Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (10 page)

Isobel did not recognize where they were until they
passed the edge of a flowered border she did remember. “At last!”
she cried when she recalled that, should they cut through, they
would be very near the entrance. “Oh, but that way is to the
gates!” She stopped when he continued straight ahead.

“
Indeed, it is not,
miss.”

“
No, sir, you are mistaken,” she
insisted when he tried to urge her on. She began to have a sense of
how reckless she had been to trust a stranger.

“
I assure you, ‘tis you, angel
though you are, who are mistaken,” he said smoothly.

He walked on and she had no choice but to walk with
him. With every step they took she was more and more certain he was
leading her away from the entrance, especially since she did not
see any buildings that looked as if they might be the coffeehouse.
She pulled to a sudden halt when, to her great relief, she saw Mrs.
Vincent walking out of one of the Chinese-style buildings.

“
I see my party now!” She jerked
her arm free and called out to Mrs. Vincent. She waved frantically
when she saw the woman look around.

“
Miss St. James, what a pleasure,”
she said when Isobel reached her side.

“
Is Mr. Swaffing here?” she asked,
so relieved to see someone she knew that she failed to note her
“rescuer” had followed her and was standing next to her, listening
with great interest to every word.

“
Miss St. James!”

“
Lord Hartforde,” purred Mrs.
Vincent, smiling and half turning to look behind her.

“
Lord Hartforde!” Isobel jerked
her head up as he readied Mrs. Vincent’s side.

“
My Lord Hartforde,” said Mr.
Selwynn, while he straightened up from a deferential bow, “Miss St.
James was lost and she prevailed upon me to escort her to safety.”
Isobel was horrified to hear Mr. Selwynn giving him the impression
that she had accosted a complete stranger, and she turned to stare
at him. “I trust, my lord, I am leaving her in capable hands.” He
bowed and would have kissed Isobel’s hand had she not snatched it
away. He bowed again and, smoothing his moustache, left Isobel
staring after him.

“
I presume, Miss St. James, you
are no longer lost?” Lord Hartforde queried.

“
I was with Lady Julia and Lord
Burke and we were separated, and I did not know where I was nor how
to reach anywhere I knew! And he addressed me, my lord!”

“
And where are my sister and Burke
now?” A large diamond flashed on his finger as he brushed a speck
of dust from his immaculate cuff.

“
We were going to have coffee when
we were separated.” Isobel was so close to tears that her voice
trembled.

“
We were just going that way.” He
indicated the group that had exited the building after Mrs.
Vincent. Mr. Swaffing was not among them.

“
I just want to go home!” She was
positively mortified to feel her cheeks burning and tears welling
up again.

“
Please, Miss St. James, consider
my carriage at your disposal.” He made a neat little bow before
turning to Mrs. Vincent. “Mrs. Vincent…Angelica,” he murmured. “If
you would be so kind as to allow me to escort Miss St. James to my
carriage, I shall rejoin our party in a thrice.”

“
Of course, my lord,” said Mrs.
Vincent, looking at Isobel a little smugly and, evidently, feeling
she was in a position to be magnanimous.

Lord Hartforde took Isobel’s arm and, as soon as
they were out of earshot, cleared his throat. “Miss St. James,” he
said sternly, “I feel it my duty to tell you a young lady never,
upon any account whatsoever, approaches a stranger. I understand
you are new to England, and no doubt things are done differently in
America, but ‘tis little excuse for acting so unwisely.”

“
I did no such thing!” She looked
away as soon as she met the brilliant green of his eyes, unsettled
at the strange sensation it caused in her. She found it helpful to
concentrate on his sword, gently hitting the skirt of her
gown.

“
Then you know Mr. Selwynn?” He
glanced down at her.

“
Of course not!” she denied hotly,
trying not to take offense at what she thought was a patronizing
tone.

“
Then, forgive me, if you will,
Miss St. James, you must have approached a stranger.
Q.E.D.”

