The Maiden At Midnight (6 page)

‘Why don’t you come and have some
breakfast,’ Harry whatever-his-name-was said bracingly. ‘You’re
probably hungry.’

‘It is immaterial. I can breakfast at
home.’

‘Indeed. But it might be a good idea if we
were to discuss what needs to happen next.’ He was trying to be
reasonable, his tone said as much. He had that special ‘humoring a
female’ voice on that some males adopted upon occasion, when they
were trying to avoid a scene. The sound set her teeth on edge for
it made her feel she was being unreasonable, which was unreasonable
in itself. Willett had used that tone on her on more than one
occasion, when he had thought that she was overly excited. ‘Have a
cup of coffee.’

Isabella paused. Truthfully, she was
dreadfully hungry and she would love a cup of coffee, a drink that
did not come her way very much any more. Financially straightened
circumstances had seen many sad economies in her family’s household
and her aunt did not care for coffee. Now that she thought about
it, the aroma, mingled with delicious breakfast scents, had been
teasing her since waking. She glanced at the silver coffee pot and
conceded that one cup would not compromise her position any further
than it already was.

‘Very well,’ she agreed, sweeping forward,
‘one cup. Although I have no idea what you think there is to
discuss. We really do not have many options.’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’ Harry muttered,
pulling a chair out from the table for her.

Isabella flashed him a look. ‘We have not
been introduced. May I ask your name, sir?’

‘Mr. Harry Carstairs,’ he gave her a
bow.

‘Miss Isabella Hathaway,’ she responded with
a curtsey.

‘I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.’

‘We have not been in town for long.’ She was
grateful that he did not try and place he name, although surely he
would have heard of her family’s tragedy. The past was not
something she wished to discuss right now, not with these two
gentlemen.

It felt absurd, making polite conversation
under the circumstances. She did not want to pretend that she was
in somebody’s drawing room, when really, her world had been turned
upside down.

Stornley was looking at them both, head
swiveling back and forth as if he, too, was finding it difficult to
comprehend the conversation. ‘Yes, that’s all very well,’ he said,
righting his chair and sitting back down again to retackle his half
finished breakfast, ‘but it gets us no further on, now does
it?’

‘Relax, Joss,’ Mr. Carstairs said
impatiently, ‘let’s all just… enjoy some breakfast.’

Isabella sighed but allowed
herself to be seated. She was inclined to agree with the earl but
there was no point in making a fuss. Not just yet, anyway. If she
did not achieve the result she was after,
then
she would make a
fuss.

Mr. Carstairs poured her coffee and she
added her own milk, lifting the cup to inhale the delicious scent
of it before taking her first mouthful. Heavenly! Her father had
always said, never mind Darjeeling, a cup of coffee was the only
truly civilized way to start the day and she had grown used to it
very quickly. She took another sip, then turned her gaze back to
Mr. Carstairs and the Earl of Stornley.

‘Seriously, gentlemen, there is only one way
forward, here. As unfortunate as this business is, I believe we can
set it to rights easily enough.’ Isabella was pleased that she
sounded so reasonable.

‘And what are you planning on saying to your
parents?’ Mr. Carstairs demanded.

‘I will tell my mother what
has happened. She may not like the situation, but she will
certainly do everything in her power to protect my reputation.
This
was
an
accident. An absurd case of mistaken identity. Regrettable, but I
am sure that we can all move on from it.’ As long as nobody saw her
and recognized her – and in an out of the way place like this, why
should they? – then everything would be fine.

‘What if you were seen?’ Carstairs inquired,
determined to be picky.

‘We were not seen. Were we?’ she added,
looking at Stornley who shook his head with some fervor.

‘Certainly not!’

Mr. Carstairs considered
this although, what the situation had to do with
him
was quite beyond
Isabella. A managing man, she decided grimly. Exactly the type of
male she had come to detest. Just the same, the earl was looking at
him with some apprehension.

‘I suppose we could try it,’ he said slowly.
‘With any luck, word of your disappearance has not gotten around
and nobody will be the wiser.’

