The Unlikely Lady (8 page)

Of course, perhaps it was merely a coincidence that Isabella was here. Perhaps she'd only used his name to gain entr
é
e to a much talked about social fete. It wasn't her fault that she reminded him of his guilt. He pasted a smile on his face and turned to Isabella.

“I trust your journey here was a pleasant one,” Garrett said to Isabella as the footman shook out her napkin and placed it over her lap.

“Indeed, it was,” she replied demurely. “It was kind of Lady Cassandra to invite me.”

“We're all greatly looking forward to the wedding next week.” He felt like a complete ass. A footman poured Garrett a glass of wine. Wine. He'd never been so bloody happy to see a glass of wine.

“Such a lovely occasion and reason for the Swifts to come out of mourning,” Isabella murmured.

How long had she been in mourning for Harold?

The footmen began serving the first course, a watercress soup. Garrett sat with his back ramrod straight, racking his brain for a sufficiently pleasant yet simple topic to keep the conversation going. Thankfully, Miss Lowndes had turned to Owen Monroe. They appeared deeply interested in their conversation.

Garrett glared at Monroe. Was that reprobate flirting with Miss Lowndes? Since when did Monroe have a bloody dimple? And his eyes were—dare he think it?—sparkling. Garrett did a double take. He'd never seen
anyone
flirt with Miss Lowndes before. He narrowed his eyes on the couple. It was not possible. He was imagining things. He'd seen some of the women Monroe kept company with in London. Despite what he'd said today on the ride, it was unimaginable that Miss Bluestocking was Monroe's sort. Never. Besides, Monroe, that blighter, had agreed to flirt with Isabella. He was doing a bloody poor job of it so far.

“I hope you don't mind that I've come,” Isabella whispered to Garrett, dragging him from his thoughts.

Garrett forced himself to look away from Miss Lowndes. He cleared his throat. “No. Not at all.” What else could he say? “I do admit I wasn't aware that you and Lady Cassandra were … friends.”

Isabella peeped up at him from beneath her long dark lashes. She had the grace to blush. “I must admit that we are not, Mr. Upton.” She took a deep breath. Her lips trembled. “I … I … wanted to see
you.
”

With that astonishing bit of information, she turned her attention back to her soup.

Garrett reached for his wine glass and took a long, deliberate drink. He went to place the glass back on the table, thought better of it, and took another long drink. The footman rushed to refill his glass.

This was what he had feared. That Isabella admired him. That she was flirting with him. That perhaps she wanted something more from him. Something he couldn't give. Not with the memory of Harold's death burned into his brain. He wanted to kick Monroe under the table, get his attention, signal to him to use his infamous charm on Isabella, but that oaf would probably only ask why he'd been kicked.

Garrett was about to reply with some innocuous bit of wording when he caught Miss Lowndes laughing at something Monroe had said. Her laughter was … not unpleasant. He couldn't take his gaze from her. Something about the way she'd tossed back her head and laughed as if she didn't care a bit what anyone thought about her. And those blasted spectacles. For the second time he had the urge to rip them from her nose. They made her look too prim, too proper, too … Miss Lowndeslike.

He forced himself to return his attention to Isabella. A brief flash of supreme annoyance crossed the widow's face. If Garrett hadn't been looking, he might have missed it.

“What's so amusing?” Isabella leaned toward Miss Lowndes and cupped a hand behind her ear.

Miss Lowndes looked a bit startled to have been addressed by Isabella. “Lord Owen was just telling me the most charming story about a mutual acquaintance of ours in London.”

“Monroe is the soul of charm,” Garrett grumbled under his breath, glaring at Monroe.

Monroe seemed to finally remember his promise. He leaned toward Isabella and flashed her a rakish grin. “Do tell us, Mrs. Langford. Do you know Sir Roderick Montague?”

A small pout formed on Isabella's lips. “I'm afraid I do not, my lord. I know only a few people in Society. Mr. Upton here is one of my dearest friends. I am quite thankful for his friendship.”

