To Love a Wicked Scoundrel (6 page)

The child clapped her hands and excitement lit her eyes. ‘That is a grand idea. I will be ready as soon as you return. I do hope we will find a lost button. I always wonder about the person who wore it before it fell off.’

Isabelle recalled the black glass button on Lord Highborough’s cuff when he reached forward to touch her hair the night before. She’d had the fleeting thought Lily would adore the sleek glass fastener, but had lost the idea once her gaze settled on the earl’s entrancing mouth.

Even in the light of a new day, the remembrance of his perfectly formed lips continued to haunt her.
And his suggestion that they kiss
. It was downright inappropriate. She ascertained its scandalous nature served as the reason she could not chase the persisting proposition from her mind.

‘What time are you going to Covent Garden?’ Meredith took a sip of tea with distracted attention. Would her stepmother hear her answer this time? She had mentioned her plans twice already.

‘After seeing the tulips last evening, I am anxious to explore the variety of flora available. On the rare occasion Father brought me to London, he always said a trip to Covent Garden was a waste of time. I’ve always wanted to go.’ A knowing smile teased her lips. The Rochester tulips had proved the perfect excuse for her absence from the ballroom upon Meredith’s inquiry of her whereabouts. She turned to Lily who looked quite adorable, her huge bites of currant toast having left smudges of sticky red jam on her cheeks.

‘Would you like me to bring you anything special from the flower market? Something we could keep upstairs in your bedchamber and will not cause your mother to sneeze?’

Lily giggled and leaned forward as Isabelle cleaned her sister’s face with a linen napkin. ‘You decide. I love surprises.’ Then she paused and cast her eyes downward in a compelling pose. ‘Although I do want a dormouse more than anything in the world.’

Meredith interjected, her tone adamant. ‘We are not getting a pet mouse. Most people work hard to keep mice out of their homes. I have told you as much before.’ She dismissed her daughter’s request and continued. ‘It will be terribly crowded at Covent Garden. Are you sure you wish to go?’

Isabelle stood and placed her napkin on the table, anxious to be on her way. ‘Yes, the market will be busy but I do not mind. Janie knows the area, as well as many other servants who shop there each week. She promised to show me the best merchants.’

‘Hurry back. I cannot wait to walk with you in the square.’ Lily’s appeal to return with haste was lost in another bite of toast, her cheeks again smudged rosy.

Isabelle moved to the front door and pulled on her gloves as Janie joined her. It would prove refreshing to take the quiet coach ride to Covent Garden. She missed the peacefulness of her flowers at Rossmore House and although the city promised a whirlwind of pleasant distractions, she enjoyed working her hands through the soil and nurturing the tiny seeds she’d planted until they reached full bloom. Gardening afforded her the opportunity to reflect upon life without the ubiquitous noises that filled the city streets on any given day. They’d resided in London for less than a week but already she grew restless. How would she ever keep herself sensibly occupied throughout the length of the season?

It took less than an hour for the coach to bring them to the famous shopping square and Meredith’s prediction of the crowds proved true. Janie kept her word and manoeuvered them through the market with ease. They headed towards the last stop of the day, a small vendor located at the far end of a narrow lane. The shopkeeper did not look busy even though the flower arrangements in the storefront display burst forth vibrant and abundant, the finest shown thus far.

Isabelle chose daisies, perfect for Lily’s bedchamber, and then spotted the loveliest bundle of red dahlias. Dahlias were her favourite flower and rather uncommon in England. The bouquet sat alone in a cobalt glass vase as if it awaited her attention. She walked to the table and reached to gather the flowers, but in a blur of red, the dahlias were scooped up from behind as a man dressed in servant’s attire reached over her shoulder in a brisk movement and collected the bouquet. Isabelle objected and Janie rushed to her side at once.

‘Indeed, that was not well done of you. I mean to purchase those. May I have them please?’ Isabelle hoped the servant would do the sensible thing and hand her the flowers under discussion. He already held several other selections in his over laden arms.

‘I am sorry but I cannot do that. My master made it clear I was to purchase dahlias this morning. It is unfortunate for you that I acquired the last bunch.’