His voice was so full of
condescension that for a moment she entirely forgot to be cowed by
him. “Forgive me, Lord Hartforde, but he approached me. I did not
approach a stranger.
Quod erat
demonstrandum.
”

“
Verbum sat
sapienti est, Miss St. James.
”

“’
Yet do I hold that mortal
foolish who strives against the stress of necessity.’” She was
angry enough at him for scolding her for something she had
considered only in desperation that she forgot how upset she had
been at Mr. Selwynn for implying what had not been the
case.

“
Good heavens! A woman who quotes
the classics!” He was laughing, and Isobel frowned at him. “Pray
tell, Miss St. James, when had you occasion to read
Euripides?”

“
When I was eleven,” she said
shortly.

There was an incredulous pause. “Indeed?” he said.
There was another pause, during which Isobel glared at him, and
after which he said, smiling, though his voice was serious, “Should
a woman as learned as yourself deign to take my humble advice, you
would do well to avoid Mr. Selwynn in the future.”

By then they had reached his carriage and he handed
her up when the footman jumped to attention and opened the door.
She heard him giving the coachman instructions after the door was
shut but didn’t know he stood looking after the carriage long after
it was out of sight.

II

Later, Julia was effusively apologetic for Lord
Burke’s clumsiness in losing hold of her at Ranelagh and she
repeated her brother’s advice to avoid Mr. Selwynn.

The next day, promptly at ten in the morning—the
earliest one might call without rudeness—one of the servants
brought her a card with the name “Mr. Rupert Henry Selwynn”
embossed in ornate letters beneath the silhouette of a carriage and
four. “He sends his best regards for your health and begs you to
see him, miss,” the servant said when Isobel took the card from the
tray.

“
Show Mr. Selwynn to the west
drawing room,” Isobel said. “And tell him I will join him
momentarily.” She finished her coffee, then went to see Mr. Rupert
Henry Selwynn.

“
Miss St. James! It is indeed a
pleasure and an honor to see you.” He took the hand she extended to
him and bent over it. As he did so, he thought he had never held a
hand so pretty. The sapphires she wore could be worth no less than
a thousand pounds.

Isobel took her hand back. “Have you come to
apologize, Mr. Selwynn?”

“
Miss St. James, I can only think
you refer to your misapprehension that I was not leading you to the
coffeehouse. “ He looked stricken at the thought. “I assure you, I
was not leading you astray! May I be struck down as I speak if I am
capable of such a base act!” Fortunately, Mr. Selwynn was not a
religious man, or he could not have kept his composure so
well.

“
Yet, I know you were not taking
me to the entrance, Mr. Selwynn. I had at least remembered that
much!” She remained standing.

“
You are quite mistaken, Miss St.
James.” He stroked his upper lip. “I was merely taking you by a
route which you, apparently, did not recognize. I would
never—never!—do such a thing as you accuse me of.” He went down on
one knee before her and grasped her hand. “Miss St. James, I beg of
you, I beseech you! I shall throw myself in front of the first
carriage to pass your door if you persist in thinking me capable of
such a base and dishonorable act!” He stood up when she gently took
her hand away.

“
Yet, you allowed Lord Hartforde
to think I approached you, a stranger.”

“
I?” He put a hand to his breast.
“I only recall helping to safety a beautiful woman who was in
distress. If my Lord Hartforde received the impression that you
approached me, why, ‘tis false!”

“
But so he thinks.”

“
Then I shall go to him directly I
leave here and explain his error!”

“
I think you had best do so, Mr.
Selwynn.” She rose and rang for a servant to show Mr. Selwynn
out.

“
I shall go on the instant, Miss
St. James.” He took her hand and bowed over it. “Will the lovely
Miss St. James have pity on my poor soul and permit me the honor of
calling on her again?”

“
Perhaps, Mr. Selwynn.” At least
Lord Hartforde would no longer think her morals loose. Mr. Selwynn
seemed so sincere she did not at all doubt he would keep his
promise.

