Treasured (29 page)

“Quite the contrary.” He hooked his arm around her shoulders and strolled with her toward the stairs. “It was most entertaining.” He cast a devilish look down at her. “I shall endeavor to show you tonight just how intriguing my thoughts were. In fact . . .” He looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you should come upstairs while I clean up and dress for dinner, and I can show you right now.”

Isobel gave him an admonitory little pinch, but she went with him willingly. They were halfway up the stairs when Elizabeth appeared at the top. “Isobel! Did you see the carriage? Who is it, do you suppose?”

“What carriage?” Isobel looked at her aunt blankly.

“The one coming up the drive,” Elizabeth explained patiently, coming down the steps to join them. “I saw it just now out the window.”

Isobel let out a little groan. “Cousin Robert?”

“No, it isn’t Robby’s carriage. It’s a post chaise; it must be guests.”

“But who in the world would be coming here?” Isobel remembered the last conversation like this between them, when Jack arrived. It seemed an age ago.

“Perhaps it is a friend of yours, Mr. Kensington.” Aunt Elizabeth turned toward Jack.

“I cannot imagine who.”

The three of them turned toward the door. Hamish, who had obviously also spotted the vehicle, was hustling down the corridor, but before he could reach the front door, it swung open, and a tall, fair-haired man stepped inside.

“Andrew!” Isobel sucked in her breath sharply, and the man turned to look up at her.

“Hallo, Izzy,” he said cheerfully.

Isobel broke from her stunned immobility and started down the stairs to him, followed by her aunt and, somewhat more slowly, Jack. Andrew laughed as Isobel flung her arms around him, then hugged his aunt, who was pink with happiness.

Isobel’s brother turned to look past the women. “Jack.”

“Andrew.” Kensington gave the other man a nod. “This is a surprise.”

“Indeed.” Isobel smiled broadly. “Why did you not write to tell us you were coming? If that isn’t just like you . . .”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Andrew grinned. “And I brought a guest with me.”

His eyes trained on Jack’s face, Andrew swept his arm wide in a grand gesture, ushering in a plump, middle-aged woman in a black carriage dress and a bonnet much bedecked with ribbons and bows. She paused, smiling tentatively at the group before her.

“Hello.”

Jack’s voice was grim. “Mother.”

I
sobel managed to keep her
jaw from dropping as she watched Jack step forward to bow over his mother’s hand, and she looked at the woman with a good deal more interest. Jack’s mother was pleasantly plump, with a faded prettiness. Her carriage dress, like her bonnet, was liberally adorned with ruffles and bows. Little about her looked like Jack. Her eyes were a much paler shade of blue, and the hair that showed beneath her hat was a light brown liberally streaked with gray. Her sweetly rounded face held no hint of the high, distinctive cheekbones that gave her son’s face such a distinctive stamp.

“This is indeed a surprise.” Jack sent an unreadable glance at Andrew, who gazed back at him with a spark of challenge in his eyes. “I assume I must thank you for this visit, Andrew.”

“Oh, yes,” the woman chirped, letting out a giggle and bobbing her head. “Sir Andrew was so kind to look me up
and offer to bring me with him. Of course I had your letter, Jack dear, telling me about your marriage, and I did so regret I missed the occasion.”

“Indeed. Pray, allow me to introduce you to my wife, Isobel,” Jack said politely, turning toward Isobel. “My dear, this is my mother, Millicent Kensington.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Kensington? Welcome to Baillannan.”

“La, such a lovely name. Baillannan.” The woman let out another titter. “I cannot say it properly, I fear, though I do so love to hear Sir Andrew talk about his home. Don’t they speak in such a wonderful way, Jack?”

“Indeed,” Jack said drily, then introduced Aunt Elizabeth.

“I must apologize that you find us so ill prepared, ma’am,” Isobel told her. “Please, come in and I shall have tea brought. You must be tired after your long journey.”

“Yes, indeed, such a long way. But a wonderful trip, of course. Such a lovely country.” Mrs. Kensington continued to chatter as Elizabeth led her into the drawing room, Jack and Andrew following them.

Isobel turned to Hamish, who stood watching the proceedings with great interest. She grabbed his arm and tugged him aside, saying, “Bring us tea and cakes, and for pity’s sake, send the maids up posthaste to ready a room for Mrs. Kensington.”

Isobel wished now that she had gone back to cleaning out her grandmother’s room after the wedding, as she had intended. It would have made the perfect bedchamber for Jack’s mother, large and commodious, with the sort of old-fashioned elegance that befitted the owner’s mother.

“Put her in the green chamber,” Isobel instructed, adding
darkly, “Andrew’s room can wait; he deserves to sleep on a cold, bare bed for springing this on us without a word of warning.”

“Yes, miss. Master Andrew was always one for making a grand entrance.”

She would have called it something worse than that, Isobel thought as she went to join the others. Jack was obviously less than pleased that Andrew had turned up so suddenly with Jack’s mother. She suspected that her brother was well aware of that. Andrew had always had a knack for stirring the pot.

It was a mystery to Isobel, though, why Jack disliked his mother’s arrival. All her doubts before their wedding came flooding back in. Had he purposely kept his past hidden from her? And why would he do so?

When she slipped into the drawing room, she found the others seated on the sofa and chairs in a conversational grouping, except for Jack, who stood apart, leaning against the mantel, observing the others. He glanced over at her as she entered, his face guarded. Isobel paused for an instant, wanting to go to him, but she realized it would look odd for her to stand by the mantel as well, so she took a seat in the armchair at right angles to the sofa.

