Читать книгу A Most Improper Proposal - Molly Ann Wishlade - Страница 12

Chapter Four

At breakfast the next morning, Lady Watson appeared tired. She was usually so chirpy in the mornings despite the lateness of the hour at which she often retired but this morning she seemed to carry a heavy burden to the breakfast table with her.

Isabella watched silently as the elderly lady picked at her breakfast, moving the ham and eggs around her plate until the sticky yolk had congealed and no longer appeared appetising. The Lady’s face was as pale as the linen tablecloth and the shadows beneath her eyes could have been drawn there with soot from the fireplace.

The silence was broken as Henrietta bounded into the room with all the grace and elegance of a baby elephant.

‘Good morning ladies! And how are you both this fine morning?’

Isabella looked up at the girl in her cream morning gown, an image of loveliness with her golden ringlets and rosy cheeks, and she fought the urge to reprimand her, for what had she done wrong other than appear happy and full of youthful energy?

As Henrietta took a seat, piling her plate high with muffins, sausages and eggs, Isabella could not help smiling. The girl was so much healthier in appearance than she had been when she’d first arrived at the house. She was no longer scrawny and hollow eyed with lank straw hair. Instead, she had filled out to a pleasant plumpness and her hair and eyes shone with youthful exuberance.

‘You have recovered from your headache, Henrietta?’ she enquired.

‘Yes, thank you. I slept all evening and all night and I feel much better. In fact, I am positively ravenous this morning!’

And radiant, Isabella thought, a warmth spreading from her belly at the joy Henrietta brought.

With that, Henrietta began tucking into her breakfast, making up for the lack of appetite that afflicted her companions at the table.

Isabella sipped her strong tea and watched Lady Watson over the edge of her cup. This would not do. The Lady was too old to suffer from shock and Isabella felt that she must do everything in her power to protect her. If that meant standing in the way of Lord Crawford and whatever it was about him that so affected Lady Watson, then that was what she would commit herself to doing. Lady Watson had helped her and it was time to repay the debt.

‘Will you come for a drive this morning, Lady Watson?’

The older woman looked across the table at her companion.

‘What dear?’

‘I asked if you would come out in the carriage this morning. Some fresh air might be of benefit to you.’

‘That would be lovely, dear,’ Lady Watson replied with a faint smile, ‘But remember, I am expecting a visitor.’

‘Ooh, a visitor!’ Henrietta exclaimed. ‘Who is coming?’ she asked through a mouthful of buttered muffin.

‘Henrietta,’ Isabella admonished. ‘Do not speak with food in your mouth.’

‘Sorry,’ Henrietta made a show of chewing then swallowing. ‘Whom are we expecting?’

Isabella bit her lip and looked at Lady Watson.

‘My nephew, dear.’

Henrietta frowned and turned to Isabella for clarification.

‘Lord Crawford, Lady Watson’s sister’s son, has returned to London. We met him last night at Almack’s. It seems that he is to pay Lady Watson a visit this morning.’

Henrietta nodded then frowned again.

‘Why didn’t he visit you before attending a social event?’

‘Henrietta…’ Isabella scowled across the table. The girl really lacked manners at times, there were some things that you just didn’t ask. But a noise from Lady Crawford made her turn in confusion, for the old lady had started to laugh.

‘Oh Henrietta, dear, you are a funny girl. So many people think things but never have the courage to say them but you…’ she pointed a finger at the girl, ‘you just say whatever is in your head and I adore you for it.’

Henrietta smiled from under her dark lashes and took a gulp of her tea, smearing butter over the rim of her teacup. Isabella fought the urge to instruct the girl to wipe it off. Who else was there to see it and disapprove?

Isabella felt that she would never understand other people. Society was so strict about what one could or couldn’t do and if you stepped out of the set boundaries, or if a family member did not conform in some way, then you and your nearest and dearest faced public scandal. In fact, in the flick of a fan you could become a social pariah. As well she knew.

Mayhap it was more than a flick of a fan… four golden rings…

Her old shame lifted its ugly head. Oh if only she could take back her past. She vowed though to protect Henrietta from frivolous behaviour. She could at least do that.

And yet somehow, here she was, companion to a wonderful aristocrat who had turned all of the rules and regulations upside down. Lady Watson had taken in Isabella with her shadowy past and her tarnished reputation without a second thought and she seemed immune to the opinions of her peers; unaffected by the sneers and sniggers that occurred behind raised fans whenever she appeared in public with Isabella by her side. She appeared to be truly fearless and Isabella found herself constantly bursting with admiration for her because of it.

