Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
A lone of all the guests at Whitby Manor, Isobel was dismayed when the following day brought bright sun and a cloudless sky.
“You promised me a country walk, Lady Isobel,” Lucius reminded her over the breakfast table, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And the skies have rewarded our hopes with the perfect day. Fate must be on our side.”
Isobel made a sour grimace in response before she remembered that she had agreed to the scheme in the first place.
Of course. She was to have fun . Or a gentleman’s idea of fun, at any rate. Get some fresh air. Put some colour in her cheeks. And turn Lord Randall green, with any luck.
“I will come with you,” said Cassie, eyeing Lucius suspiciously as she buttered a roll. She had clearly not forgotten the intrigue in the orangery the previous day.
“And I!” cried Georgiana at once. She caught Lord Bell’s eye across the table. “What do you say, Lord B? Shall we take a picnic and make a day of it?”
Naturally, the moment Georgiana suggested anything, every gentleman in the room fell in line. Isobel risked a glance at Lord Randall, who had been sitting opposite her and yet had managed not to meet her gaze once during the course of the breakfast. He was the only one who had not expressed enthusiasm.
Lucius had his number, alright. Randall was continually charging about the countryside on one adventure or another. There’d been a time when Isobel had entertained happy fantasies of welcoming him back home at the end of each busy day. A bright hearth and a pleasant song from the harp to ease that busy soul back into the heart of his family.
How foolish. How embarrassing .
But Isobel’s agonised reminiscence was interrupted as Lord Randall’s cool green eyes cut into hers, not in the past, but right there and then across the breakfast table.
“A country walk, Lady Isobel?” His fine lips lifted a little, and Isobel’s heart thudded.
Their scheme was too obvious. He’d seen through it in an instant. She’d be his figure of fun once again…
“It took some convincing,” she said airily. “But Mr Whitby is most persuasive.”
Randall’s half smile faded away. “I am glad,” he said, not sounding glad at all. “I can think of nothing more pleasant on a day like today.”
“Then it’s settled!” cried Georgiana, clapping her hands. “We shall all spend the day out! Mama, do ring for the cook. We must have fresh bread, cherry jam, boiled eggs…”
Evie stood up and pushed her chair into the table. “I will not come,” she said. “I have a sore head.”
Lucius half-rose from his seat, but Evie shook her head and left the room before he could stop her.
“A tisane for Evie,” Georgiana added smoothly, counting off the list on her fingers. “A pot of cream, a fruit cake…”
Lucius sat down, his face tight with worry. Isobel could feel the tension in his jaw from across the room.
But he smoothed it into a smile before anyone else noticed.
“See, Lady Isobel,” he said, inclining his head to her. “You have inspired us all.”
Isobel was glad of the crowd. Such a large group could not help but move slowly, and the muddy path through the wooded hills around Whitby Manor was not at all to her liking. She clung to Lucius’s arm out of necessity as much as to continue their deception.
Go out and get some mud on your dress , Aunt Ursula had told her with approval. Though Ursula herself was still sitting in bed sipping tea and reading the gossip pages. She did not have to contend with mud, stones, and small buzzing insects. Nor with Lord Randall.
Not that he offered much to contend with. He had said nothing to Isobel since breakfast and was ambling along slowly at the rear carrying one of Georgiana’s laden picnic baskets. Isobel felt his presence as a continuous uncomfortable prickle, as though he were a woollen shirt she could not take off. Georgiana, blessedly oblivious to everything, was attempting to engage him in a little flirtation.
“My, but you must be so much stronger than I, my lord! I’m sure I could never carry that basket half so easily.”
“I’m sure you could do anything you set your mind to, Miss Georgiana.” There was a smile in his voice, and Isobel did not need to turn and look at him to know his expression. She shivered.
“Careful, now,” murmured Lucius. He caught her arm and guided her aside just before she stepped in a puddle. When Isobel made to draw her arm back, Lucius held it tight and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I insist on keeping you at my side, my lady. It’s the only way to protect you from the dangers of the great outdoors.”
Isobel gave him a rueful smile. He was just as accomplished a flirt as his sister. “A puddle doesn’t strike me as particularly dangerous, Mr Whitby. Do wild beasts roam the land around Whitby Manor? Or are we at risk of an avalanche?”
“All Whitby creatures are wild, my lady,” he answered, with such a twinkle in his eye that Isobel laughed in spite of herself. He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.
Perhaps country walks were not quite so bad as Isobel had always thought.
Cassandra Whitby was taking the lead, her long legs easily outpacing Lord Bell and Sir Chamberpot. As their party rounded a corner, the sight of an enormous fallen tree blocking the path sent Bell scurrying to reach her.
“Allow me to assist you, Miss Cassandra!”
