To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (26 page)

***

Isabelle took breakfast while she packed with efficient purpose. Mary assisted. Janie remained absent, but Isabelle could not fault the girl, most especially if she was below stairs with Brooks. Goodbyes were difficult. She did not want to believe she would never see Constantine again, but so much was left unsaid, both of them unwilling to put their thoughts into words. The possibility that he would return to his normal activities and never give her a thought plagued her with such fierce persistence she could not finish her tea and toast. If his habits did not run so deep, if he were a different man, the considerations pestered her with relentless determination. Disappointment was not a stranger to her life. She would endure. She’d managed before.

How tired she was of being strong. Of pretending her father’s disregard did not leave her with scars and that she did not long for his acceptance. How lovely it would be to have someone’s adoration. Constantine’s adoration. The abundance of emotion he stirred within her healed old wounds, and also created a wealth of new ones.

Isabelle picked up her reticule as Mary entered to announce the carriage stood ready. Then she turned for one last glance of the lavish room, her eyes lingering too long on the third door. She forced her feet into motion, and moved towards the hall.

She’d just reached the foyer when Janie rushed to her side. Con entered from his study at the same time. There was no mistaking something was very wrong. Her maid’s expression looked grave.

‘Milady!’ Janie dipped into a shallow curtsey and wrung her hands with agitation.

‘What is it?’ Isabelle had no idea what might disturb her maid so deeply, but if Brooks had anything to do with it, she would demand the man flogged.

Constantine came forward and reached for Isabelle’s arm. He took his hand in his and instructed Janie to continue.

‘It is Lady Lily. She is ill. She has run a high fever for two days and asks for you in her unrest. Lady Meredith plans to return to Rossmore House as Lily begs to return home, and her mother is desperate to please her. I fear for the little one. It cannot be scarlet fever. I will not believe it so.’

Tears stung Isabelle’s eyes and she fought against them. She should be in London caring for her sister. ‘Gather your things with haste. We must go. Now.’

Janie raced to the stairs and Constantine turned to Isabelle, his hand atop hers in tight comfort.

‘Let me come with you. I can drive your carriage to Wiltshire and see you there safely.’ He summoned his butler forward, but Isabelle stopped him with a severe shake of her head.

‘No. I must go alone.’ Her voice broke as she replied. Lily meant everything to her. She could not lose the child to illness. ‘If it were for any other reason I would agree, but not now. Meredith is livid with me and I cannot ignite that anger at the same time I care for Lily.’ Tears clogged her throat and she looked away, horrified at her weak grasp of emotion. ‘Thank Brooks. I suspect he is responsible for this news. Now, I must go.’

‘Of course. I am sorry.’ He squeezed her hand, before he released his hold. ‘I’ve provided my best driver and two tigers for your safety. The additional grooms will assure you are well protected. Make haste and I will follow in a few days time to assist in any manner I am able. Business pulls me to London first, but do not doubt my intentions. I will call on you as soon as I conclude my appointment on Tuesday.’ He stared into her eyes, his gaze clear and direct. ‘Lily is young and strong.’ His voice lowered as he touched her cheek and lifted her chin in his palm. ‘Go to her and you will see. Then know I will come to you soon after. Wait for me.’

She offered him a strained smile. Emotions bombarded her heart and left her without words. Her throat strained tight. When he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, she was tempted to pull against his warmth and accept his offer of accompaniment.

‘Isabelle.’ The word whispered into her hair.

‘Yes.’ They stood in the foyer, the servants likely near, but she could not leave his embrace. Not yet.

‘I…’

When he did not finish, she opened her eyes and pulled back to view him in question. What did he struggle to say?

‘I – I will come to you in Wiltshire.’ He released her from his hold. ‘Now off with you, because if you keep Johnny Coachman waiting any longer I will believe you will have decided to allow me to drive you.’

Janie entered the foyer in a flurry of words and motion, and Isabelle did not turn back as she hurried out to the waiting carriage.

***

Constantine stood in his study and contemplated whether or not to toss the china figure he held at the brickwork mantelpiece. He doubted it would assuage his poor temper, but he was willing to try anything. Isabelle had left over four hours ago, but he’d done little besides snarl and growl at anyone that dared come near him. How useless to be bound by obligations he could not ignore. And he worried for her. He knew scarlet fever to be fickle and unpredictable, no matter how he reassured Isabelle’s concerns. Were he able to fix all the troubles in her life, no doubt she’d gift him with one of her many smiles.

