Читать книгу To Love A Wicked Scoundrel - Anabelle Bryant - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Isabelle filled the last of the drawing room shelves with her most treasured books and stepped back to view the progress within their new living space. Meredith had spoken the truth. While the rented townhouse appeared musty at first and in need of repairs, it was otherwise a very fine property. Once the initial cleaning had been completed and they’d directed the servants in furniture arrangement and drapery restringing, the house revealed great potential for splendour. There were solid mantelpieces in all the rooms, showy grates and attractive wall papers, and while one could argue that as a whole the interior begged for a thorough redecorating, they planned to reside there for a few scant months and voiced no complaints.

‘I knew we could transform these empty rooms in no time. It was good of my solicitor to secure the address I desired.’ Meredith breezed in with a quick glance at the interior. ‘It is coming along, wouldn’t you agree?’ Her eyes flitted to Isabelle and swept over her from head to toe before she continued to speak, her tone harbouring a thoughtful note. ‘The beauty is there. It just needs to be uncovered, polished, and refined a bit.’ She walked over and gently pushed a few strands of hair back from her stepdaughter’s forehead and rubbed a smudge of dirt from her cheek.

Isabelle smiled having just considered the townhouse’s hidden appeal. She moved to the window and gazed out into the square. ‘I am so pleased we are close to the park. Such excellent planning on your part! It was lovely to sit in the gardens earlier while the carriages were being unloaded. I presumed London’s air to be thick and the traffic hectic, but the square provides Lily a refreshing place to play.’

As if conjured at the mere mention of her name, the child bounded down the staircase, her small face abeam with satisfaction. ‘I have set out all my collections. Would anyone like to come and see? My new bedchamber has a huge cupboard and I gave each jar and bottle its very own space.’

Isabelle moved towards the stairs. ‘Of course I want to see. Now your pebbles, feathers, shells, and buttons have as cozy a home as we do.’

Meredith greeted her daughter with a kiss on the cheek and continued the conversation. ‘It is not just the park that caused me to request this address, although I agree it is wonderful to have such a lovely view. It is more that Lord Highborough resides on the opposing corner. His is a very grand house, as polished as he. I saw his infamous barouche with its golden crest and bright red wheels earlier this morning.’

‘Meredith, you can’t mean to imply you brought us to this address so you could live across the lane from Lord Highborough. You would not be so bold.’ Isabelle rushed to the window and peered out. Overcome with consternation, she turned to view her stepmother.

‘Do not look at me like that. While I do not doubt my feminine charms, one should never underestimate the power of proximity.’ Meredith patted Lily on the head before she paced across the room. ‘Lord Highborough will know we have arrived soon enough. Lady Newby, who also lives across the square, is securing our names on every invitation list of importance. I am grateful she recalled your father and their friendship. She is also in care of her four young nieces and they will make fine friends for Lily. It is an advantageous association as she will arrange for all the right introductions.’

Isabelle was hardly reassured. ‘I have the sneaking suspicion there is only one introduction you seek and from the tales you shared during our carriage ride you have convinced me Lord Highborough’s reputation is very well earned. Therefore the man should be avoided, not enticed. Sometimes your behaviour does not make sense.’

Meredith’s laugh dismissed her protestation. ‘Not everything makes sense. I trust you will discover that some day. Would you not find it enjoyable to spend a few evenings dancing the night away or conversing with polite society? You know – ’ she reached forward in a swift movement and removed the pins holding Isabelle’s flowing auburn tresses confined to a severe bun ‘ – we could style your hair differently and allow everyone to see how very unique it is.’ She continued to rearrange the lengths until Isabelle reached up with an assertive grasp and removed her stepmother’s hands.

‘You mean allow everyone to see it is such a hideous shade of red.’ Making quick work of the task, she pinned her bun back into place.

‘Your hair is every shade of auburn imaginable and that is worthy of any woman’s envy and every gentleman’s compliment. You have no idea what a trial it is to keep myself satisfied with ordinary brown hair and equally common eyes. Now your eyes are such a lovely shade of grey, they remind me of a stormy winter sky.’

‘How very depressing.’ Isabelle released a long-suffering sigh. ‘I do not know why you insist on romanticising my unfortunate appearance.’

