Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (8 page)

Her stay at Mawbury wrought a gradual change in her
appearance. For the first time in a long while she was getting
enough to eat, and it was food of infinitely better quality than
she had eaten in New York. She could sleep all morning if it suited
her, but it was some time before she stayed in bed past eight
o’clock. She began to gain a little weight, and, though she was
still pale, she lost the ghastly pallor that had made her look so
unhealthy. And her clothes! Never had she had so many dresses (she
gave a sigh of relief to see not a single one of that hideous brown
color), and she had enough underthings to last a lifetime. There
was a pair of slippers for each gown and dozens upon dozens of silk
stockings. There were garters, hats, and gloves and she was already
collecting rich muffs, scarves, wraps, and even a beautiful black
fur cape that she would be able to wear in winter. She shouldn’t
have been surprised to learn she was expected to change her clothes
several times a day: one dress for morning, one for afternoon, a
blue habit for riding, a dress for walking in the park, and yet
another gown for the evening. Sometimes it seemed to her that she
did nothing but change her clothes.

Isobel passed the summer in tolerable comfort, and
if she was sometimes a little lonely, all she had to do was think
of New York and even Miss Steadly seemed good company. If she had
not been anxious to find the music teacher Mr. Archer had
recommended to her, she would have been happy to stay at Mawbury
indefinitely.

In mid-September, the earl finally requested she
come to London. She could not help feeling hurt when she found he
had been in London for nearly two weeks before sending for her.
When she arrived at Redruth she was informed by an unsmiling Mrs.
Godwaite that his lordship had left word he was out for the day but
expected to return in time to dine with her at half past four. At a
quarter past four, he sent word that he would be joining her for
tea at six, as he was engaged for dinner. He arrived at half past
six and, after a perfunctory apology for having kept her waiting,
received a shock when he actually took the trouble to look at her.
She was still pale, but her skin had taken on a translucence that
made her complexion seem delicate instead of sickly. Her nose,
which had seemed a trifle too long in her thin face, now seemed
perfectly suited to her high cheekbones. Most of all, she radiated
good health, her golden hair was shiny, and, though she remained
slim, she had lost the angular, half-starved look that had so
concerned her Uncle Edward.

II

Isobel and her father had dinner together almost
every day, but though there were often several people waiting for
him, he never invited callers to stay. He would, however, repeat
their stories to her so she could almost feel she had met them
herself. Isobel looked forward to their dinners because it was the
only time she might expect to have an intelligent conversation. Her
father was invariably engaged for supper and Isobel generally spent
the evening meal alone. The earl enjoyed their afternoons together
for many reasons, not the least of which was the increasing
evidence that his daughter might actually be considered a beauty.
More than once, however, he took her to task for her blunt way of
speaking.

“
Ladies,” he warned her, “should
not be so accomplished as you seem to be. It is well established
that intellectual pursuits have proven to be too much of a strain
on the fragile constitution of the fair sex, leading to ill health
and, in dire cases, insanity.”

“
Oh, Father! That’s
nonsense!”

“
Nevertheless, one would be hard
pressed to find a husband who would appreciate such
accomplishments. As the late Lord Chesterfield has said”—he raised
a finger to make his point—“Women, then, are only children of a
larger growth.’ You would do well not to forget it.” He shook his
fork at her to emphasize the seriousness of his words.

“
But, Father, if I really were
only a child, would you need to remind me to act like one?” She
looked at him as though puzzled.

“
Your impertinence is not
appreciated,” he snorted.

“
Well, then, I think it unlikely I
shall marry,” she said, looking down to cut into her roast beef in
order to hide her smile.

“
Who would have such an impudent
little snip as you, I can’t imagine!”

“
I promise you, Father, when at
last I am presented to society, no one will ever suspect I’ve a
brain in my head!” She waved her fork in the air.

“
I do believe you’re too clever
for your own good.” He was unable to suppress a smile, and he
actually grinned when she began to laugh.