“
Then, I am your slave, Miss St.
James.” And he followed the servant out of the room.

Rupert Selwynn paused on the steps of number 5
Albemarle, feeling extremely pleased that Miss St. James had so
easily forgiven him. She was twice the beauty he had remembered. A
few well-placed questions since their first encounter had gleaned
him the information that she was the natural daughter of the earl
of Chessingham, an intimate friend of the Lady Julia Grey, and in a
fair way of becoming an heiress. Here, he told himself, is a woman
who could almost make me look fondly upon the tortures of
matrimony. The very thought of her expected fortune combined with
his was nearly enough to make him consider the deed. When he first
saw her at Ranelagh, he did not have the slightest suspicion she
was so well connected, or he would never have attempted to make off
with her. It had been quite a shock to discover she knew Lord
Hartforde. There was a man he chose not to cross again. He smoothed
his moustache. Then, pulling on his kid gloves, he softly whistled
a tune as he skipped down the steps. He signaled his driver to
follow him and walked off in the direction of Charing Cross
Road.

Shortly after Mr. Selwynn disappeared around the
corner, Lord Burke arrived to beg Isobel’s forgiveness for his
stupidity in losing hold of her for even a second, and he looked so
abjectly ashamed that she really did forgive him and they parted on
the best of terms.

I

Not long after the outing at Ranelagh, Lady Julia
arrived at Redruth determined to entice Isobel into going out once
more; this time she had arranged a large party from which she could
not possibly be separated. Julia was shown to the music room, where
she found Isobel so intent on the fortepiano that she did not hear
the servant’s announcement. Julia signaled the footman to go and
stood in the doorway to listen with rapt attention. She had never
heard anything so sad in her life. The notes cried out to her,
slowing, softening, yet never losing a clarity that made her wonder
how anyone could have stood such sorrow except to express it
exactly so.

“
Who was that?” she asked when
Isobel sat tapping one finger on the sheets of music in front of
her. She jumped at the sound of Julia’s voice and hastily placed a
songbook over the sheaf of papers before turning to smile at her.
Julia sat down next to her. “It was very sad. And
beautiful.”

“’
Twas nothing.” She shrugged and
played a trill, her fingers moving rapidly over the keys. “Just
something I made up. I’m afraid I’m out of practice. I played
badly.” She gave a disappointed smile.

“
It was you? I mean,” she said,
when Isobel raised her eyebrows, “was it you who wrote
it?”

“
The very same.” Julia was silent
and Isobel gave a little half smile. “I had lessons in
America.”

“
Surely you have lessons here?”
She leaned one arm on the fortepiano and alternately tapped two
keys with the fingers of the other.

“
The man I want to study with
won’t take on a woman student. He said I played very nicely and he
was sure my husband would be proud to have such an accomplished
wife. It was so unfair!”

“
Oh, pshaw!” Julia laughed and
played a scale. “Women have music lessons all the time. I had
lessons myself. As you can hear, they were quite a
success.”

“
You don’t understand.” Isobel
shook her head. “I don’t want to play just the fortepiano; anyone
can do that. I write music, and not only for fortepiano, but for
the orchestra…symphonies! I want to hear my music performed
someday. It will be performed! It’s worse here than it was in
America. An Englishwoman with any ambition beyond having children
might as well be dead!” She banged her hands down on the keys in
frustration.

“
But, Isobel—”

“
At least let me fail after I have
tried my best. To fail because I am not permitted to try is a crime
against my soul. I refuse to believe I am inferior! You heard me
play, Julia. Did you think the music inferior? No, you thought it
must have been written by a man. Not even Mr. Walters could call it
inferior. He simply refused to believe I had written
it.”

“
So, find another
teacher.”

“
But who? I don’t know of anyone
else.”

“
John Faircourt,” Julia
said.

“
I doubt he’d take me on as a
serious student.”