Unwilling to accept her comments, Meredith continued. ‘What rubbish. Your eyes are one of your best features.’

Best features? Plural? Ridiculous. Her stepmother exaggerated on her behalf. If pressed, Isabelle would concede her eyes were interesting; mostly in the way they lightened or darkened depending upon the shade of dress she wore. But other than that, she was at a complete loss. Her father told her ever since she could remember that her unusual colouring would have been more forgivable on a boy and as a lady she was at a great disadvantage with her fiery locks and soft, lilting features. But what an incredible waste of time it was to consider her appearance in great detail. She lived a very quiet and content life and preferred it so.

‘I think you are beautiful,’ Lily offered.

Isabelle almost forgot Lily was present. It served as a testament to childhood innocence that her sister would interrupt her self-deprecating thoughts with a compliment, and she offered her a gentle smile. ‘Thank you. It is kind of you to mention.’

As an afterthought, Isabelle noted Lily found beauty in everything from feathers to little round pebbles. She turned to speak but Meredith snatched the waist of her muslin gown and pulled it together with a tight twist at the back.

‘Of course we will visit the most exclusive dressmakers now that we have arrived, but if you choose fabrics and colours to compliment your flawless skin and accentuate your figure.’

‘I think you know what is wrong with my figure.’ She attempted to swat away her stepmother’s hands from where they held her gown captive, but failed miserably.

‘You have no idea what you are talking about. Women would do anything to have your full bosom.’

Lily’s burst of giggles prodded Isabelle to a darker shade of pink. Her figure was as confused as the colour of her hair. Full breasts, a slim waist, and the gentle curve of her hips remained hidden under the respectable loose gowns she favoured. Shamelessly, her father remarked more than once about the irregular development of her body. She should have been born a boy. She might have made her father happy then. If only the midwife announced ‘It is a boy!’ Isabelle’s entire life would have taken a different path.

‘Well, if you think for one moment I will allow you to leave any respectable modiste without flattering gowns and undergarments, then you need to reconsider the matter with care. We are no longer in Wiltshire. Resign yourself to the fact.’ Meredith’s eyes flared in emphasis. ‘You cannot embrace true adventure in plain fabrics and last year’s fashion.’

From the corner of her eye, Isabelle noticed Lily nod her head in emphatic agreement.

‘Since we will attend a gathering two nights from now, we have no choice but to modify something off the rack, but from every point forward our wardrobe will overflow with the finest silks and the latest designs. Lest you forget, I have London’s favourite scoundrel to entice.’

Isabelle clamped her hands over Lily’s ears unsure what other nonsense her stepmother might utter and with a gentle nudge steered her sister up the stairs, anxious to examine every wondrous piece of her collections and escape Meredith’s ambitious plans.

***

Constantine brushed his gloves together in an effort to rid them of dust and opened the hack door as he spoke to Brooks in a low tone. ‘There is one painting left in the studio. It is large and I’ll need your help bringing it down to the street.’ His command cut through the unsettling quiet of the night.

The two men had already made several trips from the third-floor studio to the hired hackney with eleven of his most recent works of art. Unframed they weren’t very heavy. Now arranged with care, each wrapped in a tarp so the long ride to Highborough House would not cause damage, their work was almost complete.

Without a word, the two men turned and took the steps. They manoeuvered the last canvas down to street level. It took a bit longer than anticipated, but eventually they placed the painting on the curb.

‘Bloody hell, why did the driver leave? I mentioned we needed to bring one more painting out.’ Con grunted his disapproval, aggravated with the tedious day.

‘I cannot explain it, milord. Did the driver give you any indication how long it will take him to reach Highborough House? Although the lamps are well lit in Grosvenor Square, I doubt the less traveled roadways will be serviceable until sunrise.’

‘I did not speak to him, but I thank you for arranging this appointment. It seems the best way to transport my paintings without detection.’

‘Milord?’ Brooks voice held a note of apprehension. ‘You did not speak to the driver? Nor did I. I arranged for him to meet us here at three o’clock but did not furnish a destination address. I assumed you would direct him once we finished the task.’

Con jerked his head up and he eyed the anxious valet with a steely glare. ‘Then where the devil are my paintings? And how the hell will I get them back?’