Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
T he first hint Isabella had that Rowan was nearby was a sneeze. A rather loud one in the vicinity of her brother, who stood behind them, between the house and the small pond that was more of a picturesque puddle in a vast field of flower-dotted green.
“Imogen,” Isabella said, folding her hands in her lap. “Look behind you, but do not be obvious. Is Rowan there?”
Imogen rotated her entire body and raised her hand over her eyes to block out the sun. “Yes, he is.”
Isabella hauled her back around, her shawl sliding off one shoulder. “I do not think you could have been more obvious.”
From Imogen’s other side, Thurston said, “Yes, she could. I’m certain of it.” He leaned backward, his hands pressing into the blanket spread over the grass beneath them and his feet hanging off the other end.
“There’s no use in hiding it,” Imogen said. “He’s looking at us. I predict it’s not more than thirty seconds before he starts this way.”
“What is he doing here?” Isabella itched to look. She’d kept herself from visiting the Hestia all week to find out what she could about him—where he’d been, who he’d talked to, how sad or happy he’d seemed. She was trying to break her habit, to live in peace with the unknown. But when he was just there at her back… She fairly vibrated , the need to twist around a primal urge. But she pulled her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, clutching the ends, holding herself prisoner against her own desires. “This is your party. He was not invited. Was he invited? Surely you would have told me. Why would you have invited him?” She snapped her teeth together. Embrace. The. Unknown.
Imogen suppressed a laugh. “Prudence says Samuel asked to add someone to the guest list.”
“It would have been nice of her to ask permission,” Isabella grumbled.
Imogen tilted her head to the side. “Why would you give permission? It’s not your party. As you’ve already so accurately pointed out—it’s mine.”
“And mine.” Thurston waggled his feet. “Who knew Baron Brightly possessed such lovely grounds, and so close to the city. Good place to convalesce after a bit of carousing.” He tilted his head toward Imogen. “Isn’t that right, Im?”
“I’m afraid I know little about carousing. I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Thurston returned to studying the lake and wiggling his feet.
“It was kind of him to let Prudence host this garden party. I’m enjoying it better than I expected to. I suppose being outside makes the crowd more palatable.”
All palatable but for Rowan.
Whom she felt before she heard. Knew the footsteps behind her were his, knew the shape of his legs as he stopped just beside her.
“Lady Isabella, may I sit here?”
“No.”
Thurston barked out a laugh.
Imogen smacked his arm. “Come along, darling , we must make conversation with our guests.”
“No, no,” Isabella grabbed her sister’s arm. “Do stay.”
But Imogen shook her off. “You are no coward.”
As Rowan settled beside her, Isabella scooted away and into the warmth left behind by her heartless sister.
“How have you been?” Rowan asked, stretching one leg out and bending the other. He propped his forearm on his knee and looked out over the pond.
“Perfectly wonderful, thank you.”
“Hm.”
“Hm, what?”
“Nothing.”
She curled her legs beneath her to sit up taller. “That hm had a definite meaning, Rowan Trent.”
He parted his lips, shifted his jaw, then said on an inhale, “It is only that I have not been perfectly wonderful. In fact, I’ve been the exact opposite of that.” Something sad in his eyes, something hollow.
She would not feel sorry for him! “What are you doing here?”
“Your brother invited me.”
“I had heard. I thought it might be false gossip.”
“You would know what that sounds like, wouldn’t you?” Finally, he turned, green eyes locking with her own, stealing her breath. “Isabella,” he breathed, the word making his lips a smile, faint and sorry and hopeful. “Your brother has given me permission to court you. Correctly this time and with my full intentions declared to everyone. Everyone . No more hiding.”
“Court me! Ha. I hope permission is all you accepted from Samuel regarding that particular subject.”
Rowan’s shy smile popped into a bright grin. “You’ll have to find out.”
God help her. She wanted to find out.
She jumped to her feet, letting her shawl fall to the blanket, needing the wind on her skin to banish the heat crawling across her body. “You expect me to fall back into your arms? When you said you could never be truly comfortable with me?”
“I was angry.” He tilted his head back and squinted, the sun illuminating his countenance. He sneezed.
She almost giggled.
“I didn’t mean what I said.” Rowan stood with her. “I thought I did… but I was wrong.”
“Of course you were. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. That doesn’t mean you didn’t plant this nasty seed in my mind that’s done nothing but take root, creating offshoots that say, You escaped, Isabella . He’d do nothing but resent you . He’d hate your family . He’d break your heart by forcing you to break yourself in two .”
“I won’t do that.”
“Forgive me, but I do not believe you.” She stomped off for the tangled rose garden.
He followed after, catching up quickly with ground-eating strides. “I’ll prove it to you.”
