The Maiden At Midnight (5 page)

The journey had been uncomfortable and she
had been relieved when the carriage had finally come to a stop. She
was sick of breathing in the scent of old oranges and dried fruits,
which was what the sack on her head smelt of. The aroma reminded
her of Christmases past, happier times for them all. It did not
help her state of mind at all. To make matters worse, her domino
had worked itself free during the rough handling she had received
and was pressed uncomfortably against the side of her head. It was
extremely irritating.

She had heard the door open and the carriage
springs dip as her abductor had climbed in.

‘Well, now,’ that familiar voice had said
heartily, ‘I think the time has come for us to talk. My apologizes
for the – ah – unusual manner in which I brought you along -’

‘Unusual!’ Isabella had
squeaked incredulously, ‘sir, you have
abducted
me!’

‘It’s not that bad. I… I merely wished to
get you alone. So I could explain my intentions.’ He had sounded
decidedly flustered. ‘Dammit Miss Piedmont, I didn’t know what else
to do. There are always a swarm of fellows hanging about you and
you’re constantly guarded by that dragon of an aunt – not that I’m
saying she’s a dragon, I’m sure she’s perfectly charming! – that I
decided to just… you know, step away from the pack, so to speak and
run my own race.’

Those words had illuminated the situation
perfectly and Isabella had felt her ire rise. Once again, she had
suffered from mistaken identity. The fool had thought he was
abducting Alora Piedmont, the heiress she had been hearing about
since arriving in London. He had ruined the wrong female!

‘What an absolute idiot you are!’

‘Oh, I say,’ he’d protested, ‘I knew you
wouldn’t be thrilled. Harry said that a gel likes a bit of pomp in
these matters but we can do all that kind of frippery stuff later,
surely.’

‘Take this sack of my head immediately!’

Perhaps there had been something in her
voice, for he had complied. Cold air had struck her warm cheeks and
Isabella had drawn several long, sustaining breathes. She had the
satisfaction of watching the man’s face change as he stared at her
and the growing look of horror in his eyes merely confirmed what
she already knew; the fool had made a dreadful mistake.

‘But you’re not Miss Piedmont!’

‘So very true. And now, having discovered
your error, you can do me the very great service of taking me
home.’ Although really, Isabella dreaded to think of the commotion
she would discover.

The young gentleman was
still struggling with the knowledge that he had made a serious
error in judgment. ‘But how can this be? It ruins
every
thing.’

It was then that Isabella realized that she
was dealing with a fellow well into his cups. It should have
occurred to her before then, as his behavior was extraordinary,
even by London standards.

‘It certainly ruins everything for me,’
she’d agreed tartly, ‘and I would appreciate it if you return me
forthwith before the situation becomes even more untenable.’

‘Yes, but who
are
you?’

‘Miss Isabella Hathaway. And you, sir?’

‘Stornley,’ he’d told her, rather
forlornly.

Stornley… The name was familiar and after a
moment, she had it. The Earl of Stornley had been pointed out to
her across several herbaceous borders in Kew Gardens three days
before.

‘A likely prospect, that,’ her Aunt
Geraldine had told her thoughtfully. ‘There’s something peculiar
about the estate but he has excellent prospects.’

Isabella had tried to see this excellent
prospect a little more clearly but his face had been half turned
from her and she had merely glimpsed curling golden hair. ‘I would
have been more delighted to meet you under different
circumstances,’ she’d told him grimly. ‘As it is… take me
home!’

He’d stared at her uncertainly. ‘But what am
I going to say to your people?’

‘You don’t have to say anything at all.
Just… put me down outside.’

‘I couldn’t do that!’ he’d appeared quite
shocked by the very idea, ‘I couldn’t leave you in the street.’

The idea that his lordship
should baulk at something as innocuous as putting her down in the
street as opposed to the far greater sin of kidnapping her made
Isabella bridle all over again. ‘Oh for heaven’s sake! Pray, don’t
be such a ninny, sir. You have
kidnapped
me. I daresay that is a… a
hanging offence. What do you mean by it anyway? Who is this Miss
Piedmont that you should treat her so shabbily?’

