Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
I sobel took one last look at herself in the mirror. For once, it was not enough to give her reflection a cursory glance to check that her appearance was, broadly speaking, acceptable.
Tonight, she would not be able to sit in the corner and fade into the background. Tonight, all eyes would be on her.
She touched the spray of hothouse orange blossom which Peggy had woven into her hair. The flowers were not as fine or exotic as the blooms at Whitby Manor, but she knew Lucius would appreciate them nonetheless. Would understand what it meant for her to wear them, at this moment, on this night.
“Don’t fret,” said Aunt Ursula, giving her a gentle prod with her cane. “You look lovely. You always look lovely, even though you manage to arrange things so that nobody notices. But he will notice. And he’ll be very pleased, I’m sure.”
Isobel smiled, though it felt strange to do so. Inside, she was a writhing mass of uncertainty and nerves. And something more than that. There was sadness, too.
But that was only natural. She was about to leave her old life behind, and it had been such a comfortable, pleasant life that she could not help but grieve a little.
It did not mean that she was not prepared to set it all aside.
“I am not worried about what Lucius will think,” she said. “I have the impression he’d admire me just as much if I were dressed in a potato sack.” She watched the way her gown shimmered in the candlelight and frowned. “It’s the audience that concerns me. Though I keep reminding myself that they are only here to listen to the music.”
Aunt Ursula cackled. “They’re here for the gossip, my dear, and don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise! There are very few people in the world whose love of music is as pure as your own. The crowd out there wants to know which highborn lady has been calling herself Mr Babbage and sinking so low as to sell her compositions. You’ll play like an angel tonight, but it won’t be your talent spoken of on the morrow. You do understand that, don’t you?”
Isobel returned Ursula’s sceptical gaze with all the steel she could muster. “My talent is not enough to settle Mr Whitby’s debts. My notoriety, however…” She stopped, took a breath, closed her eyes and pictured Lucius.
And just like that, her smile lost all its sadness.
“I cannot wait to see him, Auntie. To release him from all he’s had to endure. You see, it’s no longer enough for me to live in comfortable solitude on the sidelines. I refuse to let the man I love suffer another moment. And I refuse to let him slip out of my grasp.”
Aunt Ursula pursed her wrinkled lips. “My girl, I’ve no advice to give you. I’m a selfish old woman, and I was selfish even in my youth. No mere gentleman has ever tempted me to give up my own comfortable solitude. But I have the greatest faith in you. You know best how to secure your own happiness. If you believe the sacrifice is worthwhile, I cannot argue with you.” She gave a wicked grin. “And your poor dear brother will forgive you eventually, I’m sure. Once all the teasing at the House of Lords subsides.”
Outside the door, one of the stagehands rang a bell. “Five minutes, ladies!”
Isobel took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over her dress. “How do I look?”
Aunt Ursula gave her an approving nod. “Like a woman who knows exactly what she wants.”
Isobel’s nerves were twisting knots in her stomach, but it was good to know that none of that inner turmoil was visible on her face. Once she reached her harp and began to play, she knew everything would be all right. The moment her fingers touched the strings, every face in the crowd would vanish.
All she would hear was music. All she would see was Lucius.
For a moment, when she opened the door to leave the dressing room, she thought she had pictured him so clearly that she had managed to make herself believe he was really there.
But even her wildest imaginings could not supply the sheer admiration, the pride and – yes – the love which glowed in his face, brighter than candles, brighter than the footlights. It could even have surpassed the sun.
For the first time in Lucius’s presence, she was lost for words.
His eyes locked on hers. “Good evening, Isobel.”
She wondered how anyone had ever thought grey a cold colour. That deep, mysterious, boundless grey of his gaze could have set the ocean aflame.
“You are not supposed to be here,” she blurted out. “Not now – not yet!”
He gave a slow, rueful smile. “Considering people call you the quiet Balfour sister, you’ve always seemed quite outspoken to me.”
“Well, that’s because it’s you .” She felt her own smile mirror his. “I’ve nothing to hide when you’re around.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And now that I’m better acquainted with your sisters, I understand why you thought yourself quiet by comparison.” He reached for her hand, but she withheld it.
“Don’t try to stop me, Lucius.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. But, if I may, I would like to present you with an alternative. Once you have heard it…” He stood aside, leaving her path clear to the stage door. The murmurs of the audience were suddenly loud in the air. “The decision is yours. If you still wish to reveal yourself, do it. I intend to marry you either way.”
Aunt Ursula gasped. Lucius glanced at her over Isobel’s shoulder and made a bow. “Lady Ursula, with the greatest respect…”
“You don’t have to ask me twice, young Whitby! I know perfectly well when to exercise my discretion.” She hastened to gather her things and shuffled out, closing the dressing room door behind her.