Miss Lowndes's eyebrows rose, but otherwise she looked as if she were ready to turn back and continue her discussion with Monroe. Isabella cleared her throat. “In fact, I was just telling Mr. Upton how greatly I've been looking forward to this party. It's such a pleasure to see him again.”

Miss Lowndes mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “I find that difficult to believe.” Then she pasted a smile on her bluestocking face and said more loudly, “How exactly are the two of you acquainted, Mrs. Langford?”

Garrett froze. The tone in Miss Lowndes's voice, the way she'd said “acquainted,” implied something he didn't want to contemplate.

Isabella brought her napkin to her red lips and blotted their fullness before directing her gaze to Miss Lowndes. “Mr. Upton knew my late husband during the war.”

Miss Lowndes turned her bespectacled gaze on him. “You served together, you and Mr. Langford? In Spain?”

Garrett plucked at his cravat. It was stifling in here tonight. He nodded and reached for his wine glass again. That footman had better stay alert. “Yes. I had the pleasure of serving with Captain Langford. A better soldier I've never known.”

Miss Lowndes narrowed her gaze on him. That was another thing about her. She had a way of looking at people, a way of studying them that made it seem as if she knew all their secrets, as if she could see through them and pick them apart one by one.

“Do you have children, Mrs. Langford?” Miss Lowndes continued, smiling a bit too sweetly at Isabella.

Isabella nodded. “I do, a boy and a girl. They are in London with their tutor and governess.”

Miss Lowndes cocked her head to the side. “Ah, one of each. How efficient.”

“I suppose so.” Isabella's smile remained tight. “How exactly do
you
two know each other?” she countered, staring at Miss Lowndes and then glancing at Garrett.

A wry smile tugged at Miss Lowndes's lips and Garrett found himself looking forward to what was certain to be a highly sarcastic answer. “Unfortunately for both of us, Upton and I have a mutual friend in the Duchess of Claringdon.”

Isabella's brow furrowed. “Unfortunately?”

“Yes. It is unfortunate because we often cannot stand to be in the same room with each other. I think Cass is punishing us by seating us near each other tonight.”

Owen Monroe stifled a chuckle.

“However,” Jane continued, “if I hadn't got this seat, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to speak with you, Mrs. Langford, and what a pity that would have been.”

Isabella smiled and nodded and returned her attention to her soup. “You're too kind.”

“I'm not kind at all,” Miss Lowndes replied, making Garrett wince. “I'm quite fascinated to learn how you've managed a friendship with Upton.”

Isabella narrowed her eyes on Miss Lowndes. “I find Mr. Upton's company quite charming.”

“‘Charming'? I suppose that's one word for it. Forgive me, but are you quite certain you know what ‘charming' means, Mrs. Langford?”

Owen Monroe's bark of laughter caught the attention of many of the other guests.

Garrett grabbed his wine glass, nearly sloshing the red liquid over his sleeve. He took another deep drink. God help him. This night was already too long by half.

*   *   *

After their drinks, the gentlemen met the ladies in the drawing room. When Garrett entered, he scanned about, appraising the situation. Thankfully, Isabella was caught up in conversation with Cassandra and Lucy on one end of the long room. Garrett made his way in the opposite direction. He couldn't stop thinking about what Isabella had said to him at dinner, that she'd wanted to see him. Any man would be flattered to have a woman like her flirting with him, but she was also Harold's wife. Harold. His friend.
His dead friend.
There was no possible way Garrett could have any sort of a relationship with Harold's wife. It would be a betrayal of his friend all over again. He'd done wrong by Harold once, he wouldn't cuckold him—or whatever the equivalent of cuckolding was once a husband was dead.

By the time Garrett looked up to see who was sitting in the corner, it was too late. Miss Lowndes was perched on a bench in front of a small card table. Blast. How had this happened? He'd barely escaped her barbs at dinner unscathed and here she was again. Thankfully, she appeared invested in her game of solitaire as if trying to beat an actual opponent. It was so like Miss Lowndes to be competitive with
herself
. But even Miss Lowndes's company was preferable to another awkward encounter with Isabella.

“Miss me so soon, Upton?” Miss Lowndes raised her nose in the air in that way she did. Ah, so she had noticed his approach. She did not, however, remove her gaze from the cards in front of her.