‘Exactly.’ Isabella was perfectly sure that
Mama would have said nothing and even more sure she would have
silenced Aunt Geraldine’s gossiping tongue. All she needed to do
was to return home and, with a hasty explanation, she could return
to the business of finding a suitable husband.

Which brought her thoughts
to the subject of heirs and heiresses. She considered the Earl of
Stornley. Was he in need truly in need of a wealthy wife?
Surely
he
didn’t
need money? ‘This Miss Piedmont,’ she began.

Stornley looked at her unhappily. ‘A paragon
of a female. I had hoped she would be my bride by tomorrow.’

‘I’m sure you were. But why, if you are so
sure of your feelings, did you not… ah… approach her in the usual
way?’ It was, perhaps, an indelicate question but under the
circumstances she felt she was permitted to ask.

‘What a
good
question,’ Mr. Carstairs
murmured.

The earl flushed. ‘I was going to,’ he
admitted, ‘I called upon her and everything. But the whole
courtship thing,’ he waved a vague hand. ‘It takes so long and I
find that I am not terribly good at expressing myself when there is
a gorgon present.’

‘A gorgon?’

‘Miss Piedmont’s aunt. A ghastly creature
who does not care for me.’

Isabella raised an eyebrow. ‘Unfortunate.
But surely you could win her round. You are an earl.

‘I made that point,’ Mr. Carstairs put in
dryly. ‘What female refuses a perfectly good earl?’

‘Ones with relatives who despise you.
Besides, it might take months to get married. The banns must be
posted and arrangements made. Good God, we might not be leg tied
for an age.’

‘You are eager to wed?’ Isabella
enquired.

‘I feel I have reached that time in life.
Yes, yes I think it safe to say that I am very keen.’

Mr. Carstairs gave a small snort of –
Isabella assumed – derision. Clearly there was more to it than a
sudden, pressing urge to enter into the happy state of matrimony.
From what she had already overheard, like herself the earl was in
financial difficulties. ‘Even though the aunt does not care for
you, you seem to think the lady is eager to further her
acquaintance with you?’

‘I believe so.’

Isabella took another sip of coffee. ‘I have
not met the lady.’

‘She is really marvelous. Isn’t she
Harry?’

Harry shrugged. ‘I had not noticed.’

Stornley made a face. ‘Harry is more of a
nonpareil. His interest in the female of the species is confined to
horseflesh and ladies of the -’ he broke off abruptly, belatedly
realizing that he was about to be highly inappropriate. Far from
shocking Isabella, this gaffe helped to mollify her uncertain
temper. She had spent the greater part of her life saying the wrong
thing at precisely the wrong time and it was always pleasant to
discover she was not alone in this.

‘Joss,’ Carstairs looked at his friend whose
fair skin had colored up to an interesting shade of red once more,
‘perhaps we might hold off on the conversational niceties until
you’ve had the opportunity to fully sober up. I am sure Miss
Hathaway does not need to know about my personal life.’

‘Perhaps that would be wise,’ Stornley
agreed, a little forlornly. ‘Although really, I’m as right as a
trivet now.’

Isabella took a slice of toast. It was cold
but cold buttered toast had a lot to recommend it and she
approached the butter dish with enthusiasm. She was thinking; how
unusual it was to have two people in such a position. Well, perhaps
it wasn’t unusual, as such. She had not really considered that
peers of the realm could be so hard up that they dangled after
heiresses but it made sense. Still… she was in need of a wealthy
husband and her abductor was in need of a wealthy bride.

It was most interesting.

‘I have only just arrived in London,’ she
said thoughtfully, eyeing the marmalade. It was always difficult to
know if one should add marmalade. A good one was delicious but too
frequently it was uncommonly bitter and quite ruined the toast it
was spread on. She decided to forego it. This did not look like a
very good hostelry that would know their way around the correct
makings of marmalade. ‘I have not been about much yet but I suppose
I will be sure to meet your Miss Piedmont.’

Stornley eyed her nervously. ‘I would take
it as a great favor if you would not mention any of this. I can’t
help but think that she would consider me a fool and I rather
thought I was making ground with her.’