The talk had clearly centered on the trip up here, with all its attendant beauties and trials. As Isobel sat down, Jack said in a casual voice, “What of Mrs. Wheeler? Did she accompany you, as well?”

Mrs. Wheeler? Was there another member of his family he had kept secret? Jack’s mother sent him a nervous glance and cleared her throat. Strange as it seemed, she appeared a little frightened of him.

“Well, um, no.”

“No room in the post chaise, you know,” Andrew put in languidly. “I told Mrs. Kensington I was sure one of the girls here would be happy to act as her personal maid.”

“Mrs. Wheeler is more a companion than a maid, surely.” Jack’s voice was flat.

“But she can be a bit of a bore sometimes.” Mrs. Kensington did not look at Jack as she went on in a rush, “And in a post chaise, it would be impossible to get away from her chatter. I did not need a companion with Sir Andrew along to handle everything for me. So kind of him.” Mrs. Kensington beamed at Isobel’s brother before sending Isobel an anxious look. “I hope you will not think badly of me for showing up like this. I know it is most inconvenient, but as Sir Andrew pointed out to me, we would be here by the time a letter reached you.”

“It’s no inconvenience at all,” Isobel assured her smoothly. “You are always welcome here. I am very happy to have the opportunity to meet you.”

Mrs. Kensington brightened. “I confess, I could not wait to see you until Jack brought you to London. I was so amazed. I had begun to think that Jack would never marry and give me grandchildren.”

Hamish brought in a tray of tea and cakes, and they settled down to the polite ritual of tea. It was a welcome distraction from the odd and awkward conversation, though the air still hummed with tension. When Hamish returned to remove the remains of the light meal a few minutes later, he gave Isobel a significant nod, and Isobel was quick to bring the occasion to a close.

“I believe your rooms are ready now. No doubt you would like to go up and rest from your journey.” Isobel stood up, setting the exodus in motion.

Jack offered his arm to his mother, and Aunt Elizabeth accompanied them, but Isobel hooked her brother’s arm and held him back after the others left. “What are you doing, Andrew? Why are you here?”

“Why, Izzy, are you not happy to see me?”

“Don’t try that innocent face with me; I have known you since you could crawl, and it is clear that you are up to some sort of mischief. How did you even know I had married?”

“I certainly didn’t hear it from you, though one would think you would inform your only brother of your impending wedding.”

“It was Cousin Robert, wasn’t it? That interfering old—”

“Of course he is, but, really, Iz.” Andrew dropped his lofty tone and reverted to an aggrieved manner with which she was much more familiar. “It’s the outside of enough, you marrying that jumped-up cardsharp Kensington. The man who took Baillannan from me.”

“You mean, the man to whom you
gave
Baillannan. Did you give even a thought to me or Aunt Elizabeth or what we would do when you lost our home?”

“I didn’t plan on losing it!” he retorted indignantly. “I was sure my luck was about to turn. I was wearing Papa’s ring on my left hand, you see, and I realized that the week before, when I won that gold boy from Harchester, it had been on my right hand, so I switched it.”

“Andrew!” Isobel stared at him. “Surely you realize how absurd that is.”

“You don’t understand,” he said sulkily. “You don’t know what it’s like. I couldn’t just stop because I’d dropped a bit of brass. I would have looked purse-pinched.”

“Because you were!”

“Harchester was there and Silas Brandon, as well. Silas lost ten thousand last week and never turned a hair.”

“And because he is a fool, you have to be one, too?”

“He is not a fool. He’s bang up to the mark; lots of chaps would give their right arm to be one of his set. It’s not about money.”

“You certainly spend a lot of it for it to be so unimportant.”

“There. I knew it. I knew you would blame me.” He looked suddenly so young and unhappy, much as he had when he was a little boy and had broken a kite or lost his favorite toy, that a sharp pang of love and regret pierced Isobel.

“Oh, Andrew . . .” She sagged, the anger slipping out of her.

“I know.” She saw the glint of tears in his eyes as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, letting his head sink down to rest against hers. “I have made a proper mull of everything. I’m sorry, Iz. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Of course you should come here. You can always come home.”

He hugged her tightly for an instant, then turned away, walking over to the window to look out. “Only it isn’t my home anymore.”

“It is mine, and so it is yours, too.”

He flashed a sad smile at her, reaching up to shove his hair back from his face in a dearly familiar gesture. “I understand
why you married him. Whatever I said, I know you had to marry him to keep Baillannan. I just wish . . . I hate it that you had to lower yourself. To take that bastard’s name.”

“Andy. Jack is my husband. I will not allow you to speak of him like that.”

“Very well. No doubt you’re right. Have to be respectful of a man in his own house.” His voice had an edge of bitterness, but he gave her a determined smile. “Let me wash off the dust of the road and take a lie down, and then you’ll see, I’ll be polite as damn-all.”

Isobel took his arm and walked with him up the stairs, giving him a kiss on the cheek when they parted in the hallway. “It’s good to have you home, Andrew.”

She found Jack in their bedroom, as she had expected. He was standing at the fireplace, one arm braced on the mantel, staring down at the coals he was shoving about with the poker. His riding jacket was flung in a crumpled wad on the floor at the foot of the bed, and his boots lay on their sides halfway across the room from each other. It did not take a great deal of imagination to envision that he had yanked off each item and hurled it at something. He straightened and turned at the sound of her entrance. His posture was stiff, his face remote, and if there had been anger there earlier, it was gone, replaced by a cool courtesy—and something else, she wasn’t sure what, perhaps wariness.