He replaced the figurine on the bookshelf and combed his fingers through his hair in frustration. He’d never fallen in love and did not know the rules. Oh, when he was younger he fancied himself in love dozens of times and chased every skirt that caught his eye, but lust was far different than the feelings that churned within him now.

It was madness, how deeply she lived within him and haunted his every thought. Once he had laid eyes upon her he was taken, his heart held hostage. From the first time he saw her framed by the ballroom archway like a precious work of art, it was Isabelle, only Isabelle.

He cursed into the silence. He should have told her his feelings before letting her go. He was a coward. Their intimate discussion in his bedchamber brought the realisation to the forefront. Her honesty led to his, the rightness of it unsettling. He would go to her as soon as possible. How he yearned to be adored with the devotion that lighted Isabelle’s face whenever she spoke of Lily. When she left him, her expression pale and fearful upon hearing of Lily’s illness, a knot constricted his chest so tightly he could hardly breathe.

Were it not for his meeting four days hence with the curator of The National Gallery, he would go to her now and remedy the error of not confessing his true feelings. But too much time had passed already in regard to his works of art and an uneasy feeling washed over him while reading the curator’s letter. Somehow it possessed a forbidding tone.

Four days.

Damn it all to hell if at this late age he should suddenly have to learn patience. Flinging back the last of his brandy, Constantine summoned Brooks with a loud bellow.

***

Rossmore House became a somber place as the portentous circumstances of Lily’s illness took root and held. Desperate concern over Lily’s limp, fevered form caused both women to put aside their anger, mutually aware it would claw to the surface in due time. For now though, all attention remained with the child, her fever not lessened on this, the sixth night. The doctor came and went daily. Correspondence lingered unanswered and piled high on the hallway salver, and the butler turned away well-intended neighbours with gracious aplomb.

Meredith would not allow bloodletting and Isabelle agreed. Instead, they both were useless to help Lily. The child was sometimes awake, sometimes asleep, but always in a state of discomfort with her prickly rash and high fever. She ate little aside from clear broth. Her throat hurt to swallow or speak. Isabelle ground lobelia from her garden, mashing the blue flowers and pale green leaves with a vengeance, and mixing the dried plant with tea, in an attempt to ease her sister’s discomfort. Nothing seemed to assuage the hungry illness.

Through the day either of the two women sat bedside her, relieving each other for much needed food or rest. Isabelle’s heart ached for her sister, but there was never a day when she did not think of Constantine. Hours upon hours in a quiet sick room provided endless time for contemplation. It was a week since she’d seen him last. Why had he not reached Wiltshire? She had believed him when he had stated he would follow soon after. His vow was one of the few things that kept her strong through her worry for Lily. Was that belief further proof of her foolishness?

Uneasy doubts and familiar insecurities nipped at her subconscious. She kept the thoughts at bay with great effort, except during early dawn when the first rays of sunlight kissed the sky and she relived the enchantment of waking within his arms, their bare bodies nestled cozily in his bed. She never was so cherished as within his embrace.

Now she wondered if she hadn’t made the worst mistake.

***

When one week became three, Isabelle began to let the memory go. Wishes were for fools. She had learned that lesson as a child, many times over.

She sat in the drawing room, just awakened from a late afternoon nap and took tea to help settle her frazzled nerves. Lily remained unchanged. Everything seemed caught in a chaos of waiting. A quiet knock at the door forced her from despair.

‘Come in.’

Meredith stood in the doorway. She looked bedraggled and exhausted and no matter the disagreements that lie between them, Isabelle’s heart wept for her stepmother’s grief.

‘Is there any improvement?’

‘I believe there might be. The fever persists, but she has been sleeping for hours without incident and she managed to eat a bit more than yesterday. It is something on which to place hope.’ Meredith looked to her with tears in her eyes. ‘Had I acted more capriciously…’

‘Do not blame yourself. Scarlet fever can find anyone.’