‘I was going to elope with her!’

‘Well you have made a very poor job of it.
Did you not have any plan, the two of you? A place to meet or… or a
code word of some kind?’ How absurd this situation was. She
wondered what Miss Piedmont must be thinking, waiting for her
would-be groom who never turned up. But in this, she was
mistaken.

‘She didn’t actually
know
we were eloping,’
his lordship admitted, ‘It was a surprise.’

‘So… we are back to kidnapping, then.’

The earl sighed and shook his head. ‘I have
to say, I’ve certainly made a mess of this. Wait until Harry
hears.’

Isabella did not know who Harry was, nor did
she care. She was interested in one thing and one thing only. ‘Are
you going to take me home?’

He had eyed her uneasily. ‘Are you going to
make a fuss if I do? I would rather do without a scandal.’

Did he think
she
wanted one? What an
idiot the man was. ‘I am going to make a fuss if you don’t.’ she
had informed him grimly.

Which had possibly been the wrong thing to
say. Perhaps it had been the anger kindling in her eyes or the look
on her face – an unfortunate manifestation of her unruly tongue –
that made Stornley decide that she was far too upset to be returned
home just yet. Besides, he was feeling rather poorly and so –
complete fool that he was – he decided that he should take Miss
Hathaway somewhere until she was ‘more the thing’. Which infuriated
her so much that she had told him exactly what she thought of him,
which had resulted in her having another scarf (one wondered where
the man obtained them for he seemed to have an unending supply)
placed firmly around her mouth. Why he had thought that getting
rooms at an inn was a good idea was not at all clear. She had tried
to tell him that it was absurd but naturally, the only sounds she
could make were unintelligible. Rooms obtained, she had been
hustled upstairs and into a small, rather shabby parlor and invited
to sit. Her decision to leave the room soon after she had entered
it had seen her gently, but firmly, thrust into a chair. He had
released her wrists only to secure them again to its arms, all the
while apologizing for such shabby treatment.

‘But you see,’ he’d assured her vaguely,
‘come morning and I’m sure we will have discovered the best way
around things. I’m a little under the weather at the moment, but I
shall be better directly, I assure you.’

He had offered her wine, which she would
have refused, if she had been capable. He himself ordered a jug and
indulged liberally, further clouding his already befuddled judgment
while he had expounded on his plan to marry the fair Miss Piedmont.
After an hour or so, Isabella would have given much to have been
able to block her ears so that she did not have to listen anymore.
One thing was clear; Miss Piedmont had had a lucky escape!

It must have been nearly
dawn when she had fallen asleep in the chair he had tied her to.
And now… well, at some stage she had been
un
tied and laid upon a bed. Her
cheeks warmed at the idea of being manhandled by a stranger
although she comforted herself with the knowledge that at least she
was still fully clothed. Uncomfortable, thanks to the lacing on her
under dress, but clothed.

Pushing aside the covers, Isabella rose to
her feet. She felt… untidy. The carefully arranged curls that she
had left the house with the previous night had tumbled down and now
her heavy hair was loose, hanging around her shoulders in a tangle.
Her dress was rumpled and, somewhere along the way, she had lost
one of her slippers.

The conversation continued from the other
room, a deep rumble of male voices. Isabella’s soft mouth
tightened.

‘
- does not alter the fact
that I need an heiress. And I
like
Alora Piedmont. I do believe we would rub along
together very well. She’s awfully sweet.’

She walked towards the
door, spine stiffening with righteous indignation. He liked Alora
Piedmont did he? She could only think that the poor girl had had a
very fortunate escape to have avoided the clutches of this madman.
Miss
Piedmont
was
not the one who was ruined!

