Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
I sobel’s feet overtook her the moment she saw the silhouette of a gentleman outlined against the sky at the end of the rose garden. She ran the last few steps to him, her heart pounding far faster than that brief burst of exercise warranted, her hand already outstretched to tap him on the shoulder. The happy surprise on Lucius’s face was so clear in her imagination that for a moment she did not understand she had not seen it in reality.
“You came,” Randall breathed, and seized her hand, and dropped down on one knee.
Isobel blinked, the image of Lucius still uppermost in her mind. “Lord Randall? I’m sorry – I was not expecting – that is, I did not mean –“
“Hush, my darling girl, my sweet Isobel!” To her alarm, he clutched her hand violently to his chest, pressing it against his heart. “I, too, am sorry. A great deal sorrier than you, because I have more to apologise for. But that is all behind us. Let us think only of the future now.”
Isobel tried to tug her hand away, but Randall misinterpreted the gesture and responded by pressing it fervently to his lips. Isobel wished she had waited long enough to put on her gloves again after the morning’s failed efforts at composition. It was safe to say that Randall’s kiss was not at all how she had once imagined it.
Her imagination, for example, had included rather less spittle and heavy breathing.
“Dearest, kindest, sweetest lady,” Randall began, his eyes glazed over with either ardour or – Isobel suspected – a fortifying shot or three of brandy.
Oh dear. It seemed he had rehearsed a speech.
“My lord, please,” said Isobel, yanking her hand away with a great deal more force that she would have liked to use. “Get up from there. I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding –”
Randall smiled beatifically. “Ah, Isobel. You have always had such a generous heart! But please, do not spare my feelings. It was no misunderstanding – it was my own cursed pride! When I think of the time that I wasted by failing to notice you in Brighton –”
Isobel had been about to give him the gentlest but firmest brush-off she could manage under the circumstances. But this could not be allowed to pass unnoticed. “Excuse me. Would you mind repeating that?”
“Pride! Yes, undeserving pride which the past few days has happily taught me to forget. I know that a sweet and innocent soul such as yours can have no conception –”
“Not that part. What did you mean about our time in Brighton?”
Randall let out a violent groan and flung a hand to his forehead in despair. “I was a fool in Brighton, Isobel! I had eyes only for the bright, spirited, exciting sorts of girl who flit by twice or thrice a day like so many summer butterflies. If only I had raised my eyes to the wallflower behind those fleeting attractions…! How I regret it all now! I was a shallow creature. But the moment that I saw you at Whitby’s side on that glorious walk through the woodland, I felt as though I saw you for the very first time.”
“But it was not the first time,” Isobel interrupted. Randall responded with a frown. The conversation was clearly not going the way he had planned. “The first time we saw each other was on Brighton Pier. You must recall it. I was wearing my green sprigged muslin and walking with my sisters Edith and Selina. It was a miserable day for a walk – it had begun to rain, in fact, and you were kind enough to lend us your carriage to take us back to our accommodation.”
“Was I, indeed?” Randall shook his head, smiling. “What a marvellous memory you have! I had no idea. But I shall simply add it to my ever-increasing list of your admirable qualities.”
Isobel folded her arms and stared down at the rather pathetic smile on Randall’s upturned face. A horrible suspicion was dawning on her. “What about our second meeting?” she demanded. “The day we both happened to call in on Lady Elspeth at the same time. Surely you remember that?”
Randall’s mouth worked around a few soundless words before he managed to decide on a response. “I’m afraid not, my darling. But if the date is significant to you, I shall endeavour to recall it…”
“And the day you heard me play at Mrs Smith’s? The day you told me that even an angel could not have produced a more glorious sound?”
“And I’m sure I was right to say so, sweeting, but the exact occasion of which you speak…”
“The picnic on the beach? The walk along the cliff tops, when you gave me a bracelet you had made from a daisy chain?”
“Yes!” He exclaimed. “Yes – how could I forget that day? You went running on ahead, slipped on a stone, and came up wailing. But when we reached you, the damage that caused you such distress was only a great green grass stain over your favourite parasol. My word, how we all laughed!” He let out a chuckle of merriment. Isobel did not.
