“Even if your brother decides to go to London?” Isabella asked, loath to tell the girl that she would likely not be allowed to remain in Yorkshire. “I think he might wish for you to go with him. There are many things in London that I think you would enjoy.”
Belinda scoffed. “What could the city possibly offer that the country does not?”
So Isabella spent the next hour painting companionably with a thirteen-year-old, regaling her with stories of Astley’s Ampitheatre and Rotten Row and ices at Gunter’s. By the time they’d packed up their brushes and paints and directed a footman to retrieve their canvases and easels, Belinda was less suspicious of the city, but she was still not reconciled to life as a duke’s sister.
Unfortunately, Isabella thought, when the dowager got hold of the Carey sisters Belinda would have little choice in the matter.
Six
Trevor broached the subject of a trip to York at the luncheon table and was met with distracted enthusiasm. “What’s this?” he demanded of Eleanor, somewhat deflated. “I thought you would be pleased at the notion,”
“I believe your sisters are quite pleased.” Isabella gave both Eleanor and Belinda speaking looks. “But I’m afraid Miss Mary Green brought news that Mrs. Palmer is planning a ball, and that has quite eclipsed the glamour of a prospected trip to York. Though I believe Eleanor would be quite pleased to visit the dressmaker there.”
“A ball?” Trevor asked, puzzled. “Eleanor is too young to attend a ball.”
Now Isabella turned a speaking look on him. And he was not pleased to note it said,
Quiet, you imbecile!
He cleared his throat. “That is to say, I had not supposed Eleanor was interested in attending balls.”
Isabella’s expression said he was doing better but would still not be winning any Brother of the Year awards.
“I believe seventeen is an acceptable age for a young lady to attend a country ball,” Isabella said. “I was sixteen when I attended a harvest ball with my school friend Elizabeth Stride, now the Countess of Cleverdon. It was excellent practice for my come-out the next year.”
“Please, Trevor,” Eleanor said, her eyes at their most plaintive. “I do not know what I’ll do if you say no. Mary Green will make me feel like the veriest child if you say I mayn’t go. Please?”
Only Belinda was content to eat her luncheon without weighing in on the conversation. Though Trevor thought he noticed a judgmental tone in the way she consumed her peas. Was ever a man more outnumbered than he?
“I suppose if Lady Wharton, who knows far more than I do about young ladies, says that it would be all right—,” Trevor began, only to be cut off by cheers from Eleanor.
“Thank you, Trevor,” she said, throwing her arms around him. “You are the best brother in the world. And I would simply
adore
a trip to York! There are so many things I must get now to go with my gown. I simply
must
have a new pair of gloves and new slippers as well. When may we go?”
They settled on a day later in the week for the trip to York and then both Eleanor and Belinda—who had by this time finished her judgmental peas—left to make a list of the things Eleanor simply
must
have.
Which left Trevor alone at the table with Isabella.
She seemed to have moved past whatever bad news had brought her to tears at breakfast. Of course prospective balls and the like had a way of distracting one.
“That was well done of you,” she said, her blue eyes shining with wry amusement. “I’m sorry your proposed trip to York was overshadowed by the Palmer ball. On any other day, your suggestion would have been the belle of the ball. So to speak.”
“Palmer told me that his wife had a guest from London and was planning an entertainment. I should have anticipated a ball.” Trevor did not mention that Palmer had also mentioned the fact that Sir Lionel Thistleback had been a great friend of Lord Wharton. He wondered what her own reaction to the news had been. She showed no sign of disturbance, but then she was quite adept at hiding her feelings when she wished to.
He would like to know what had been in the letters she’d received that morning. Could one of them have mentioned Thistleback’s arrival? They were hardly on such comfortable terms that he could freely ask her. And the truth of it was that it was none of his affair.
“I believe it is customary for hostesses to celebrate their guests with large entertainments,” she said, making no mention of her connection to Thistleback. “And I do think your sister will benefit from the experience. It will certainly make her more comfortable when she makes her debut. If, that is, you intend to allow her to make her bows before society.”