She snorted.
“I will.” He passed her and turned around, putting his hands out to stop her.
When she almost ran into those terribly, beautifully large hands, she fought the urge to run right into them. So, she began a methodical retreat, sidestepping him and continuing on her path farther into the garden. “That would require, I hope you know, standing, dancing, and conversing elbow to elbow with other people, many of whom might have—I almost dare not say it— titles . You might even have to Lady Isabella me at times and without a hint of rancor.”
“I’m aware.” Fast footsteps crunching over gravel until he strode by her side once more. “Listen, Lady Isabella,” said deep and low and making her shiver despite the sun overhead. “I’m perfectly capable of it. Lady Isabella,” said rich and a bit yearning and making her heart race. He caught her wrist, and what could she do but stop? So, he caught her other wrist, and his gloved fingers rested perfectly above the edge of her glove, against her skin, brushing along her pulse.
Her boots were particularly interesting, just the tips of them peeking out from beneath her lavender skirts.
“Lady Isabella,” said teasingly, gently, coaxingly. “Look at me, a chuisle .”
She stared at the house instead.
“Lady Isabella,” said with love.
She ripped out of his hold and spun around. Better to return to the crowds. But he kept up with her so easily, strolling at her side while she practically ran .
“So you can say my name without sneering. That does not mean you will ever feel comfortable around me.”
“Let me try.”
“No.”
“Damn it all, Isabella. Just listen to me.”
“No, damn you , Rowan.” At the wild edge of the garden, right before the vines and ropes of summer flowers tapered off into the lawn, she stopped to face him, toe-to-toe and broken heart to broken heart. “You left me on the street. Crying. It felt like night would never end. I’m still stuck there in some ways. In the darkness. I hope you’re enjoying the sunlight because I feel cut off from it.”
“I never should have said any of it. I was terrified. I thought if I took you for myself, like the selfish bastard I am, you would wake up one day and wonder why you’d done it. Why you’d lowered yourself. And then you’d be miserable. Because of me. I looked at your home, your friends and family, and realized nothing I could ever give you would be more than what you already have. What good am I to you, Isabella?” He shook his head, a wet dog flinging off water droplets, and paced away from her. When he paced back to her, he leaned low, offering her something she couldn’t see on his flat, upturned palms. “You are a story I do not want to ever end. You are the unknown, terrifyingly beautiful depths of the ocean.” His voice steady and sure. His eyes green and daring, tinged around the edges with the darkness of fear. “And you are the very center of my heart. Please. Isabella. Let me try.”
If there existed a woman in Christendom who could resist that plea, Isabella did not know her.
Isabella certainly was not her.
And though her mind screamed at her to walk away, head held high, her heart whispered in quite plaintive tones that she take his hand instead.
She walked away, throwing over her shoulder, “I will not stop you from trying, but I cannot guarantee success.”
He appeared at her side, marching as if to battle. “I am not a man used to failure, Lady Isabella. ”
“Enough of that,” she grumbled. Mostly because when he said her name like that she melted.
“Where are we going? Who are we meeting?”
“I am going to speak with my friends. You may do as you please.” She found her way to Lottie first, who wore a fascinating collection of white paper flowers in her coiffure. “Is there anything I can help with?”
Lottie shook her head. “Prudence has proven superbly organized, as usual, and the baron’s grounds are lovely. I do not think Imogen could have asked for a more perfect event.”
“There have been several of them already.”
“And more to come. Everyone wishes to congratulate the young couple, particularly since they’ve proven surprisingly tame compared to their scandalous predecessors.”
No one knew, then, that Imogen and Thurston had been caught kissing in front of the Hestia. “I think Im is growing tired of the celebrations, but she seems happy, does she not?” And that was what mattered. Not that Isabella knew all her sister’s secrets, not that her sister’s life spiraled forward in the way Isabella felt best, safest. Isabella released her need for control and let her sister live happy as she pleased.
“Yes, surprisingly. But I think Imogen’s expectations are different from most women’s.” Lottie scooted closer and leaned in. “By the way, you seem to have a rather ominous shadow.” She looked over Isabella’s shoulder. “Good afternoon…”
Rowan stepped forward and bowed. “Trent. Mr. Rowan Trent.”
“Ah!” Lottie curtsied. “I am Lady Noble, and you must be the Mr. Trent my husband told me about, the one who owns Hotel Hestia.”
“When did you meet Quinton?” Isabella asked.
Rowan seemed loose and at ease, as if he spent every day chatting with viscountesses. “I had coffee with him earlier this week. And your brother and other brothers-in-law. And a man named Norton.”
“The entire army, then. I see you survived.”
