To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (27 page)

‘He was not my real father?’ Confusion bombarded her mind with a plethora of questions. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘How could you not know? Your colouring, Isabelle, didn’t you ever wonder at the lack of resemblance or why your appearance was so very different from your father’s?’

‘I never knew my mother. I assumed I resembled her or a relation from her family. Father never answered my questions about Mother. He refused to speak of her. I assumed he mourned her deeply. I suppose I hadn’t the courage to ask otherwise.’

Meredith stepped closer, but she did not sit.

‘Forgive me for not telling you sooner, but your father’s misplaced comments caused you such pain, I did not wish to bring you additional misery. I did not known for overlong and your father was very reluctant to confide in me, but I badgered him often in his mistreatment of you. I suspect it was more an effort to cease my criticisms at his harshness towards you, then a true desire to confess the truth. I promised him my loyalty, and I found myself caught in a very difficult situation as I could see how his words hurt you. He was not an easy man.’

Isabelle drew a shuddering breath. ‘With Constantine, I have betrayed you in almost the same way. I am no better than my mother.’

‘Now that is complete rubbish. I will not allow you to punish yourself.’

Isabelle stood and walked to the window, her words hardly audible. ‘I have no one. I never knew my mother or my true father. The man I love…’ Tears flowed down her cheeks and she clenched her eyes shut, refusing to succumb to the chilling clarity of her loneliness.

‘You will always have Lily and me. Never doubt that. I know it is difficult and this news comes as a shock, but we will always be your family.’ Meredith moved closer, aware her words were unable to soothe. ‘Someday you will be happy with a man you love just as much as you believe – ’

A knock sounded at the door and Meredith bid the maid to enter.

‘A messenger has arrived, milady.’ The servant extended her hand. In it lay a white envelope.

‘Put it with the others, please.’ Meredith waited for the maid to close the door. ‘I have allowed correspondence to pile too long, consumed almost two fortnights with Lily’s illness. I need to get to it soon, although I doubt there will be anything of importance now that we are returned to Wiltshire. I am anxious to embrace the quiet of Rossmore House after our experiences in London.’

‘I am sorry, Meredith.’ Isabelle released a ragged breath and turned from the window. ‘So sorry.’

‘No, I am the one who needs to make amends. I behaved poorly. Despicably really, in every possible way.’ Meredith closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath.

A second knock gained both ladies’ attention and the same maid entered. ‘Pardon the interruption, but Lady Lily is awake and asking for you. I thought you would want to know immediately.’

Meredith’s somber expression vanished, her smile contagious, and as she rushed from the room, her words floated in the air behind her. ‘That is very good news. If I know my daughter, she’ll soon be chattering about her button collection, her laughter filling every corner of this house.’

‘Wait, I will go with you.’ Isabelle caught Meredith’s hand and they rushed from the room.

Chapter Eighteen

‘Get me out of here.’ Constantine let loose a frustrated growl and leveled a steely glare at the two men facing him. ‘Now.’

From the other side of the iron bars, Phineas and Devlin viewed him with incredulous expressions and he averted his gaze to the scarred jail floor, refusing to acknowledge the mocking glint in his comrades’ eyes.

‘However did you manage this?’ Phineas scratched his chin as if he deliberated a perplexing problem, although a poorly hidden chuckle riddled his question. ‘Detained in the magistrate’s private holding cell. You, my friend, are in a lot of trouble.’

Private or not, the jail was filthy and foul smelling. Con offered a loud curse at his amused friend’s mockery. ‘Just get me out.’ Impatience punctuated each word and he paced a hard line along the front perimeter.

‘It will take a bit of doing.’ Devlin shook his head in a parody of true concern. ‘You may as well sit and wait. Your pacing accomplishes little.’

All eyes moved to the sole piece of furniture in the cell, a narrow, misused cot. The ratty, stained mattress was no thicker than a piece of foolscap. Constantine eyed it in disgust.

‘I don’t have time for this.’ He slammed a fist against the unyielding bars. ‘I need to speak to Isabelle.’

‘Lady Rossmore?’ Devlin stared at his friend with keen interest. ‘London’s favourite charmer brought down by a pair of silver grey eyes. Well, that does add a new shade of meaning to all of this.’ He waved his hand in the vague direction of the cell. ‘You know, you might have waited until the museum opened before you stormed inside in search of your paintings.’