Janie interceded, assuming the man would hear reason from a fellow servant, but it proved to no avail. The man refused to relinquish the dahlias no matter the discussion presented. Then, in an unexpected gesture, he offered Janie a wink at the conclusion of the exchange.

‘Well, there is nothing for it.’ Disappointment coloured Isabelle’s words. ‘I will simply purchase dahlias another day.’ She turned towards the rude servant as he paid for his purchase and watched him brush past and walk to the curb. ‘Apparently for some, impertinence is a requirement for service. I feel sorry for the fool who hired him into the household.’

Her words faded as a large coach pulled to the end of the roadway and the detestable little man who had stolen her dahlias hopped onto the driver’s box next to the coachman. The vehicle sped away with nothing more than the blur of revolving red wheels left in its dusty wake. Isabelle stared after it for several breaths, a vibrant complaint stalled on her tongue.

Lily was waiting at the front window when she returned. Her hair was slightly mussed from an impromptu nap, her skin flushed with the warmth of sleep, as if she’d fallen asleep while awaiting Isabelle’s return. Delighted with her daisies, but eager to venture into Grosvenor’s Square, Lily prodded Isabelle out the door promptly. The weather was uncommonly mild and Isabelle strolled down one of the parterre’s many paths, while Lily darted back and forth investigating leaves, pebbles and bits of nature. The child held her complete attention and exemplified childhood innocence combined with an inquisitive intelligent mind. The simple awareness brought Isabelle joy and reaffirmed her vow that Lily’s youth be filled with pleasantness. A pang of dismay shadowed the thought and she forced away the intrusive remembrance of her father.

They walked the length of a flourishing rose garden and exited the path near the corner of Park Lane, where a small group of pedestrians huddled near the curb and watched something of interest in the middle of the roadway. Lily ran ahead and Isabelle followed swiftly after.

They came upon an interesting scene unfolding in the centre of the street. Isabelle’s brows climbed as she spied a small group of women tittering with excitement near the curb. The ladies were stationed across from Lord Highborough’s grand townhouse. Perhaps the pretentious gawkers hoped to get a glimpse of the infamous rakehell at a window or exiting down his front steps. Good heavens, one would think Prinny was in town. She rolled her eyes and huffed out a short breath.

Loud voices returned her attention to the roadway and as she held Lily’s hand in a firm grip, she surveyed two carriages stopped in the middle of the thoroughfare where they were causing a tangle of traffic. The smaller coach, ornate and painted a glossy white, contained several small faces that peered from the tiny box window as if the passengers were equally as anxious to see what occurred outside. Among them was Lady Newby’s. The other carriage was
his.
The red wheels were unmistakable, even though the rude servant and outrider from Covent Garden remained on the driver’s box. Lady Newby’s driver seemed to have inadvertently hitched the coach’s wheels fast and tight with Lord Highborough’s carriage as they attempted to avoid the same rut in the middle of Park Lane. A smug smile traced her lips as she watched all three servants attempt to dislodge the secured wheels and become dirtied with dust in the process.

When it was clear no progress prevailed, four young girls emerged from the white coach with a maid in tow. They ran willy-nilly towards the crowd on the curb and then farther into the park behind them. Lily twisted her neck to watch them pass. Did her sister realise how similarly she laboured her own maid?

She had no time to consider it. A wave of murmuring and excitement whispered through the small crowd. She followed the motion of the others and raised her eyes to see Lord Highborough leap from his front steps and out into the street where the coach wheels remained helplessly locked no matter the effort of the three servants.

‘Oh la, just look at the superb cut of his navy blue waistcoat. The shade is the perfect selection for the crystalline hue of his eyes.’

Isabelle swung her head to the lady at her left in time to catch the wave of twittering giggles that followed the statement.

‘Yes, and note his tight buckskin breeches and polished Hessian boots. He is a walking dream.’

This observation came from her left and Isabelle turned as a hint of a smile itched her lips. Then a gentleman spoke in a sympathetic tone and remarked how he hoped the earl would not become angered at having to intercede and spoil his fine attire.

