused as they mounted the short staircase before the door. “I know most people in society laugh at her and think she is a clumsy fool. But they are wrong. They have never given her a chance.”

Remorse again. Miles did not enjoy the feel of it in his gut.
He
had been the reason most people laughed at Isobel Masters. Yet here he had the privilege of escorting her sister. Was Miss Catherine ignorant of the role he had played? Should he tell her? But Miles feared he would ruin his chances with her. And each hour they spent together, Miles liked Miss Catherine Masters more and more. She was a charming and honest girl and he could picture a quiet married life with her. Indeed, Jack had forced him into a number of conversations extolling Miss Catherine’s charms.

Miss Masters had found three chairs together and they took their seats. A few friends came to say hello to Miles, but it was not long before the music started. He thought the music pleasant, but he knew that some other man might have appreciated it more. Music, especially Herr Beethoven, required sympathy and feeling. And especially with all of the surprises he’d experienced so far tonight, Miles wanted no more of that. Jack would have been at home here. But the boy was at the club this evening, hopefully not losing too much money.