‘I could see my work displayed on the wall through the window. It didn’t make sense to wait.’

‘But you destroyed so much property.’ Devlin added an audacious chuckle.

‘It was
my
property.’ Constantine grumbled. ‘At least most of it.’ He leaned his forehead against the jail bars in an effort to quell his frustration.

‘Regardless, you might have considered the consequences before you lifted the gallery curator by his cravat and pushed him through the watercolour display.’

‘I was angry, the thread of my patience frayed, and the curator bloody well deserved it. He lied to me repeatedly when all he needed to do was return my paintings. Instead the idiotic man would not listen to reason. Why I should be in this cell and not he, is the gravest injustice.’ Con knew he’d reacted poorly, his decisions clouded with urgency and emotion, but the repercussions of his actions created a bigger hurdle than even the Earl of Colehill could charm himself free from.

‘At least Bow Street possessed the good sense to have you delivered here. Damn lucky you are so recognisable, Con. My father is seeking Magistrate Leyburne with haste. We will have this resolved as soon as possible.’

‘I appreciate the fast thinking on your part, Phineas. Thank you.’

His friend tapped his temple and showed a crooked smile. ‘Not just a hat rack, you know.’

The foolish comment lightened the mood although Con suspected his friends enjoyed his distress a tad too much, and the realisation riled him a bit. He was known as the perfectly polished earl, able to achieve most anything with the crook of his finger. Seeing him behind bars at his wit’s end in dirtied, disheveled clothing provided them rare entertainment, most definitely.

‘Show a modicum of control until then, will you? Your temper is what landed you here in the first place.’ Phineas walked forward and jiggled the jail cell door, as if by some sort of magic, it might open at his command.

‘A modicum of control? It took you two damn days to get here. I have been wearing the same clothes for
two days,
gentlemen.’ Having long before removed his waistcoat and neck cloth, he thrust his arms forward to show the stale state of his attire. He could well imagine what he looked like. But it didn’t matter. He just wanted,
needed
, to be released. ‘Bloody hell, if I hadn’t managed to get word to Brooks and send him in fetch of you both, who knows what type of predicament I’d be in.’

His friends allowed their laughter loose and he cursed loudly. When he eyed them severely, Devlin stifled his amusement.

‘You could have made the task easier for your valet by informing him straightaway we all resided at Kenley Manor. It was good of him to find us in the country.’

Con passed his fingers through his hair. ‘I forgot you had informed me. My mind was on other things.’ He paced the width of the cell. ‘Besides, when are you not at Kenley Manor? It’s a miracle I’ve pried you from your residence thrice times the past year.’ He stopped pacing and eyed his friend. ‘Did you take care of what I gave you, Dev?’

‘Yes, I sent the letter at once by way of my own private courier.’ Devlin’s prompt answer wasn’t enough.

‘I gave you two.’ Con’s head whipped up to pin him with a severe stare.

‘Yes, you did, didn’t you? Well, rest assured both messages were sent.’

Tension eased from Con’s shoulders. He’d written Isabelle to explain his delay when he returned to London and became entrenched in recovering his paintings. This current and unforeseen disaster, at being imprisoned because the curator claimed him a madman and thief who threatened him with bodily harm, was something that would keep him detained for more than another few days. He wanted Isabelle kept abreast of the delay and to affirm how soon he intended to travel to Wiltshire. He missed her smile. In truth, he missed every inch of her, but by damn, her smile knocked him to his knees.

‘This is ridiculous. How long do you think it will take your father to find Leyburne? I am losing precious time all because they are holding me without cause.’ His words sounded more complaint that argument.

‘You gave cause,’ both men replied in unison.

Phineas grew serious. ‘My father assured me that it would take a few days at best. Magistrate Leyburne is a good friend. Once he is located, I doubt there will be issue of your release and this
misunderstanding
can be easily remedied.’ Phineas turned to Devlin. ‘Do you think we can convince the powers that be to release Con into your protection? You are a duke. Your title should wield a little power around here.’

‘Mine certainly didn’t,’ Constantine grumbled into the dank air.