‘It does not matter what she is as she is
not the girl who is currently asleep in the next room. Truth is,
you’ve ruined the creature by acting like a jackass. And you can’t
go about ruining innocent girls. It just isn’t done.’

Well at least his friend understood the
consequences, even if the Earl of Stornley did not. A pity he had
not been there last night.

‘But I know nothing about her!’

‘Well I wouldn’t panic just yet. For all you
know she may be an heiress as well.’

An heiress? Was that was this was about?
Well she would take great pleasure in disillusioning them on that
score. Miss Isabella Hathaway was as poor as a church mouse.

‘Oh really? Two heiresses who look like
Botticelli angels? I hardly think so.’

‘It does not matter. You must marry
her.’

‘I don’t want to!’

‘You have no choice!’

Isabella opened the door
and glared at the two men who were sitting eating breakfast –
breakfast! – as if they did not have a care in the world. ‘No.
But
I
do. And if
you think I’m going to marry some… some peep-o-day boy then you
have both got another think coming! The only thing I intend to do
is to
go home.
’

Both men turned as one to stare at her,
dismay write large on each of their faces. As well it may be.

She was tired, she was disheveled and she
was, to all intents and purposes, ruined.

Under the circumstances, Stornley and his
wretched friend were in for a very uncomfortable time.

Chapter Three

‘Miss Hathaway!’ Stornley rose so quickly
that his chair shot backwards, tipping over and falling to the
floor with a clatter.

‘Good morning, my lord,’ she replied coldly.
‘Naturally you have discovered a way out of this predicament while
I have been… resting?’

Stornley grimaced. ‘We were just discussing
the situation -’

‘So I heard.’

‘ –
and we have yet to find
a solution but I can assure you, I will do my utmost to make things
right.’

‘There is only one way to make it right,’
Stornley’s companion repeated quietly.

Isabella shifted her eyes to the tall,
dark-haired gentleman that had also risen to his feet when she had
entered the room. She was almost sure he had been the earl’s
companion at the ball the night before for she could remember two
men, one fair, the other dark. He was, she supposed, good-looking.
Certainly, both men could be considered such; tall, young and
strong of body. She had always preferred brunettes, it was true,
but that was not to say she found this man appealing, despite the
fact that he had a pair of striking green eyes, black-fringed and
startling against the overall darkness of his coloring. He looked a
little like Willett and an unlooked for pang of pain echoed through
her.

Presumably, this was ‘Harry’. The one who
had decided that she should be married to a man she did not know.
How thoughtful of him – a gentleman who was also a complete
stranger – to decide her future for her.

‘I wish to be taken home immediately,’ she
said, as firmly as possible for she thought there was a very good
chance that both men were still foxed. It would be awkward, having
to explain herself but she and Mama would manage something. It had
been a masquerade ball after all and she had not been unmasked. And
clearly there had been a girl who looked enough like her that
Isabella had been mistaken for her more than once. That could only
help disguise things further, surely. If the situation were managed
properly, nobody need ever know how she had spent the remainder of
what had turned out to be a very disappointing night.

‘I understand,’ the earl said earnestly,
‘and believe me when I say that there is nothing I would prefer but
the thing is, there will be difficulties. Questions.’ He seemed to
find the prospect slightly terrifying.

‘You have been compromised,’ Harry, for that
is all Isabella knew him as, told her bluntly. ‘There is no help
for it but to marry Stornley here.’

‘There is,’ she replied
grimly. ‘There is a very great help for it. Nobody knows what
happened to me last night. Nobody need know where I went or whom I
was with. I shall tell my mother the truth but nobody else so you
see, your friend is not in a bind at all. All he needs to do is to
just
take me home
.’

Both men seemed rather taken aback by her
vehemence but there it was; her forthright tongue manifesting
itself. When riled, and it happened all to frequently in some
people’s opinion, Isabella could be quite shocking rude. Unladylike
was an appellation that had been applied to her on several
occasions. But surely this was a very trying situation. Most people
would be furious, would they not?