Cassie glanced over her shoulder, her expression closer to a sneer than a smile, and quickened her pace. She placed a hand on the tree trunk, hitched up her skirts with the other, and planted her foot in the crook of one of the tree’s branches. She was standing on top of the fallen trunk before Bell could reach her.
“Can I offer you a hand up, Lord B?” she asked, one hand on her hip and the other mockingly outstretched. Bell stopped in his tracks, whipping his head around to fire a glare at Sir Ivor, who was shamelessly sniggering.
“I don’t see you clambering up there after her, Chamberpot.”
“No, no,” said Sir Ivor evenly. “But do hurry up and let her hoist you over, Bell, so that she may assist the rest of us.”
Isobel caught Lucius’s eye and they both immediately looked away again for fear of breaking out into laughter.
Bell made Cassie an extravagant bow. “I beg your forgiveness, Miss Cassandra. I will not make the mistake of offering you help again.”
He spoke lightly, as though making a joke, but Isobel detected an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice. Gentlemen did not usually appreciate Cassandra’s brand of independence.
Which was fortunate, since Cassandra did not usually appreciate the presence of gentlemen.
Cassandra returned him a bow as elaborate as that of any dandy, pretending to doff her hat the way a man would, and caught hold of another protruding branch to make the jump down to the other side.
Just as she had launched her first foot into the air, the branch gave a rending creak and snapped in half. Cassandra went down on the other side with an audible thump.
“Serves her right!” Lucius chuckled. “Ho there, Cassie, are you hurt?”
His answer came in the form of an anguished scream.
Lucius dropped Isobel’s hand immediately, but she was already springing into action beside him. She had never heard such a sound issue from the mouth of her hardy friend. Lucius ran ahead, vaulting the trunk in a single leap, and Isobel pushed her way through the thicket of brambles and nettles at the side of the path, holding onto the tree’s displaced roots to help herself get past.
Mud on her dress aplenty. Aunt Ursula would be thrilled.
She forced her way around the tree to see Lucius with his arms crossed and his face contorted somewhere between severity and mirth. Cassandra was sitting splat in the middle of a large, deep, filthy puddle, the seat of her dress thoroughly soaked.
And leaning against a tree a little way down the path, helpless with laughter, was the Viscount Kendrick.
“Don’t you dare ,” Cassandra growled, sending mud splattering about as she threatened Lucius away with a muddy finger. “Don’t say a word .”
Kendrick leaned forwards, gasping for breath, his hands resting on his knees to support himself.
“Go and hang yourself, Kendrick!” Cassandra rose to her feet, angrily batting at the stains on her dress as though there was anything she could possibly do to remove them.
“With pleasure,” Lord Kendrick answered, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing at his eyes. “Now that I have seen this, Miss Whitby, I shall die happy.”
“Easy, Cassie.” Lucius took his sister by the arm and kept her from advancing on the still-chortling Kendrick. “Are you hurt?”
“I am perfectly well,” she said, through gritted teeth, still glaring murderously at Lord Kendrick. “I have never been better.”
Isobel took out her own handkerchief, for all the good it would do, and went to wipe some of the dirt from Cassie’s face. Kendrick got there first.
“What’s that saying about pride, Miss Cassandra?” he asked, handing her the kerchief with a masterful attempt at containing his laughter. “Here you are.”
She accepted it with bad grace. “You were standing close enough to catch me, I think,” she said. “Or is that old hunting wound still slowing you down?”
“Well, only yesterday you made me promise never to help you again,” said Kendrick evenly. “All the same, I’d have caught you if I could. Let me see that arm, now. You came down hard on your elbow, I think.”
Cassie wrenched it beyond his reach. “I’m not afraid of a little bruise. As you ought to know by now.” She stormed off, leaving Kendrick to direct his concern to the empty air. The viscount thrust his hands into his pockets, giving a shrug, but Isobel could see he was chagrined.
“It was her own fault,” said Lucius, patting Kendrick on the shoulder. “If either of us were to try catching Cassie every time she flings herself into danger, we’d never get anything done. Though it was Bell who baited her into it.”
“Oh?” Kendrick glanced over the offending tree trunk at Lord Bell, who was awkwardly attempting to help Georgiana climb it.
“He tried flirting with her.”
Kendrick let out a low whistle. “Braver man than I.”
Isobel freed her skirts from the tangle of briars and followed Cassandra down the path. She would not have caught her had Cassie not stopped every few paces to dab at her ruined skirts with Kendrick’s handkerchief.
“Don’t fret about the dress,” said Isobel, brushing a mud-splatted lock of hair back from Cassie’s forehead. “Is your arm really hurt?”
