Chapter 21 #2
Lightwood leaned back, basking in the evidence that he had caused Victor to react.
“Funny thing, every time I hear your name in business circles, compliments about your honest interactions or your integrity of character inevitably follow. You have almost more to lose than she does. After all, no one expects me to be honest. I am judged just as your friend in the corner. While he can maintain his status, it is because of his father’s position.
You do not have the same safety.” Lightwood’s smile grew.
“I could give you that safety for a fee.”
How far was Lightwood willing to push his charade? Victor asked the question his visitor wanted to hear. “What kind of fee?”
“Five thousand pounds. Enough to eliminate my debts and refill my daughters’ dowries.”
“You must be mad.” Such an amount was a truly astronomical sum.
“I am not.”
“You must know I will not pay such a thing.”
Lightwood stood. “Think on it. I leave for London on Monday morning.”
“Then I will bid you farewell now as I have no more business with you.”
Lightwood nodded at Barlow on his way out of the room.
Victor waited until Lightwood exited the house. “I wanted to run my fist through his face.”
“I was thinking pistols at dawn,” said Barlow with no hint of laughter. “I knew Lightwood to be vile, but such a bold declaration of blackmail. Even 500 pounds is outrageous.”
“Any amount is outrageous. Five thousand? If I had done something vile that I wished to hide from the world, maybe. But I will declare my intentions to anyone. I admire, and think that I may even love Isabel. Paying such a ransom would —” words didn’t come for how much of a violation of what he felt for her it would be.
“Do you think what he could say would harm her?”
“Most of the women of the ton are not in Town at the moment. So gossip would need to be of some duration. If your courtship continues, you will probably be married by the next season. Miss Godderidge will not suffer. Lightwood was correct about the possibility of your business suffering. There are those, as you know, who will go to great lengths to bring a man as successful as you down. But in time, they too will see it is only a rumor.”
Victor poured himself a short glass of brandy and offered one to Barlow.
Would that he dared drink enough to put himself in a stupor and forget the past hour.
Victor downed the drink in a single swallow, allowing the burn to purge his throat of the words he wished to say of the vile Sir Lightwood.
“I am not worried for myself. You know I can weather any storm against me. I care only for Isabel.”
Isabel tried on another dress. This one had never been worn after having been commissioned for last season and finished before her father’s death. Though she admired it only months ago, today it seemed too daring, the neckline being too low. She tried to tug it up.
Her mother’s abigail clucked her tongue at her. “You will tear the dress. Perhaps if you wore a fichu?”
The maid arranged a gauzy white scarf. Isabel tugged it up a bit more.
The dress wasn’t that different from most of the dresses she’d worn during the season, or from those of her friends.
Well, other than Jane, but she tended to wear clothes that didn’t even show her collarbones or elbows.
Why was she feeling this need to become prudish?
Sir Lightwood would not be here. He could look through the windows.
Nonsense, the footmen would watch the house as they always did.
Her mother’s abigail left Isabel alone to go see to her mother.
No, it was not Sir Lightwood.
It was Victor.
The more she thought about their interlude in the rain, the more she wished to kiss him.
The more she wanted him to kiss her. To be looked at again, the way he had in the pavilion that morning.
To be admired. Was it love? He wasn’t what she pictured in a husband.
She had always thought of someone who was tall and lean like her father or brothers.
Perhaps someone dashingly handsome. Victor had good teeth.
That was more than she could say of some whom she had danced with, men with titles.
His hair was not bad when it was not tightly confined by whatever concoction his valet used.
She would likely not know who was taller unless they were to marry, as he was not likely to be without shoes or boots in her presence.
That didn’t signify as much as it once did. Looking someone in the eye beat craning one’s neck all the time, as Mamma had done with Papa.
And those eyes. Something in them was different than any man’s she had ever seen. Not the color. Brown was common enough. It was the softness and the warmth.
Isabel sat at her dressing table and adjusted the fichu. Perhaps she could tempt him just a little bit.
Dinner, even at the smaller table, with only four of them made conversation difficult because of the distance. One could not leave any of the others out of the conversation. The topic of courtship was entirely avoided.
After dinner Mamma suggested they retire to the music room. “I have not played for company for over a year. Mrs. Dalrymple, Mr. Dalrymple, do either of you play or sing?”
Mrs. Dalrymple ducked her head almost shyly. “I sang much as a girl and still do, but never at a gathering.”
“The four of us are hardly enough for a gathering.” Mamma sorted through the music.
“My son sings too.”
“Isabel, perhaps you can find something in that pile of music while Mrs. Dalrymple and I look through this one.” Mamma pointed to the box of music Edward and Nigel used.
Victor retrieved it and sat on the sofa next to Isabel.
“Do you really sing?” asked Isabel.
“Yes. My mother might exaggerate but would not lie.”
“I only thought they were using this as a way to give us a moment together.”
“I do not believe they have had a moment to scheme.”
“You underestimate the communicative powers of motivated mothers.” Isabel pulled a piece that did not mention love, romance, or anything of the sort from the pile. “What of this?”
“It is a fine folk tune, but I am more familiar with ‘Shepherds I have lost my love.’”
Isabel took the music from him. It had been some time since she played the piece. “It is rather melancholy don’t you think?”
Victor lightly clasped her hand. “Perhaps, but if I sang what I feel, our mothers could be scandalized.”
“Does your mother know of Sir Lightwood’s encounter from this morning?”
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “She knows Lightwood came to my home today.”
The sheet of music she held fell from her hand. “He what?”
“He came to blackmail me.”
Isabel stared at the music in her hand, the notes refused to make sense. “What are you going to do.”
“For him? Nothing.” Victor glanced at their mothers and lowered his voice. “However, I am going to continue to court you, if you are willing. Are you?”
“Why such a formal courtship? None of my friends did such.”
“If we were in Town, I would come during your at home hours each day and speak with you. Then I would ask to take you on a ride through the park, showing all those who cared that I had intentions. I would ask you to dance at every ball twice. One the supper dance, and the other the waltz, if offered. You, all your friends—indeed the entire ton—would know I was courting you. Here, however, you do not have at home hours, in fact, your home has been closed to visitors. We are meeting for business, I mean the fair, so even you might misconstrue any romantic overtures I could make. Short of arriving at services together, there is no local equivalent of a ride through Hyde Park.”
Isabel did not try to suppress her smile. Victor thought out this plan in every detail. “Then I accept your offer of courtship, so there will be no misunderstanding.”
Across the room, Mamma played the melody of a tune and Mrs. Dalrymple warmed up her voice.
Isabel knew she shouldn’t be surprised by the rich tone.
Having music in common with Victor’s mother may prove helpful if this courtship concluded in the usual way.
Now, if they could only have a moment truly alone.
Isabel pushed aside her thoughts to focus on the music.
In time they would. Given the accusations of the day, perhaps waiting was better.