He sighed. “Don't tell me you didn't know that Lord and Lady Moreland have a vast library. It's just down the corridor. Surely you would be more comfortable there.”

She was usually to be found in the libraries of all houses. She excused herself early and often from all polite conversation and social nicety and went in search of the library. When she wasn't in a library, she had a book in front of her head and her spectacles perched on her face in the insouciant way they were perched at present. What would she do if he reached over and plucked them from her little bluestocking nose?

“No doubt I would be more comfortable, Upton, especially if you intend to remain standing next to me. However, I've promised Cass that I will force myself to remain sociable for the remainder of the house party and wedding.” She smiled at him tightly. “It seems you're stuck with me.”

He returned the tight smile. “Pity. Though I relish the opportunity to watch you attempt to be sociable. It'll be like a comedy of errors. And if my standing bothers you so much … May I?” He gestured to the empty seat on the bench next to her.

“By all means.” Miss Lowndes scooted over to allow him more space.

“Why aren't you with Lucy and Cassandra?” he asked as soon as he took his seat.

She flipped over two cards. “Because Lucy and Cass are speaking with Mrs. Langford at present, and despite her close association with you—or perhaps because of it—I find her a bit … much.”

“We don't have a close association,” Garrett bit back, perhaps a little too harshly.

One of Miss Lowndes's dark eyebrows arched over the top of her spectacles. “Oh? Mrs. Langford overstated the friendship at dinner?”

“No, she didn't. I— We—” Blast it. How in the devil had Miss Lowndes put him at a loss for words? He needed to regain control of the conversation immediately. Was there more wine to be had in here? He searched about for a footman. It was time to change the subject. “How is your scandal progressing?”

Her dark intelligent eyes sparkled. “It isn't. I haven't thought of anything sufficiently scandalous yet.”

“I'm certain it's only a matter of time. Perhaps your Mrs. Bunbury might allow you to overeat teacake and call into question your gluttony. Speaking of teacake, isn't there one here somewhere that you're looking for?”

Miss Lowndes seemed to perk up. In addition to baiting him, she adored teacake. She could always be seen with a plate full of them at every social event. Lucy and Cassandra often teased her about it. He wondered how she was able to maintain her figure with the amount of teacake she consumed— He rubbed the back of his neck. Damn it.
What
level of hell had caused him to think about Miss Lowndes's figure of all things? First the spectacles, now her figure. Blasted teacake.

“It's not teatime, Upton, or haven't you noticed?” she replied nonchalantly, placing a card on the table in front of her. “While we're on the subject of refreshments, isn't there a glass of wine somewhere that
you're
looking for?”

He sucked in a deep breath. That comment hit too close to home, but he refused to let her win this war of words. “I'm certain the cooks will fetch you some teacake. Why don't you wander down to the kitchens and ask them to?”

“You shan't rid yourself of me that easily, Upton. Besides, I'm intrigued.” She flipped over another card.

He made a show of tugging at his cuff. “Intrigued? By me? Surely you're jesting. Either that or you've sustained a recent head injury. Did you suffer a fall while practicing your archery yesterday? Where is your Mrs. Bunbury when you need her?”

“I admit it turns my stomach as much as it does yours, but yes, I'm intrigued, with no head injury to speak of,” she replied.

He turned his face and grinned at her. “Don't keep me on tenterhooks. Do tell. How exactly have I intrigued you, Miss Lowndes?”

She remained focused on her game. “You've intrigued me, Upton, by your complete unwillingness to discuss Mrs. Langford. Then there's the little matter of her arrival at this party, despite being barely able to claim a passing acquaintance with Cass. And finally, Mrs. Langford's apparent flirtation with you over dinner, though I daresay that turns my stomach perhaps the most of all.”

He managed a shrug. “Unwillingness to discuss Mrs. Langford? I don't know what you mean.”

“Don't you, Upton? You've changed the subject often enough. Tell me, why do you think she's come?”

“I'm sure I don't know. I thought perhaps she was a friend of Cassandra's.”

“I'm sure you do know. And you know Cass didn't know her before meeting her this morning.”