“And, I think, made a few new friends.” He glanced at Isabella. Seeking approval?
“I told you they’d like you,” Isabella said. “You’re all the same. Hardheaded and— ”
“In love.” Rowan quirked a brow.
Lottie gasped.
Anything Isabella had been about to say caught in her throat.
“I must be going,” Lottie said, “but I venture to guess I’ll have the opportunity to know you better in the future, Mr. Trent. If you’re lucky.”
He nodded as Lottie practically ran to Andromeda across the lawn where they bent their heads toward one another, lips flying behind gloved hands.
What were they saying? That old itch returned, that need to know.
But she would not perish from not knowing, so she fought the impulse and searched the crowd for her next destination. Without a clear one in mind, she wandered from group to group. Rowan followed. Hopefully, he’d become bored and wander off.
But he didn’t. He stayed right behind her or right beside her, and by the time she spotted Lady Macintosh and Lady Templeton near a small fountain in the middle of a box hedge, she’d introduced him to at least half of the party’s guests.
“You’ll want to run off now,” Isabella said.
“No, I do not think I will want that.”
“Where I go next is a place no bachelor willingly treads.”
“I need not fear, then. I no longer consider myself a bachelor.”
She choked.
He patted her back as she gasped for air. “Do you need a drink?”
“No. A bug. Just flew right in. Gone now.”
“Then shall we continue on?”
“Let it be known—I warned you.” No man was ever quite as ready as they anticipated for the library ladies. She felt more than a little wicked by the time she stood before them. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
Lady Macintosh and Lady Templeton pursed their lips, met Rowan’s gaze, then examined his body on a downward trajectory, pausing somewhere near his hips and thighs before finishing at his boots, sharing a look and turning to Isabella.
“I’ve no idea,” Lady Macintosh said, “what sort of fish you’ve caught or even that you’d gone fishing, but I must say… well done.”
“Reminds me of the count in that one Italian book.” Lady Templeton tapped her chin, pursed her lips to the side. “I can’t remember the title. But that one scene in the confessional is impossible to forget.”
Lady Macintosh gasped. “Oh, my yes. You’re quite right. He’s exactly what I pictured. Such a nefarious gentleman.”
Their attention settled on Rowan once more.
He squirmed, leaned close to Isabella, and whispered, “This is not quite what I had in mind. I thought they’d scrutinize me socially. Or morally. But if I didn’t know better, I’d think they were sizing me up in a rather… carnal manner.”
“They are.”
Lady Templeton chuckled. “Who are you? Or should we call you Count?”
“I’m certain that’s not how introductions are made,” Rowan said. “I’m no expert, but—”
“It appears you are the social snob, Mr. Trent.” Isabella nudged him closer to the ladies. “Marchioness of Templeton, Viscountess Macintosh, this is Mr. Rowan Trent, Admiral Garrison’s…” This always tripped her. Mrs. Garrison called him son, but Rowan called her aunt, and—
“Son,” Rowan said. “Adopted.”
Lady Macintosh gasped. “ The Rowan Trent? I never thought to meet you.”
“I didn’t think you existed,” Lady Templeton said.
“I do. Exist.” Rowan bowed low and smooth and came up with a rakish grin. “And I apologize for keeping you ladies waiting all these years.”
Oh no. He was a flirt. A masterful one, too.
“You own that hotel, don’t you?” Lady Templeton asked.
To look at him, Rowan still seemed at ease, but his hand at this side had crushed into a fist. “I do. Hestia. I am in the process of expanding it.”
“Oh.” Lady Macintosh nudged Lady Templeton.
And Rowan somehow grew harder, his jawline transforming into a cliff edge. “Am I boring you with talk of work ?”
“Not at all.” Lady Macintosh waved her hand at him. “I was just thinking… Sarah, what book was it where the dastardly baron was intent on establishing a jam empire?”
“ The Dastardly Baron , I believe.” Lady Templeton popped open a fan and waved it swiftly near her face. “That was a… compelling story. Very inventive uses of jam that I, personally, have found quite invigorating. You, Trent.” She snapped the fan closed and poked him with it. “Are you dastardly? Do you have plans to grow an empire? Do you like jam?”
“Empire, yes. Jam, yes. Dastardly… not most days. I hope.”
Lady Templeton chuckled. “Isabella, have you staked a claim here, or am I free to find other ladies for this eligible bachelor?”
Mine . That’s what she wanted to say. Mine and no one else’s . But she swallowed those words and said, “Do as it pleases you, my lady.”
“I’m afraid,” Rowan said, “you should consider me off the market. As I so recently told Lady Isabella, I can no longer count myself as one among the bachelor flock.”