Cassie held out her arm and gave it an exploratory shake. “Not much. Kendrick’s a cautious old woman at heart. I didn’t land hard enough to do much damage.” Her arm fell loose at her side as she let Isobel wipe the dirt from her brow. “I will fret about the gown, Iso. It’s Italian sarsenet. One of the very few walking dresses I’ve managed to keep looking fine.”
Isobel paused her wiping, taking the opportunity to study her friend’s face more closely. She had never once heard Cassandra wax lyrical about fine clothes. “Are you worried your mother will be angry?”
“It’s the waste,” said Cassie, ducking away from Isobel’s hand. “The expense of a dress like this – the idiocy of my mother to insist on my wearing it – ah! It’s too much.”
Lucius had left Kendrick to assist the others in navigating the tree trunk. He reached Cassandra and Isobel just in time to hear Cassie’s lamentation, and he responded with a wide, beaming smile that struck Isobel as somehow false.
“Really, Cassie, there’s nothing to worry about! Mother will leap at the chance to take you on a trip to Paris and have ten or twenty such dresses made.”
Cassie’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “I can think of nothing worse. Lucius, you must promise me that you won’t let her take me. Let her do anything but that.”
The two Whitby siblings met each other’s eyes, and the quiet, earth-scented air of the forest was suddenly sharp with a tension Isobel did not understand.
“If you are truly distressed at the thought of losing the dress, I’m sure it can be saved,” she said. “I’ve seen my maid work wonders with a long soak in cold water and mild soap. And if that does not get all the stains out, it can be dyed. A deep blue or green would cover the damage entirely, and I think it would suit you very well, Cassie. Primrose yellow is for homebodies like me who spend their time indoors. You lead an active life.” She saw the tension ease out of Cassie’s shoulders and drew closer with a conspiratorial whisper. “Your poor mother has endured far worse from you than a spoiled dress, after all.”
Cassie’s face turned pale. “Lord! How can I be such a clot, complaining about my own mother hen when yours is long gone?”
“Hush. I have a whole family of mothers – my sisters and I all mothered each other. And Aunt Ursula did her part, too.” Isobel waggled her eyebrows, making Cassie laugh. “Thank your lucky stars you don’t have to contend with her as a matriarch. That would create a very different kind of trouble!”
Cassie let out an unladylike snort of laughter. She had recovered her spirits enough to keep smiling through Georgiana’s squeals of horror as she caught them up and saw the state of the dress.
Isobel stood aside and let Georgiana do her sisterly duty of fussing and tutting and enquiring how on earth Cassie had survived the fall.
A warm, masculine presence moved behind her. Lucius’s voice dipped close to her ear. “Thank you.”
She looked back at him, puzzled. “Whatever for?”
He answered her with a searching smile. “Why should a duke’s sister bother to learn how to get stains out of a dress?”
She shook her head, hiding a grin. “If you knew my brother better, you wouldn’t set so much stock by the idea that dukes are somehow above everybody else. He’s as much at risk from unexpected puddles as anyone. And I was brought up to be practical, and not to take anything for granted. Alex’s inheritance is his, after all, not mine.”
“True, but I know how it feels to possess a crowd of beloved sisters. Your brother will always have your welfare close to his heart. And he could replace a hundred sarsenet dresses without his fortune suffering a jot.”
“How horrifying! I don’t think any of my family are so extravagant that we’d rather buy anew what could easily be cleaned.”
Lucius placed a hand over his heart, his smile taking on a self-mocking slant. “You are accustomed to making use of the battered and broken.”
He was talking about himself. But it was towards her own heart that Isobel’s thoughts turned. Her own battered, broken, ill-used heart. One that still bore the stains of the fall it had taken three years ago. Despite all her attempts to cleanse it, despite all her sisters’ entreaties to find love anew.
“Lady Isobel? You have torn your dress.”
Ah, yes. Of course. Here came Randall.
Lucius took a step towards her – to rescue her, presumably – but Isobel stopped him with a flare of her eyes and turned to Randall with a sweet smile.
“I hadn’t noticed.” She had, of course. She’d inwardly cringed the moment she felt the fabric catch and tear on a stubborn thorn. She’d tackle the mending herself if she could, rather than make extra work for her maid.
“Please. Allow me.” Randall dropped to his knees. Isobel took a step back, alarmed.
He pulled the pearl-topped pin from his cravat and smoothly pushed it through the two torn edges of the muslin, holding the hem together again. At least for now.
“That should keep it from further damage until we are back at the manor,” he said, rising to his feet. He was not avoiding her gaze, exactly, but Isobel noticed that his eyes were fixed on the trees beyond her, rather than on her face.