‘Not my little girl.’ Silent tears coursed down her cheeks as she entered the room and sat beside Isabelle on the couch. ‘I am not a good mother.’ She sniffled and searched for a handkerchief in her gown pocket before she continued. ‘When we were in London after you left that first night, Lily became ill. The red rash covered her neck and shoulders and she slipped into a feverish sleep. I summoned the doctor immediately and attempted to calm her, but my sweet child, who did she call for in her unrest? You, Isabelle. She wanted you.’

‘She did not know what she was saying.’ Isabelle reached for her stepmother’s hand and pulled it to her lap.

‘Do not dismiss how meaningful you are to her. It is hard to accept, but I understand. After we argued and you left, I missed you terribly as well.’

Isabelle released Meredith’s hand and walked to the window. Dusk was falling and their front drive stood empty. The same way it appeared every time she dared look out the window and hope.

‘I am glad I returned to Wiltshire. It was the right thing to do. London was not the adventure I had anticipated.’ Her voice quivered and she tried to hide the emotion by clearing her throat.

‘I did not mean the wretched things I said to you. I acted like a selfish child.’ Meredith’s voice trembled. ‘Know I care so much for you and do not wish to have this melancholy between us. Have I ruined everything?’

Isabelle turned from the window, her eyes bowed, and walked towards her stepmother. ‘By no means.’ She could barely contain her tears. ‘It is I who am ruined. I accomplished that feat alone.’

Meredith shifted forward on the chair, as if unsure to approach, her expression curious. ‘What do you mean? You are the most logical woman I know. You would not have been foolish enough to give him your innocence.’

‘Worse.’ Her words were a soft whisper. ‘I gave him my heart.’ She sat beside Meredith and hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

Meredith’s arm slid around her shoulders, drawing her into a comforting embrace. ‘Silly girl, whatever will you do now?’

A sigh of resignation and hopelessness escaped. ‘I truly do not know. I can no longer work in my garden planting flowers and pretend there is no world outside of Wiltshire.’

‘So your eyes have been opened.’ Meredith released her from the embrace. ‘Did he take advantage of you?’

Isabelle sniffled as tears overflowed. ‘No. He did nothing unwelcomed. I offered him all of me.’ She sobbed, a mixture of breathless gulps and ragged torment. ‘He stripped away my insecurities and fears with heartfelt kisses and tender caresses. I bared my soul to him and he made me beautiful in his arms.’ Her voice broke as she continued. ‘Our time together was everything I wished it to be. But wishing is a child’s game and now I love him, and he is not coming.’

Sobs shook her shoulders and Meredith enfolded her in a consoling hug. Isabelle had proved as foolish as every other female that fell to his charm, but no, she was far worse. Those women knew to protect their hearts and secure their feelings. How ridiculous to fancy herself in love with him. But she was. Hopelessly so. What a spectacular mess she’d made of things.

‘You will forget him. It will take time, but you will forget,’ Meredith said, her voice gentle and comforting.

‘No. It is like a stone in my pocket. I always know it is there.’ She drew a breath to calm herself.

‘In time, your feelings will fade. You will change. You already have.’

‘I rather doubt that.’ Isabelle suffered an inelegant sniff and pulled away to dry her eyes. ‘I still feel the harshness of father’s tone when he would chide me. I am far too sensitive. It is why it troubles me that we’ve quarreled and you think ill of me when I never meant to hurt you. Please know I never meant it to be this way.’

‘I know.’ Meredith smiled gently. ‘You may be sensitive, but you are also the most responsible and pragmatic member of this household. I believe this is the right time to tell you.’

Isabelle sat on the couch and released a long even breath. ‘Tell me what?’

‘Your father swore me to secrecy and it pained me whenever he had a cruel remark for you, but you should know the truth. It is time.’

Isabelle viewed her stepmother, confused.

‘Your mother came into her marriage already with babe. Your father did not know until after the vows were spoken. When she revealed the truth he felt terribly betrayed, but he also loved her and had married her. He feared appearing foolish among his peers and he worried they would consider him cuckolded. His hands were tied by his desire for a son, but as your mother’s stomach grew, so did his anger and resentment.’ Meredith paused, as if waiting for some acknowledgement. ‘I do not know any other particulars. I suppose when your mother died bringing you into this world, it saved her from a lifetime of misery, but you were not spared. Your father misplaced his anger and made you pay penance for her dishonesty.’