‘Don’t you think you would have lost a
little, snatching her away?’

‘It would not have mattered. We would have
been married by then and she would be stuck with me.’

‘A happy outcome for everybody.’

Apparently Mr. Carstairs
was not immune to sarcasm and he spoke up in his friend’s defense.
‘Joss did not mean any harm,’ he pointed out. ‘He just did not
think it through very well.
And
he was as drunk as a sailor to boot. Not
responsible for his actions.’

‘Apparently not. But you can both rest
assured that I will not be mentioning this to anybody.’ Isabella
looked up from her buttering and found that she was being closely
scrutinized by Harry Carstairs. His green eyes were unnervingly
intense, so much so that she quickly switched her gaze to Stornley.
She had decided that she preferred the earl to his friend. There
was something about Mr. Carstairs that rubbed her up the wrong way.
He had an air of… superiority about him that she did not care for.
At least Stornley did not pretend that he was anything but a goose.
Marcus had once knocked around with young men such as this;
friendly, good-natured and without a sensible thought in their
heads. Her father had called them amiable idiots and it was true
enough. There was no harm in them, really. There was also not a
great deal of thought, but that could not be helped.

They finished breakfast with no more than
polite conversation after that. Toast and coffee done, Isabella
glanced at the window. ‘May I ask the time, if you please?’

Mr. Carstairs pulled a fob watch out of his
pocket. ‘It wants but five minutes to ten-thirty.’

Isabella winced. It would
have been far better to have arrived home earlier, of course but as
she had been up until the early hours, she had slept late. Her poor
Mama would be quite frantic with worry, while Audrey and Millie
must be beside themselves. She could only pray that they had
managed to keep their anxiety away from the servants or things
could get very difficult.
I cannot allow
for a hint of scandal to touch me
, she
reminded herself. Any hint of scandal and she would be branded her
father’s daughter and no man would make an offer.

‘Could you obtain something for me, my
lord?’ She directed this at the earl.

‘Certainly, Miss Hathaway.’

‘I need a dress.’

He blanched a little at this, but rallied
gamely. ‘Ah… certainly. I am not very au fait with female fashions,
but I shall do my best -’

‘Do you mean a disguise?’ Mr. Carstairs
demanded, cutting through the babble.

‘I do. A maid’s dress and cloak would be
perfect. If they have proper maids here,’ she looked at the shabby
room doubtfully, ‘otherwise I suppose any plain dress would do. As
long as it does not belong to the Quality.’

‘You intend to dress as a servant to escape
detection?’

‘I do.’

‘In that case, I will find you a cloak with
a hood. Your face is a little too noticeable.’

It was, she supposed, a compliment but of a
very backward nature. Clearly, Mr. Carstairs did not think very
much of her. ‘A cloak with a hood would be perfect.’

The gentleman nodded curtly. Turning on his
heel, he left the room. The earl watched his departure with relief.
‘Harry will manage,’ he told Isabella comfortably, ‘he always does.
He’s the best at discovering ways to fix things. Usually caused by
my foolishness, he added with a grimace, ‘I am afraid I am not the
most sensible of fellows.’

Isabella looked at the earl and thought that
his friend Harry might have a busy time of it. Despite the absurd
nature of her predicament, she found that she was having trouble
remaining angry at his lordship. He was like a hopeful dog,
uncertain if she would kick him or pat him. Isabella was very fond
of dogs. ‘Perhaps you’re a late developer, in the sensible
area.’

‘Very late, it seems. Of course, half my
family was quite mad, so I suppose I cannot hope for much. They’re
all dead now, more or less. A few cranky cousins and a dreadful
fright of an aunt, but I’m the last of them, more or less.’

‘How very unfortunate,’ she said
sympathetically, ‘A mad family can be a trial. I suppose you can’t
expect too much of yourself, under the circumstances.’

‘Exactly.’ The earl was clearly pleased that
she comprehended the situation so well.

‘I myself am cursed with a too ready tongue.
In its own way, it has proved as much as a burden as your
unbalanced relatives must have been. It is very inconvenient for a
young female in need of good social standing.’