“Hmm.” Both ladies made a humming sound with one clear meaning—despite so few words—danger.
“You’ve been following Lady Isabella about.” Lady Templeton’s eyes narrowed. “Do not think we have not noticed.”
Lady Macintosh tilted her head to the side. “Yes, staying quite close to her. We are observant if no one else is.”
“How did you two meet?” Lady Templeton asked.
“Such a boring tale!” Isabella laughed. Quite awkwardly in jumpy starts. Think of a lie and think of it quick.
“Pardon me.” Tristan sauntered up to the group and clapped a hand on Rowan’s shoulder.
Thank the heavens. Her favorite brother-in-law to the rescue.
“I’m in need of Mr. Trent here,” Tristan said. “Do you ladies mind if I steal him?”
“Not at all.” Possibly, Isabella spoke a little too loudly. Then, possibly a little too quietly after Tristan had guided Rowan away, she said, “Why do you think Tristan needs him? What are they up to?”
“Why do you care?” Lady Macintosh asked.
“I don’t. Only it’s suspicious. ”
“I have a new bit of gossip,” Lady Templeton said, snapping her fan back open and speaking from behind it. “It seems another one of the Merriweather sisters may be headed toward matrimony.”
Isabella scowled. “That is a joke. About me. I’m not amused.”
“Where did you meet him?” Lady Templeton asked.
“That is not important.”
“Scandal.” Lady Macintosh shivered. “I can smell it. Do tell. As your mentors, we demand to know.”
And Isabella did tell them, bits and pieces because these were her mother’s friends. Her friends, and because sometimes a lady needed a little advice from those older and wiser. “I’m afraid I do not know how to proceed from here. He seems earnest. And I’m aware it will not be easy. He’s right that there are those who will turn their noses up at him. I do not care about that.”
“You do not have to care about it,” Lady Macintosh said. “Perhaps you cannot see it as a true hurdle because it has never been a hurdle for you.”
Lady Templeton tapped her chin gently with her folded fan. “If he seems willing to jump that hurdle, dear one, you should let him try. There he is, after all, huddled together with a duke and that duke’s assorted friends. He spent a quarter hour talking amiably with two ladies like us. And he’s followed you about all day. He’s making an effort. Perhaps you can, too.”
“That does not mean it will work out,” Lady Macintosh said. “But falling in love is the easy part. Living in love takes much hard work. Him to overcome his fears and deal with whatever rejection he might face. And you to empathize with those fears and love him through them.”
A wind ruffled Isabella’s skirts, and she shivered.
Lady Macintosh patted her shoulder as she moved toward the house, and Lady Templeton kissed her cheek. “Your beau is returning, so we will make ourselves scarce. You will be fine, and the world will be sunny again. Do not doubt it.”
As they walked arm in arm toward the house, Rowan approached, his hair mussed by the wind and his hands in his pockets .
“Is my brother done with you, then?” Isabella asked.
He whipped a shawl—her shawl, off his shoulder and settled it around her. “You shivered.”
“Thank you.” She huddled into the muslin and inhaled. It smelled like him, still carried his warmth. “What did Tristan and my brother want?”
“To remind me that I should be direct. About my intentions toward you. That was your brother. And to remind me that ladies like flowers, and I should steal a few from the baron’s garden. That was Noble. Kingston suggested I keep a bit of distance from you, give you time to miss me.”
“This sounds terribly familiar. Don’t tell me you’re taking advice from Samuel’s—”
“Guide to Courtship. Yes.”
“It is a terrible idea. That guide has caused no end of trouble.”
“I think it has its merits. And they assure me it’s been entirely revised to take the feminine perspective into account. There is, however, one point they cannot agree on.”
“And what is that?”
“It’s quite controversial. Your brother is against it, and your sisters’ husbands consider it entirely necessary, though when to implement remains unsettled. I am not at all sure how to proceed.”
“Proceed with what?” She was almost dancing with impatience.
“A kiss.”
Her dancing feet froze.
“Do you have any thoughts on the matter?” he asked. “Any points or assertions I should consider before deciding?”
“I-I”—she cleared her throat—“I do not think one way or another about it.” His lips were so fine, so well shaped.
“You should look me in the eye when speaking, Lady Isabella.”
Damn. Caught.
“You know.” He stepped closer, and the tips of their toes almost touched. Too close with guests milling around them and the sun illuminating every breath they took, every inhalation that swayed them closer to one another. “I think I’ve decided. The best course of action”—he licked his lips and leaned closer—“is to leave you un kissed.” He popped upright and took a large step backward.
She tried to press her heart back behind her ribcage. It thumped loudly, demandingly in her ears.
He turned on a toe but considered her over his broad, well-muscled shoulder. “For now.”