‘Once the magistrate hears what you have to say and realises you can describe each painting in exacting detail, including the paintings left unwrapped, the matter will be resolved. It will be solely a matter of paperwork once Leyburne makes an appearance,’ Devlin stated in a matter of fact tone.

‘So now I am forced to add accomplished artist to your list of redeeming qualities.’ Phineas threw him a withering glare, but Con made no witty rejoinder.

He was lucky to have such loyal friends, ready to pluck him from the trouble he’d caused. Something inside him snapped when he saw his private collection displayed in The National Gallery. And then the curator’s attitude had been unbearable. True, he should not have reacted with such temper, but his impatience and frustration at not having reached Wiltshire ate away at him with unrelenting persistence. He wasn’t happy with the way he’d left things with Isabelle. He should have shared his feelings and convinced her of his intentions. Their abrupt goodbye was unfinished, and whenever he considered their final words together, a rippling of apprehension shadowed the memory.

Devlin spoke and scattered his thoughts of regret. ‘You had us all fooled for some time. No one could have suspected you held such talent for the canvas. You have quite a good hand.’

Phineas agreed with a grin. ‘I suppose once the newspapers get wind of this, it will become all the fashion for young men to take up painting.’

Devlin turned from one friend to the other. ‘Just think of your influence indoctrinating culture to the young come-uppers.’

‘As if that really matters.’ Con leaned against the iron bars and exhaled in resignation. ‘I suppose I have only myself to blame. Right now I have no other option but to wait.’

‘And we will wait with you.’ Devlin reached through the bars and offered a reassuring rap to his friend’s shoulder, although the meaningful consideration was interrupted by Phin’s retort.

‘At least until dinner time.’

***

Lily sat up in bed as Isabelle breezed into the room with a vase of daisies.

‘These will add cheer to the room.’ She placed the arrangement on the inlaid dresser, and moved to sit on the counterpane after she refilled the glass on the bedside table. ‘Doctor says you must drink often. No matter your fever resolved two days ago, you experienced a terrible ordeal.’ She pressed an affectionate kiss to her sister’s forehead. ‘I forbid you from putting us through such worry ever again, young lady. Do you understand?’

‘I promise.’ Lily reached forward on the coverlet, her admonishment stern. ‘Please be careful Isabelle or you will squash Theodora.’

Isabelle eyed the brown dormouse as it scampered towards Lily’s outstretched hand. She scooted backward on the bed to accommodate the new pet.

‘Theodora is a very big name for such a small creature.’ She stroked her fingertip across the animal’s fur. ‘It is a miracle your mother allowed her into our home. Your illness has changed things around here.’

Lily’s smile grew. ‘I am sure Mother will come to love Theodora. She is very sweet once you make her acquaintance.’

‘That she is.’ Isabelle relaxed, relieved to see her sister’s precocious personality returned. She would never forget the anguish of watching the child struggle with fever. Now she found an instant smile as Lily brought Theodora to eye level and stared into the little mouse’s face.

‘I cannot wait to introduce Theodora to Lord Highborough.’

Taken aback by the unexpected proclamation, Isabelle tried to stem the questions that fired to mind. ‘Why would you say such a thing? Lord Highborough is a very busy man. I doubt he will be coming to Wiltshire any time soon.’ Aware her objection sounded harsh, she pressed her lips together in a weak attempt to control her rioting emotions, and smoothed the blanket cocooning her sister’s legs.

‘Are the flowers bothering your eyes? You look like you want to cry.’

‘No, it is not that.’ Her gaze returned to the counterpane and she spared a minute to trace the embroidered design and restore her composure. Her tone sounded gentler when she responded. ‘Just do not let your hope grow that Lord Highborough will visit Rossmore House. We have all had enough disappointment of late. I wish to see you happy from this point forward, sweetling.’

‘Oh, he will come.’ Lily continued with confidence. ‘He promised to take me to The National Gallery. He would not break his promise.’

Something about Lily’s worshiping tone tore at Isabelle’s heart. How could she dissuade the child from wishing for the very same circumstances she desired? To see his handsome face and to feel his kiss again.
And to know he wanted to see her as much as she yearned to see him.
Emotions bubbled to the surface and she fought to tamp them down. In truth, the ache of unshed tears caused her head to pound daily.