“That was Edith,” she said coldly. “Edith was the one who ruined her parasol. I was walking with you at the time, holding your arm.”
“Edith?”
“My sister. Really, my lord, I have just mentioned her.”
“Forgive me, dear sweet Isobel. I confess I am a little nervous…”
“My word, what a fool I’ve been,” Isobel murmured. Then, suddenly, she could not contain herself any longer. Her shoulders began to shake. Her breath quickened. She pressed her fingers to her lips, but there was no help for it.
She burst out into peals of laughter.
Randall got halfway to his feet, hesitated, and dropped back onto his knee again. “Should I… Should I continue?”
“I’m terribly sorry, my lord,” said Isobel, through helpless bursts of merriment. “It’s just that it’s all so ridiculous.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Please get up. I can’t bear to see you kneeling there. It only makes the whole thing more dreadfully amusing. Oh, heavens! Do you know, I even kept the daisy chain! I pressed it between the pages of my copy of Beethoven’s Fifth and then I slept with it beneath my pillow. For months.”
“That is terribly touching,” said Randall, eyeing her up as though she were a powder keg into which he had inadvertently stumbled while smoking a cigar. “Do you have it still?”
“I tore it up,” said Isobel, trying but failing to control a flurry of giggles at the memory. “I tore it up and scattered it ritually in the vegetable plot at my brother’s country house. By the light of a crescent moon. Because it was a crescent moon the night we first danced together. Not that you’ll recall that, either.”
Randall reached for her hand. “But it means more to me than you could possibly know, my angel –” She moved her hand out of his reach. Blinking, he grasped for her again. “Dear one – sweet lady – Isobel, please! How am I to place a ring upon your finger if you will not let me take your hand?”
“You are not to place a ring on my finger at all,” said Isobel, placing both hands firmly behind her back. “Lord Randall, I am terribly sorry, and all this is terribly flattering, and as you have probably guessed, there was a time when this very moment was all that I dreamed of, but –”
“It is a very nice ring,” said Randall petulantly. “You haven’t even seen it!” He held out the box he had been clutching. “It belonged to my grandmother.”
Isobel placed her hand gently on the box and pushed it back toward him, unopened. “I am sure that it is lovely. And you must keep it for somebody else. I am not worthy of it, my lord. And, without meaning any offence, you are not worthy of me. Despite great strength of feeling and an enormous expenditure of emotion, it seems that you and I have failed to understand each other at every step. Do you know, I was so infatuated with you in Brighton that I truly thought you were going to propose?”
“My poor Isobel!" Randall's eyes shone with sympathy. "If only I had known! If only I had noticed you.”
“But you didn’t,” said Isobel. “In fact, it was not until I attracted the attention of another gentleman that you realised I existed at all. And that simply won’t do. You must not go about proposing to women whose existence you did not even notice by yourself.”
“I had a great deal to say on that very subject,” said Randall, looking rather put out. “The second part of the speech I have prepared for you addresses that very failing in my character –”
“Your character is perfectly fine the way it is,” said Isobel. “With the proviso that you could stand to be a little less flirtatious, so as not to arouse false hope in any other silly girls. And I am perfectly fine the way I am. I should never have imagined I needed to change myself or play a part in order to secure somebody’s love. Don’t you see, we have both been going about this entirely the wrong way?”
“What does it matter how it all began?” Randall demanded, that feverish glow returning to his cheeks. “It is our feelings now which count! Isobel, my Isobel, I understand now why you wish to make me suffer a little, but I cannot bear it any longer. Why on earth did you break things off with Whitby if not because you were in love with me?”
Isobel knew it would be unkind to say what she was really thinking. So she took a deep breath to persuade herself not to point out to Randall that there were, in fact, a great number of reasons why somebody might end an engagement, and none of them had anything to do with him . He was not the sun about which her world revolved.
What she actually said was this:
“You have been misinformed, my lord. I have every intention of marrying Lucius. There are just a few small details I have to iron out first.”