“I am still considering it,” Trevor said, laying his fork down on his plate to signal he’d finished. “Though I will admit that before your arrival I was much more set against the idea than I am now. I wonder if you knew when you made this trip that you’d become an advocate for my sisters. Could it be that you are growing fond of them?”
If it were possible, she sat up straighter. “I am not a block of wood, Your Grace,” she said tersely. “I am quite capable of fondness. And I believe your sisters could do with a bit of guidance from a woman. I lost my mother at a young age, too, so I suppose I understand Eleanor’s position.”
“I did not suggest that you are without feeling, Isabella,” he said, using her Christian name but not caring if she was annoyed by it. “But simply that I believe your intended purpose for making this journey has been complicated by the presence of my sisters. I have no doubt that the dowager would tell you to use my sisters against me. I hope that your affection for them will prevent that from happening.”
“Like it or not, Your Grace,” Isabella said her expression carefully blank, “your sisters need their family. You have plenty of female relatives in London who would be more than happy to step in and assist you as I have done. I will not be here forever. And for their sakes I hope that you will bring them to London as soon as you are able. If that opinion means that I am using your sisters against you—as you put it—then so be it. I believe that you have done an admirable job of raising them on your own. I simply think that at their age, they need their female relatives.”
“Like the dowager?” Trevor demanded, unwilling to let Isabella dismiss the matter that easily. “It’s clear she forced you to come here against your will. Would you wish my sisters into the same position?”
That surprised her. He could see it in the wideness of her eyes.
“My reasons for coming here are my own,” Isabella said curtly. “I came at the behest of my godmother, who I will admit is a difficult woman to get along with. But your sisters would be around other female relatives in London as well.”
“Do you include yourself in their number, madam?” He knew he was being an ass but was unable to keep from arguing with her. He hadn’t much considered that his own reluctance to go up to London would have deleterious effects on his sisters, and Isabella’s words stung.
Her eyes flashed, and he was oddly pleased to see that she was riled into annoyance. “As I am only related to you by marriage, Your Grace,” she said, her dark brows furrowed in temper, “I do not include myself among their number. Perdita, my sister and your late cousin’s widow, would be more than happy to sponsor Eleanor and Belinda. I merely offer this advice as a friend, but I can see that you do not count me as such.”
“I do not generally count ladies who have ulterior motives attached to their friendship as close friends,” Trevor said, trying to put some distance between them. If he let himself he would find himself relying on Isabella far more than was safe. The more he remembered her real reasons for being in Yorkshire, the easier it would be for him to resist her charms. And he could no longer deny the fact that he did indeed find her charming.
“If you are still amenable to our agreement, Lady Wharton,” he said, rising from the table. “we will depart for our visit to the tenant farms in half an hour. I suggest you change into riding clothes.”
He left the room, trying and failing to forget the flash of hurt he’d seen in her eyes before she masked the look with an angry glare.
* * *
Despite her pique at the duke’s harsh words, Isabella hurried upstairs to change into her bright blue riding habit for her tour of the tenant farms. She changed as quickly as she could, and finally setting her hat atop her dark curls at a rakish angle, she went downstairs to find her host waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, his riding crop beating a sharp tattoo against his boot.
To her surprise, she saw a flash of admiration in his eyes before he quickly masked it, saying, “I’ve chosen a sweet-tempered mare for you to ride while you’re here,” as he and Isabella made their way down the front steps and toward the stables. “After assessing your seat today, if I think you can handle it, and should you wish for something more spirited, I will consider it.”
Isabella would have liked to argue, but she could not. “That is perfectly agreeable to me, Your Grace,” she said, following him to the paddock where a pretty little gray waited patiently, already bridled and fitted out with a sidesaddle.
The horse nickered as Isabella moved to her side and gave her a good scratch on the nose and crooned softly in her ear. “What a lovely girl you are,” Isabella said, rubbing the mare’s neck, which was the color of the summer sky at dusk. “What’s her name?”