The moment they were alone, Lucius seized Isobel’s hand. “Isobel –”
“Don’t say anything too wicked!” Isobel whispered. “She’ll be listening at the door.”
His eyes widened in amusement, and his gaze raked slowly from the tips of her fingers to her elaborately coiffed hair, and all the way down again to her embroidered satin shoes. Heat flared everywhere his eyes lingered. Then, he lifted her hand to his mouth and, without breaking eye contact, pressed it to his lips. She shivered.
The wickedness was unspoken, but she understood it perfectly well, nonetheless.
“I have it all backwards,” he said, with a rueful shake of his head. “I meant to end by declaring my intentions. Build up to it. Ask you properly, the way you deserve. But now that the moment is here, nothing else seems quite as important as letting you know. Isobel, I will spend my life with you whether as a penniless pauper or the husband of the scandalous lady composer, living off his wife’s notoriety. It makes no difference to me – none – whether you want to be a wallflower or a famous musician. I want you to understand that before you hear the rest of what I have to say.”
“But Lucius –”
“Let me speak.”
“Not if you’re going to –”
He interrupted her with a rich laugh and drew her to him, enveloping her in his arms, pressing his lips to hers.
Isobel melted. And, better than that, she felt Lucius melting against her, too. Felt the sweet embrace percolate through his body, relaxing every tense muscle, undoing all the strains of the long, lonely time spent trying to save everyone he loved. Knew that he found sanctuary in her kiss.
“There,” he said, voice husky. “ Now will you listen?”
She laid her hand on his chest, admiring the way her fingers were so dwarfed by the masculine broadness of him, the strength he’d gained from his hours in the garden. “Not if you’re going to talk me out of it. I know what I’m doing, Lucius. And I don’t mind – I promise you, I really don’t mind. There’s nothing society loves more than a good scandal. I already make a comfortable sum posing as Mr Babbage. Imagine how much that sum will increase when my secret is revealed! Your sisters will have their next Season, and your father’s debts –”
“Are my father’s business,” he said forcefully. “Not yours. And I would not entrust him with a penny of your earnings. Neither do I intend to trust him with a penny of my own.”
“Your own?”
Lucius grinned so wickedly that she thought he was about to kiss her again. Instead, he took a tiny square box from his pocket. Inside was –
Not a ring. A flower. A tiny, perfect hothouse flower. A voluptuous star of crimson petals.
It was the drawing in Lucius’s glasshouse brought to life. The prize orchid, flowering in England for the first time.
“You did it,” Isobel breathed.
Lucius twirled the orchid in his fingers, looking down at it fondly. “Impressive, isn’t it? The gentlemen of the Horticultural Society of London were most impressed with it, too. In fact, they were so impressed that they have agreed to introduce me to Mr Poulton, the head gardener at Kew. And on top of that, your attentive brother-in-law Caversham believes the Duke of Devonshire’s head gardener will wish to speak with me quite urgently. But what may yet bring in more income than all that is the manufacture and sale of my curved glasshouse design.”
He was addressing all this not to Isobel’s face, but to the flower. She worried for a moment that it was because he was ashamed. That he could not reconcile himself with the prospect of becoming a tradesman.
But she heard the passion in his voice, saw the intensity in his eyes. She heard the pride.
Perhaps the quiet wallflower and the eligible heir had more in common than they had ever imagined. They both had their passions – their unique talents. And neither of them cared a bit for what society said they could and could not do with those hard-won skills.
She wrapped her hands around his, the tiny orchid cradled at the centre. “This will make you happy, won’t it?” she said. “Not merely solvent, but happy.”
He lifted his eyes to hers, breathing out a sigh of relief. “I should have known that you would understand it. But I – I couldn’t be certain, Isobel. I’m not speaking of your love for me. I’m speaking of the other loves you might compromise for my sake. I knew that you would give up anything I asked you to. And that is precisely why I couldn’t ask. But now, you mad thing! Were you really prepared to throw away all your social standing – not to mention your quiet life – without even the promise of marriage?”
“I didn’t need a promise,” said Isobel. “I knew you cared for me. And I knew exactly why you were trying to convince me that you didn’t. So I decided to take matters into my own hands.”
He set the orchid down on the dressing table and laced his fingers through hers, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing each fingertip. “And they are such clever hands. I have no doubt that, if you step out onto that stage, you will cause a sensation. And if a sensation is what you want, I will cheer for every note you play.” He met her eyes. “But you must do it for your own sake, not mine. You’ve no need to prove yourself to me, or to injure yourself to rescue me. I will be able to rescue us both.”
“And your sisters?”