“Details?” The feverish red spread from Randall’s cheeks to his ears, his nose, and from there to the rest of his face. This was not the flush of a man in the throes of a violent love. Isobel guessed it was rather something in between embarrassment and anger. “Details such as the fact that your engagement ended the very day on which it began? Details such as the fact that Mr Horace Whitby was heard announcing this morning that if his eldest son was fool enough to do the honourable thing and marry you, he’d march down to the church himself to put a stop to it?”
“That, and a few other little matters.” Such as revealing her identity as the true composer behind the reasonably well-esteemed name of Isidore Babbage. Such as wallowing in the ensuing scandal and raking in the money that came with it. Society would pay handsomely to hear her music. She’d make sure of it, by charging a premium for ringside seats to the demise of her good name.
It might well not be enough to cover all the Whitby family’s debts. But it was the only means of making an income which Isobel had. And she had to try.
She gave Randall a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I hope you’ll take this in the spirit it’s intended, my lord. But when you fall in love with someone – truly in love – you’ll see that all these little obstacles no longer mean anything.” He looked disappointed, but not, she thought, too disappointed. He’d recover in time. After all, the girl with whom he thought he’d been in love did not exist.
“Is that it?” Randall looked down at the unopened ring box in his hand. “You really still mean to marry him? You will not even consider me?”
“It would be a disservice to us both. But I do want to thank you, Lord Randall. You will always mean a great deal to me. It was my silly infatuation with you in Brighton which ultimately led me to Lucius. And I know that you will understand my decision one day, when you finally win the heart of somebody you notice for the right reasons.”
Randall shoved the ring box into his pocket. “To the devil with both of you,” he said sourly. “I wish you both all the happiness you deserve. And not one bit more!”
He turned on his heel and stormed off, kicking at a rosebush on his way and sending a flurry of petals to the ground.
Isobel must truly have undergone a great transformation of character, for she did not feel at all smug or satisfied as she watched him stomp away.
Not one bit. Really.
Well… Perhaps just the faintest smidgen of satisfaction. She was only human, after all.
Back in the manor house, Isobel was swiftly accosted by the three Misses Whitby. Georgiana wished to know every last detail of Randall’s proposal – though she seemed aware of a great many details already. Cassandra desired to understand what on earth kind of tomfoolery Isobel had put Lucius up to now, and would she please accompany Cassie to wherever he might be hiding so that Cassie might knock both their heads together until they came to their senses.
Evie, thankfully, wanted nothing from Isobel at all. Instead, she handed her a note written on a folded piece of paper.
“I told him I’d only give it to you if you asked for an explanation,” she said quietly. “But, on reflection, I think you had better have it now.”
The note seemed to burn cold in Isobel’s fingers before she had even opened it. A dreadful premonition of what lay within.
Isobel,
Forgive my writing. After all that has transpired between us, it is the greatest impertinence, I know.
I do not know whether you will accept Randall or not. But, since either option would only cause me unutterable pain, I see no point in staying to find out.
I have a duty to perform. One that can no longer be put off. I will not return until it is done.
I know that I can rely on your discretion when it comes to the matter we discussed last night. Regarding everything else which passed between us, please do not feel under any obligation towards me. We have made each other no promises. For whatever freedom is worth, we are each of us free.
I shall always remember this summer – the taste of Spanish oranges – the sound of harp music.
He had left it unsigned.
Isobel pressed the letter to her heart, flattening the words against her breast. Her eyes met Evie’s. “Have you read this?”
“I thought I’d better not,” said Evie. “Though I can guess well enough what it says.”
Isobel closed her eyes. Took in a long, deep breath. Thought of Lucius.
He was the deep, rich, mournful tones of the clarinet. The gentle sweep of strings. A piano’s keys sprinkling above, like summer sunlight reflecting from water, like the fragrant mist of oil that rose from fresh orange peel. And a lone cello, rich and reassuring, clever and agile, climbing from resonant bass to a tender tenor in unison with the soaring emotion in Isobel’s heart.
The music was back. All she had to do was think of Lucius, and it was there.
She let out the breath. Opened her eyes. “Evie, would you please send my regrets to your mother? I know she is unwell, but I must leave at once.” She folded up the note again and tucked it into her bodice. “There is a great deal of work to do. And I have very little time.”