“It was – it was foolish of me. I know it was.” Ah, there she was again – the silly, babbling fool. The girl who couldn’t keep her thoughts straight around a gentleman. The girl Randall had once pitied enough to woo. “Chasing after Cassie like that. So silly. She’s so much tougher than I am, and –”
“No,” Lucius protested, standing close beside her. Isobel could practically see his hackles rising, his protective instincts extending hidden claws. Randall noted it and stood a little straighter, setting his shoulders, poised for action.
Isobel felt like a piece of meat poised between two competing lions, and she was not sure she liked it.
“It wasn’t foolish at all,” said Lucius. “Never say that again.” He took her hand, pressed it warmly to his lips, and tucked it into the crook of his arm. The motion pulled her closer to him. Her hip nearly brushed against his thigh. His chest might have touched her shoulder with only a breath.
Isobel held herself as still as she could manage. She didn’t know whether she wanted that touch, or if she wanted to avoid it. She wasn’t sure if she could conceal the way his proximity set every nerve in her body on high alert.
“I agree,” said Randall, his tone sheer enmity. He broke off the warning glare at Lucius and inclined his head to Isobel. Neither friendly nor possessive – as Lucius was – but respectful.
Respect from Randall was new.
“It was admirable to rush to your friend’s aid,” he continued. “I’d think less of you if you stopped to fuss over a dress in such circumstances.”
Lucius settled beside Isobel, no longer threatening battle. She felt the protective rage ease from him. “Careful there, Randall. My sister Georgiana didn’t risk her dress to offer help.”
“And I didn’t risk my buckskins.” Randall shrugged out the tension from his shoulders, taking Lucius’s cue to back down. “Lady Isobel has bested me for heroism.” He cut his eyes to her. A flash of jade, reflecting inner flames. “But you’ve always had the knack of showing me how I could better myself, haven’t you, my lady? I remember it well, from our time in Brighton.”
There it was. Randall was merely feigning peace – sheathing his weapon only to draw out a hidden knife. Somehow, Lucius had turned intimacy with Isobel into a precious commodity. And Randall wished to show that he was the old money to Lucius’s nouveau riche .
Isobel found her tongue at last. “A pity you never listened to me, then.”
Lucius let out a burst of laughter that couldn’t possibly be mistaken as convivial. Not with that clear ring of triumph.
Randall’s jaw tightened. He bowed – an impeccably deep bow that offered no insult – and moved quickly away to join the others.
“Well, well,” said Lucius, looking after him with the keen-eyed enjoyment of a hunter sighting his prey. “It seems our efforts have been noted.”
“That was a completely unnecessary display of – of masculinity !” snapped Isobel. Lucius’s eyes sparkled in answer, so full of mischief that she had to turn her face away before he made her smile.
“Really? I found it very necessary.”
It took all her energy to maintain her stern demeanour. “We are only supposed to have reached a three on your uninspiring numerical scale. That was not a three, Mr Whitby.”
“Really?” She had roused his interest more than she’d intended. He looked extremely pleased with himself. “Where would you rank it, then?”
Isobel’s chest was full of flutters – the painful combination of nerves and pleasure she felt whenever Randall was nearby. The thrum of violin strings under tension.
But it was not Randall filling her with whispered vibrato now.
And that was not good at all.
She fixed Lucius with an appraising glare. “Do you remember when your younger siblings discovered music for the first time? The moment they first realised a good tutor could help them draw sweet melodies from the keys of a piano?”
“Of course.” His smile grew wider.
“Do you remember the sound it made when they started practising?”
“Oh.”
“You are supposed to be flirting with me. Not treating me as if I am your betrothed and you need to defend me from all other suitors.”
The smile left him. He glanced back at Randall, brows drawing together. His eyes were the grey of glowering rainclouds. “Yes. Quite. We mustn’t scare him off, after all.”
It was Isobel’s turn to be piqued. “I beg your pardon?”
“Because that’s what all this is about, really, isn’t it?” Lucius’s voice was soft and low. Isobel was sure that no one could hear him. And yet she felt horribly exposed. “You don’t want him to suffer. Not really. You want him to love you.”
At least it was Lucius accusing her, and not Randall. Randall struck her dumb. With Lucius, the wheels of her mind kept spinning as they should. Faster, even.
She gave a careless shrug. “Love is a kind of suffering, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know.” He thrust his hands into his pockets, the stiff set of his jaw the only thing that gave the lie to his pose as careless country gentleman.
He strode off towards his sisters. “Stop fussing, Georgiana! Better to mourn over Cassie’s dress than a broken neck. Let’s turn back to the house. We can picnic on the lawn while Cassie gets cleaned up.”
Isobel ran her hands briefly over her bodice and skirt, trying to shake off the feeling that Lucius had torn off a piece of her clothing and left some inner secret exposed to sight.
On the way home, she took Cassie’s arm – never mind the mud. It was the best way to avoid all conversation with gentlemen.
She’d had quite enough of that for one day.