“This is Dolly,” Trevor said, watching in bemusement as Isabella made friends with her mount. “She’s got spirit for all that she’s easy to handle. I think you’ll be pleased with her.”
“Of course I shall,” Isabella said, more to the horse than to Trevor. “Will you help me mount, Your Grace?”
Turning, she found to her amusement that she’d caught the duke admiring her backside. He had the good grace to flush, but that was his only acknowledgment of his wrongdoing. Instead he silently crouched and made a stirrup of his hands, boosting her up into the saddle.
His own mount, a sleek bay who was eager to be on his way, stood restlessly as a waiting groom held tightly to his reins. Having seen Isabella safely atop Dolly, Trevor swung up into his own saddle, and they made their way toward the bridle path leading to the farms.
“You are a strong rider, I see,” he said after some minutes of quiet between them. “I would have thought a lady used to London life would be less self-assured on horseback.”
“We do have several parks, Your Grace,” Isabella said sardonically. Really, did the man think they walked everywhere in town? “It is even possible to gallop if one arises early enough to evade the tabbies. My father had me in the saddle almost as soon as I could walk. Perdita and I both, actually.”
“That is good to hear,” the duke said. “My sisters have also ridden from a young age. I suppose it was foolish for me to suppose town life was so very different from the country. It is simply that my parents made such a great show of proving we missed out on nothing by remaining in the country that I never thought to doubt them.”
Isabella steered Dolly around a fallen log and frowned. “Did you never go to London when you were at Oxford?” she asked, more than a little perplexed at the notion. “I know any number of young gentlemen get up to mischief in town when they are supposed to be immersed in their studies.”
“Once or twice,” Trevor allowed. “I stayed with friends a few times, but never long enough to really get a good feel for what town life was all about. Mostly I found it loud and crowded. I much prefer this.” He waved at the open countryside around them, which Isabella was forced to admit did give one a feeling of vastness that London did not. “I like being able to look out my window and see mile after mile of rolling hills.”
“There is something wild and wonderful about the land here,” she admitted to him. “But what of entertainment? What of society? Do you never long for conversation with your peers?”
“You speak as if there is no one to be found here for miles and miles,” Trevor said with a laugh. “I have any number of friends from among the local gentry. Indeed, I believe you met some of the local ladies already.”
Isabella gave him a look that indicated that she rested her case.
“Oh, come,” he said with a laugh. “They are not so bad. Though I do admit that some of them are rather…”
“Provincial?” Isabella asked sweetly.
“You are merely annoyed because they came to determine your intentions.” Trevor slowed his mount as they came closer to a group of cottages ranged prettily along a country lane.
“My intentions,” she said softly, tugging on the reins to bring Dolly to a halt, “are the least of their concerns. They came to warn me off, because they consider you to be their personal property.”
“What can I say?” Trevor said with a grin as he dismounted before a tidy little cottage. “They are concerned for my welfare.”
Before Isabella could respond, a plump woman appeared in the doorway of the cottage. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.” Then seeing Isabella, she added, “Yer Ladyship.”
“Good afternoon,” Isabella returned. She felt nervous, though she wasn’t quite sure why. There was something about the woman’s assessing gaze that made Isabella feel as if she was being sized up and found wanting.
“Jimmy,” the matron said to a lad of around seven who peeked out from behind her, “go and hold His Grace’s horses.”
Silently the boy slipped out from behind her and took the reins from Trevor.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Jones,” the duke said to the woman before turning to lift Isabella down. Isabella fought a shiver as she felt his strong hands grasp her around the waist and slide her inch by slow inch down the front of his body. By the time her feet touched the ground she was breathless. The duke, curse him, did not seem to be affected in the least.
“Mrs. Mary Jones,” he said to the woman as he handed off Dolly’s reins to Jimmy and another boy who had slunk wordlessly from inside the house, “may I present Lady Isabella Wharton? She is visiting my sisters and me for the next couple of weeks. I promised her that I would show her around the estate while she is here. She is quite interested in how we do things here in the country.”