“
Father, I know I am not all you
might have desired in a daughter, but I can scarce be anything
other than myself. You will have to be satisfied with me as I
am.”

“
Friday se’nnight there will be
guests for supper. You may attend,” he said gruffly.

“
And who is invited?” She failed
to hide her excitement at the prospect of meeting some of his
circle.

“
Lord Burke, Lord Hartforde, his
sister Lady Julia, Edward and his wife; and Mr. Mansfield Swaffing
has prevailed upon me to have Mrs. Vincent. Mrs. Vincent is the
widow of Mr. Humphrey Vincent.”

“
I shall be a model of femininity,
I promise.” She put a hand to her heart as she spoke. Mr. Swaffing,
she knew, was a member of Parliament for one of the boroughs under
her father’s control. About Lord Burke she knew little except that
his father had been the earl’s closest friend. The marquess of
Hartforde, however, was a man about whom she knew a great deal. His
name was mentioned frequently in the political papers her father
read. She knew he had held some post or other in the government
until the death of his father, when he took his seat in the House
of Lords and had proceeded to make his name known. She had found
and read several pamphlets containing the texts of some of his
speeches, and she was anxious to meet the man who could compose
such inspiring words. Lord Hartforde was a man of impassioned
beliefs who could temper his fiery rhetoric with good sense if it
was necessary. She distinctly remembered reading somewhere that
there were some who speculated Lord Hartforde might well be the
next Prime Minister.

III

Isobel had to smile when Mr. Swaffing arrived on the
heels of Mrs. Vincent. Angelica Vincent could not possibly be a day
over twenty-two, which was about twenty years fewer than her escort
could claim. She was a beautiful woman with dark hair and dark
eyes, that, Isobel thought at first seemed introspective but, much
later, realized was the result of her complete disinterest in any
person not attired in breeches. She wore an exceedingly low-cut
gown of watered green silk sprigged with darker green. From the
jewels fairly dripping off her, Isobel surmised the woman’s late
husband had left her quite well off. Mr. Swaffing was a roundish
little man whose claim to good looks lay chiefly in the abundance
of his dark hair and his having found an excellent tailor. His
effusive greeting to Isobel was cut short by the arrival of Lord
Burke.

“’
Tis an honor to make your
acquaintance, Miss St. James.” Lord Burke bent over her hand. “I am
your servant.”

When he spoke, he gave the impression he was a sober
man for all that the ruffles of his shirtlace and cravat bordered,
by British standards, on the excessive. Though not a small man, he
was by no means corpulent, and his auburn hair was artfully curled
at the nape of his neck. He was almost handsome, with light brown
eyes and a ready smile. He greeted Edward and Mr. Swaffing, then
kissed Mrs. St. James’s hand before bending over Mrs. Vincent’s
hand. Edward’s wife was a gracious and still pretty woman who, it
was clear, was very fond of her husband. Isobel sat next to Mrs.
St. James, sipping from the small glass of wine the earl had
permitted her, quite happy to let Mrs. Vincent monopolize the
conversation until Lord Hartforde and his sister were announced.
The earl rose and took her arm as Lady Julia came in.

“
This enchanting young woman is
the Lady Julia Grey,” the earl said as Lady Julia reached out to
take Isobel’s hands in hers.

“
My brother,” Lady Julia said to
Lord Chessingham, “is fussing over his horses and will be here just
as soon as he can bear to tear himself away.”

“
Lady Julia, my daughter, Miss
Isobel St. James.”

“
Your daughter!” Lady Julia looked
at the earl in surprise, her pale green eyes questioning before
extending a hand to him. Her voice was warm as she spoke. “Miss St.
James, it is a pleasure to meet you. You must tell me why Lord
Chessingham is trying to keep you such a secret when all of London
is talking about you! Shame on you, sir, for not introducing her to
us sooner.” She shook her raven head at him.

“
I have only just found her.” The
earl placed a hand on Isobel’s elbow. “My daughter has been in
London a very short time.”