Then, as if her acceptance of Isabella was not enough, the great Lady had become guardian to little Henrietta. Isabella recalled the conversation regarding the girl’s imminent arrival clearly.

‘Isabella, we are to have a new companion.’

‘We are?’

‘Yes, dear. A Miss Henrietta Pembrey. She has been… asked to leave her boarding school so I have invited her to stay with us.’

‘Asked to leave? But why?’ Isabella had frowned.

‘Her… funding… her benefactor has passed… and the school’s patroness does not wish her to remain there any longer.’

‘But that is awful, Lady Watson. She cannot pay so she is to be cast out?’

‘I agree with your sentiments, dear, but people will do what they will do. I am convinced that Miss Pembrey will benefit from living in a secure and comfortable environment where she will receive nourishment and affection and be able to avoid stressful situations… like the embarrassment of having no money to call her own.’

‘You mean here… with us?’

The Lady had nodded.

‘Does she have no family?’

‘The poor girl was apparently abandoned by her own mother because of her illegitimacy, my dear. Such things sometimes happen unfortunately.’

‘Illegitimacy? Really, Lady Watson?’ Isabella had made an effort to pull her eyebrows down to their normal position.

‘Yes and I suspect that she was born to a lady from the upper echelons of society, conceived as the result of an illicit affair and then placed ‒ out of sight, out of mind ‒ in a girls’ boarding school.’

Isabella had nearly choked on her tea.

‘But how would a… a lady get away with such behaviour? Would her husband not notice?’

‘Mayhap he did, mayhap he didn’t.’ Lady Watson had shrugged as if such things did not matter and Isabella had accepted that the conversation was over.

Thus, six months ago, after Isabella had been with Lady Crawford for almost a year, Henrietta had joined their country household and had now accompanied them to London for the season. Isabella knew though, that Henrietta’s chances of finding a suitable match would be as limited as her own now were. What man of the ton would stain his reputation by connecting with a woman of no name? Henrietta would need guarding from the pain that forming an attachment could bring and Isabella longed to shield the girl from anything that could hurt her. Namely, men.

Lady Watson finished her tea then rose from the table. Isabella watched as she placed her hands upon the back of her chair to steady herself.

‘Girls… I would appreciate your company this morning when Lord Crawford visits.’

‘Of course,’ Isabella replied quickly, having no intention of leaving Lady Watson alone with the man who had clearly abandoned her and caused her significant pain.

‘However,’ the Lady raised a shaky hand, ‘we will require some privacy as we have much to discuss. So, following pleasantries, I would appreciate it if you retire to the window seat.’

Isabella smarted at the idea but what could she do? She would just have to keep an eye on the dark figure of Lord Crawford and ensure that he did not place too much strain upon his aunt. For as brave as Lady Watson might be, Isabella had last evening seen a chink in her armour in the shape of the lady’s nephew, and she had no intention of allowing that chink to be penetrated by a weapon of the heart or mind.

* * * *

Waiting in the parlour, Isabella found it hard not to fidget. The room was cool, dark and uncomfortably quiet. Lady Watson sat on a high backed chair next to the fire, warming her feet and appearing engrossed in her embroidery while Henrietta sat next to Isabella at the window seat.

She looked round the familiar room, trying to distract herself from the nauseating churning in her stomach, and she crossed and uncrossed her ankles; unable to make them comfortable.

Why did she feel so nervous? It was ridiculous to think that it had something to do with the enigmatic Lord Crawford. Yet try as she might, she was unable to banish his handsome countenance from her mind.

Fool!

She had been here before, taken in by a fine appearance, softly spoken words and the tenderest of touches. And where had it got her? Regardless, this James Crawford had the power to wound the lady Isabella cared so dearly for. She would not allow him to affect her so deeply that she lost focus on her duty to Lady Watson.

Isabella glanced around the room, trying to distract herself from her errant thoughts but everywhere her gaze landed, it met the stern face of a family member of Lady Watson, captured forever in oil paint on canvas. It was ridiculous to think that the subjects of these portraits could possibly be looking at her with disapproval, yet it felt that way, that they were peering down their aristocratic noses at her in the same way as most of London society – in the same way that Lord Crawford certainly would do when he learnt more about her past.