Lucius sighed. “They have been born with the misfortune of a father who does not understand money. But they are not the first women to endure such misfortune, and each of them has their own talents and the will to wield them. There will be sacrifices. I can’t protect them forever. But the day I left the manor, Evie told me something that I am just now coming to understand. There’s a difference between being ruined and being unhappy .
“Well, we are already ruined, and there’s no helping that. But we may all yet be happy. I know none of my sisters would forgive me if they knew you had sacrificed your happiness to save them from their own father’s mistakes.”
Isobel hesitated. “I can’t,” she said quietly. “I can’t simply sit back and do nothing, knowing that I could have helped. Besides, the audience is here already. I’ve sold tickets! I can’t disappoint them.”
Lucius’s hand cupped her cheek, and Isobel’s eyes fell closed for a moment, just to appreciate the warmth of it, the strength and security in his palm, the faint aroma of fresh green life still on his fingers.
“You will not disappoint anyone,” he said. “We are not talking about a crowd of high-minded music lovers. I should know – I used to attend concerts for the exact same reasons. They’ve come for the gossip, not the music. And Mr Babbage’s mysterious kidnapping will give them plenty to gossip about.”
Her eyes flew open. “Kidnapping?”
Lucius grinned. “Disappearance? Sudden illness? Or perhaps we should have him called away on a secret mission for the Crown?”
“Do you really mean it?”
“Oh, I’ve no compunction about putting Babbage through the wringer. I’m sure he’s a man of fortitude. He’ll manage.”
“No.” She couldn’t help but smile, though she needed to be serious at that moment more than any other in her life. “Do you truly mean that you’ll be happy with my little composition money, and your horticulture? You won’t ever look back and regret stopping me tonight?”
He kissed her. So softly and sweetly that little birdsong trills sang in her heart.
This was Lucius’s music, free at last of the mournful cello and dark clarinet. A fresh, outdoors, green and growing sound. It didn’t follow the rules of composition. It didn’t keep in time, and it couldn’t be written down.
But none of that mattered, because his song was the perfect counterpoint to her own.
“I will never regret it for a single moment,” he said.
Isobel let out a deep breath, pressing a hand to her heart. She felt so dizzy that she had to clutch Lucius’s arm to keep her balance. “Oh, I’m so relieved! I haven’t slept a wink since I left Whitby Manor. Not for any romantic reason, you understand. I’ve been terrified .” She raised her chin defiantly. “But I would have done it gladly, you know. For you.”
“I know. I know.” He gathered her up in his arms again, and a little sigh escaped her.Her racing pulse at last began to steady.
And then he kissed her again, and it started racing for an entirely different reason.
“You really thought I’d rather be a lady, and alone, than marry you and be a gardener’s wife?” She gave him a gentle push. “Lucius, really .”
His eyes glowed, and he was about to make an answer – but a loud cough from outside the dressing room interrupted him.
“Isobel! Isobel ! Please do not keep us all in suspense! Surely the gentleman has had time to propose by now?”
Isobel kept her arms about Lucius, delighted to see a faint blush rising in his cheeks. “Not yet, Auntie. I think he needs another five minutes. Will that do, Lucius?”
Ursula cracked open the door and fixed them with a beady eye. “More importantly, it is coming up on eight forty-five, and my discretion does not extend to giving up my nightly glass of sherry simply because you wish to dither about.”
Another pair of eyes appeared in the gap in the door above Ursula’s, and above those, a third set, all of them bright and curious, all sharing a family resemblance.
“Girls, please ,” groaned Alex, from somewhere behind them. “This is extremely undignified.”
“Cheer up, Loxwell,” came Malcolm’s jovial reply. “We’ll pour you out a tot of sherry too, and you’ll soon feel better.”
Isobel seized the bottle Ursula had left on the dressing table and thrust it through the door, very nearly smacking it into Anthea’s nose in her haste. “Auntie, Mr Babbage has been ordered not to reveal his face tonight. Or he’ll be kidnapped. By pirates. Please ask the stage manager to announce it.”
Ursula took the sherry and frowned.“You’ve no talent for deception at all, my girl. I’ll take care of the excuses. You take care of your young gentleman.”
She closed the door.
“ Open that at once!” Alex demanded. “Ursula! You are supposed to be her chaperone!”
“ Oh dear,” said Anthea, jiggling perfunctorily at the handle. “Deary me, it seems to be stuck.”
“ Here you are, Loxwell. Take a deep swig straight from the bottle, now.”
Inside the dressing room, the whole world had shrunk to a pair of clear grey eyes and the rhythm of two hearts beating as one. Lucius pressed Isobel’s hand between both of his and dropped to his knee.
“Yes,” she said, before he’d even had a chance to open his mouth. “I know you haven’t asked yet. I do want to hear your lovely speech. But I want you to know – even though I’m quite sure you already do. It’s yes, Lucius. It’s yes .”