“
Good evening, Lady Julia,” Isobel
said, already liking her. Lady Julia was about her own age,
certainly no older than nineteen or twenty. Her smooth complexion
was set off by glossy black hair, and her light eyes were open and
friendly. She was not tall and her fine features and slender figure
gave an impression of fragility. Isobel thought she seemed terribly
young to be the marquess’s sister. She had expected a much older
woman. She was soon so busy answering Lady Julia’s questions (How
did she like London? Had she seen many wild Indians when she lived
in America?) that she did not notice the tall gentleman who came
into the room and greeted her father.

Julia turned her head and said, “I see my brother is
being his usual graceless self.”

“
On the contrary,” Lord Hartforde
responded with a smile, “I merely choose to let my sister exhaust
herself first. I find it is quite useless to speak until she has
finished.” Isobel was surprised to see Lord Hartforde was much
younger than she had supposed, and even from this distance she
could see his eyes were not the piercing gray she had
imagined.

“
My Lord Hartforde, may I present
to you my daughter, Miss Isobel St. James,” the earl said. “The
most noble Alexander, Marquess of Hartforde.”

Lord Hartforde stepped forward and took her hand. “I
am at your service.”

She inclined her head toward him, and when he
straightened she found herself looking up into brilliant green
eyes. Where Julia was dark, her brother was fair; his thick sandy
hair was streaked with darker blond and his skin was faintly golden
from the sun. His nose was straight and his lips were curved in a
smile that did not reach the moss green of his eyes. No one feature
was responsible for his extraordinary looks; it was rather the
combination of them all that made him so handsome. What was
remarkable was that it was quite plain he was utterly unaware of
his beauty. Perhaps because he was so fair, he never had to give it
much thought. He had such an air of quiet confidence that Isobel
was convinced even if he had been a homely man it would have made
no difference in the effect he had on her. He was not at all what
she had expected. From what she had read about him, she had been
fully prepared for a paunchy older man about her father’s age with
a dignified but stuffy demeanor who, perhaps, walked with a slight
limp from the gout.

“
Lord Hartforde,” she murmured,
feeling as though she might drown in those eyes. She forced herself
to look away when she suddenly realized that, as he continued to
look at her, there was a flicker of amusement in his gaze. She did
not want to seem foolish or unsophisticated to anyone and, for some
reason, especially to this man. She was quite, quite certain that
Lord Hartforde had more than his share of women who made fools of
themselves over him.

He turned away from her to speak to her father. He
was wearing a suit of dark blue with gilt buttons, and the snug fit
of his breeches showed the legs of a man who kept himself active.
Isobel was glad that, like any man of fashion, he did not wear a
wig; instead, his own tawny hair was pulled back from his forehead
and tied at the nape of his neck with a blue ribbon. His cravat was
simple; he forbore the frothy lace so popular among certain men of
society, though the lace at his cuffs was not so plain as to miss
being fashionable. She sat back down to talk to Lady Julia, but she
could not take her eyes off him. Though she tried to resist, her
gaze constantly moved to him. He was talking with Lord Burke and
Mr. Swaffing, and she felt herself color when he saw her looking at
him. After that, she succeeded in keeping her attention focused
elsewhere until supper was announced.

Lord Burke lost no opportunity in taking Lady
Julia’s arm. When Edward took his wife’s arm, and Mr. Swaffing Mrs.
Vincent’s arm, Isobel had no choice but to take the arm Lord
Hartforde offered her. She stared at the buckles of his shoes as
they walked; they were fairly sparkling with diamonds. Isobel sat
on her father’s left, with Lord Hartforde across from her. She
hardly noticed where anyone else sat.

“
And, of course, you are planning
to give a ball for Miss St. James sometime soon…?” Julia smiled
over at Isobel before giving the earl a stern look.

“
I had thought at the new year,”
he replied.

“
Wonderful! Everyone will be back
from the country, bored to tears and anxious to start the new
season!” Julia clapped her hands. “Isobel, I shall give you the
name of my dressmaker.” She fixed the earl with a grim stare. “She
will need a gown, my lord! And this one must be
exceptional!”