She stood and wandered around the room. She paused to make slight alterations to the arrangement of dried flowers on a corner table. They were brittle beneath her hands and despite the maid’s cleaning, dust had settled between the folds of their petals. She ran her fingers over the cover of the family bible, the only object placed upon the main parlour table, she shuddered as she thought of the tales of persecution and retribution within its covers. The great book made it clear how a young woman should behave and what awaited her if she strayed from the path of righteousness. Yet, Isabella smiled wryly, the ton’s treatment of young ladies in possession of what it deemed to be loose morals, probably made the biblical punishments pale in comparison.

‘Isabella!’ Lady Watson’s tone was uncharacteristically sharp. ‘Please sit down. You are making me feel most uneasy.’

‘I am so sorry, Lady Watson.’ Isabella had not realised that her own anxiety would affect her companions and she certainly did not want to add to Lady Watson’s tension. She hurried back to the window seat where she sat next to Henrietta. The pretty girl was absorbed in her sketching, her blonde ringlets falling forwards over her pink cheeks as she concentrated on her artwork.

Isabella peered over Henrietta’s shoulder expecting to find a picture of a rolling landscape or a child playing with a kitten. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene before her and she sucked in a tremulous breath.

‘Henrietta!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why on earth would you draw that?’

The girl’s eyes were hazy with confusion. ‘I am sorry, Isabella,’ she blushed and made an attempt to cover the drawing with her hands, ‘but it was so clear in my mind and I felt the need to capture it on paper.’

Isabella balled up her fists and pressed them into her skirts as vivid memories flooded her mind.

‘What is it, girls?’ Lady Watson asked, glancing up from her embroidery.

‘Nothing, it is nothing, Lady Watson,’ Isabella muttered, putting out a restraining hand to prevent Henrietta from rising.

‘But it must be something interesting if it has brought such a flush to your cheeks, dear,’ Lady Watson smiled. ‘Is it an image of a man, mayhap?’ Her smile broadened.

Isabella was so relieved to see the older woman’s smile that she removed her hand and allowed Henrietta to rise and hand her drawing over.

Lady Watson began to chuckle. ‘Why, Henrietta this is excellent. You have captured the scene quite well. Did Isabella really appear so furious with Lord Crawford?’

Henrietta looked from Lady Watson to Isabella, her lips twitching, and Isabella began to laugh then for the sketch really was excellent. She felt the joy bubbling low in her belly then spreading outwards so that it shook her whole chest. Had she really appeared so startled, so ridiculous as she sat there on Rotten Row, covered in horse muck and surrounded by the ton?

When she could catch her breath, she replied. ‘Yes, Lady Watson, Henrietta has recreated the scene of my fall at Hyde Park in perfect detail.’ From the startled fury upon her face to the bemused concern on Lord Crawford’s, every detail brought yesterday’s incident to life. But now it seemed less serious, less important, less humiliating.

Isabella stood and walked over to Lady Watson, peering at the picture over her shoulder. She gazed at the sketch and placed a hand over her thudding heart. Was Lord Crawford really that handsome… or had Henrietta been overly generous? Isabella’s eyes followed the face that sat beneath his black hat, took in his strong, square jaw line and wide sideburns and wallowed in the deep dark depths of his eyes.

Lady Watson sighed. ‘Is he not a very fine figure of a man, Isabella?’

She swallowed hard before replying, ‘Indeed he is, my lady.’

His shoulders were broad, his waist slim and his legs so shapely, so muscular.

Had she missed these details yesterday? In fact, had she really overlooked these details or just not allowed herself to acknowledge them? She felt quite lightheaded.

Lady Watson passed the sketch to Isabella and she allowed her eyes to wander slowly over the gentleman’s form, absorbing every detail, before returning it to Henrietta.

‘No, Isabella, you keep it. It is a gift.’ The girl put out her hand and gently pushed the sketch away.

‘Thank you,’ she smiled, ‘I think.’ But what I shall do with it I do not know for I cannot allow myself to keep staring at Lord Crawford like a lovesick debutante. I barely know the man… if it is possible to really know a man at all.

All three women jumped as a loud knock echoed through the hallway and Isabella’s heart somersaulted into her mouth.

Was that him? Was he here?

Her eyes moved from Lady Watson to the door, where they waited expectantly, the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears. She tried hard to slow her breathing and to regain her composure before Lord Crawford was admitted to the parlour but heat surged through her cheeks.

She must get a hold on her emotions now… quickly… before she made a fool of herself all over again. And that could not happen.

Suddenly aware of a rustling noise, she looked down and frowned, for Henrietta’s perfect sketch lay crumpled within her restless hands.