Isabelle raised an eyebrow at the speculation his lordship spurred. The ridiculous nature of the comments surrounding her instigated a bubble of laughter to rise to the surface. She let it free and gazed down at Lily to share a bright smile. Then they both returned their eyes to the street where much to everyone’s awe and admiration, Lord Highborough removed his waistcoat and cravat, rolled up both sleeves of his fine lawn shirt, and positioned himself alongside the servants at opposite ends of his carriage to lift the heavy wheels and disentangle the lodged spokes.

A hush swept over the crowd and a small round of twittering and applause followed. Isabelle declined to offer accolades, deeming the spectacle absurd and refusing to become another babbling ninny on the corner of Park Lane.

True, she hadn’t missed the way his shoulders tensed when he lifted the coach or the striking silhouette of his upper arms as they strained against the fabric when he braced himself to adjust the wheel, but she could appreciate his form without melting and cooing like the foolish ladies surrounding her. Honestly, one couldn’t help but notice how his not quite sable hair fell forward over his brow before he swept it back in a fluid nod of his head. She swallowed heavily as the earl glanced upward to converse with the outrider atop Lady Newby’s carriage. True, he
did
appear dangerously rakish and devastatingly handsome. For a fleeting moment, her mouth went dry.

‘Isabelle?’ A tug at her arm shifted her attention to Lily. Having stayed near the edge of the crowd, they remained in a good position to back away from the corner unnoticed.

‘What is it, sweetling?’ Her heartbeat slowed to normal, along with her pulse.
How unlike her to become so concerned with traffic patterns.
Her eyes returned to the street.

At first, she would have agreed Lord Highborough might become angered at having to assist his coachman and ruin his very fine attire, but instead, he’d laughed and chatted with his driver as if helping to keep traffic flowing in the city’s streets was an everyday occurrence. Even Lady Newby waved a pink handkerchief out her coach window before it rolled to a stop in front of her residence down the lane. It would appear all of London adored the Earl of Colehill. The society pages had not exaggerated. For some strange reason, the realisation made her feel a trifle ill.

Lily pulled on her arm again, anxious to continue their stroll and Isabelle set her feet into motion. She dared a quick glance to the second-floor windows of Lord Highborough’s townhouse to discover
him
peering at her from above. How long has she lingered? Good heavens, did he believe her to be one of the bird-witted ninnies who stood on the corner outside his residence hoping to catch a glimpse of
His Royal Handsomeness
? She turned and scurried after Lily as fast as her slippers could carry her.

***

Constantine completed his change of clothes and hurried to the window to see if the chaos in the street had dissipated. A few people milled about but with the excitement over, the square would soon return to normalcy. About to turn away, a flash of red under the white lace of an onlooker’s parasol caught his eye. It took less than a minute to recognise the lady below as the lovely stranger who verbally sparred with him last night in Lord Rochester’s study.

Isabelle.

Her image had taunted him throughout the remainder of the evening, and when he awoke this morning, the remembrance of her sultry grey eyes, vibrant hair and lush figure tightened his body with yearning. He regretted not capturing her tempting heart-shaped lips in a long, heated kiss when he had had the chance.

He chuckled aloud, assured he would have earned himself a set down. Isabelle appeared unlike the many ladies willing to offer him their casual favours. He learned her first name, but the minx distracted him so thoroughly, he never discovered her last. That problem wanted a remedy.

He caught up to her and the bewitching child he met during the poppy incident at a narrow turn in the path, near the bodkin bench under a flowering bergamot tree. The child was consumed by a bird’s nest and she refused to proceed further down the path no matter what type of inducement Isabelle offered. A wry smile quirked his lips at her thwarted hasty retreat. He had believed her to possess a bit more spunk. True, it likely proved awkward to be caught staring up at his second-storey window.

He remained a good distance from them and wished to enjoy Isabelle’s pleading tone a bit longer, but the child spotted him and with a squeal of delight pointed in his direction and raced forward with excitement. He smiled upon discovery, as he had committed the same crime as she, shamelessly watching from afar.

‘Hello, good sir.’ The child fell into a polished curtsy and then thrust out her palm, over which a delicate feather lay, the thinnest plume, a gentle shade of grey with hints of gold near the edges. He looked up to see the same soft hues in Isabelle’s eyes.