Promise Me Tonight (22 page)

“James isn’t in London. Once Father’s messenger caught up with me, I went straight there to look for him. I asked around at all our usual haunts. No one has seen him. It is possible he has gone to ground at one of his estates, but . . .”

“But you don’t think so,” Isabella finished.

Her brother nodded, his expression grim. “It seems likely he has left England entirely. He is gone, Izzie, really gone, and I don’t think he intends to return.”

Despite Henry’s misgivings, Isabella still believed James would return to her before too long. She knew that he needed time to come to terms with their marriage, but she assumed that once his anger cooled, he would see reason. She still didn’t regret what she had done; no matter what James had said, she hadn’t had any other choice. Once he understood that, he would forgive her. And then she, being the magnanimous wife she was, would forgive him for forgiving her when he
should
have been thanking her.

No doubt the entire reasoning process was taking far longer than it should because he was, well, a
he
. Men, she noted, did not think logically, and therefore it took them far longer to puzzle out the “why” of things. She added at least a week for his bruised pride to recover, and another week on top of that because, seeing as James was as stubborn as a mule, he would be that much more resistant to realizing he had been wrong. So, she told herself, she could not expect to see or hear from her husband for at least another two weeks.

After three weeks had passed, Isabella began to make excuses that a letter had probably gone astray, or that foul weather prevented James from traveling. She worried he had taken ill, or some terrible accident had befallen him. When a month had gone by with no word at all, her brother’s pronouncement began to echo in her head: “I don’t think he intends to return. I don’t think he intends to return. I don’t think he intends to return.”

The words repeated themselves over and over, flapping and beating at her mind like the wings of a flock of black-birds until she thought she would go mad.

Instead, she began to believe it. James wasn’t coming back. He was gone, really and truly gone. There would be no tearful forgiveness, no joyful reunion. He was gone, and where, she wondered, did that leave her?

Apparently it left her drinking tea with her mother and her aunt, she thought wryly. While the activity (or lack thereof) was by no means displeasing to her, it was certainly not how she envisioned spending the rest of her days. It was time for her to grow up, to move on, to
live
.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she said, “Mama, Aunt Kate, I think it is time for me to decide what is to come next.”

“Next, dear?” her mother queried.

“In my life,” Isabella clarified. “I have to figure out what I am to do now. James is not coming back, and I cannot spend the rest of my days waiting for him to change his mind. Neither can I stay here forever, hiding behind my mother’s skirts. I am no longer a child; it is time I faced that reality.”

Her mother’s eyes grew misty. “While I should, of course, like to keep you with me always, you are right. It is time for you to leave the nest. You are a beautiful young woman possessed of fortune and title and, as a married woman, you have far more freedom than you would otherwise. To borrow from Shakespeare, the world is your oyster.”

Her mother could always be trusted to pepper the conversation with just such pearls of Bardic wisdom.

“Are you thinking of traveling abroad?” her aunt asked. “Or would London be more to your liking? Or should you like to move into Sheffield Park? I am certain there must be a great many changes you will wish to make.”

“I don’t actually know what I want,” Izzie admitted. “I only know that I cannot stay here any longer. There are too many memories of James everywhere.”

“Surely there can be no unhappy memories in London. And with the Season about to start, there will be so many diversions that you will not have time to even think about your husband. And masked balls provide the most delightful opportunities for dalliance.”

“
Kate!
” her mother exclaimed.

“Well, if her husband chooses to stay away, then she is well within her rights to take a—”

“I will not have you encouraging my daughter into such—”

“Aunt Kate, Mama,” Isabella broke in before the quarrel could escalate into a fight, “truly, I don’t believe I am ready for dances
or
dalliance. I was hoping for someplace a bit quieter.”

Her aunt clapped her hands. “I have a plan,” she said excitedly.

Isabella eyed her warily. So did her mother.

“Oh, don’t look at me as if I am some kind of morally defunct corrupter of innocents. What I propose is perfectly respectable. Izzie, you can accompany me to Scotland, and Olivia also, if she likes, and you can stay with me as long as you wish while you decide what you want to do.”

Isabella jumped up and went to embrace her aunt. “That would be wonderful. Are you sure Lord Sheldon will not mind?”

A shadow crossed her aunt’s face at the mention of her stepson. “Don’t be a goose. You are my niece—of course Jason won’t mind. Besides, he hasn’t left Wales since Laura’s death.”

“Such a tragedy,” her mother clucked. “But that must be at least three years ago. He cannot mean to hide away forever.”

“Jason has shut himself off from the world. His son is the only person who can reach him. He is less distant with Charlotte, but I can tell he holds himself back. She adores him, which is only right, I suppose, since he is her half brother, but I fear she will get hurt if he withdraws further.”

“I think he sounds quite horrible,” Izzie said. “Just imagine shutting out the people who love you, just because . . . Oh.”

Her mother reached out and took her hand. “He is in pain, as were you, my love. People do not always behave well when they are hurting. The important thing is that you are healing. Going away for a time will be good for you.”

“It will be good for me as well,” her aunt added. “Not only will I have the pleasure of your company, but I am almost positive that when Charlotte learns you are to return home with us, she will forget about getting that puppy.”

Izzie laughed. “I am not sure whether I should be flattered or offended.”

“Flattered, I assure you. Charlotte wants that dratted dog more than anything.” Her aunt sighed. “That is not precisely true. She originally wanted a baby brother or sister, but when I finally convinced her of the impossibility of
that
ever happening . . .”

“Well, it isn’t
impossible
,” Izzie said. “You are five years younger than Mama, and she bore Portia not two years ago.”

“It
is
an impossibility because I do not intend to marry again,” her aunt said firmly. “For a woman to be married twice is acceptable, but three times . . .” She shook her head. “No, a third marriage borders on scandalous, and were I to be thrice widowed, I should certainly be the subject of pointed fingers and whispered rumors.”

Isabella stopped herself from pointing out that her aunt, by the virtue of her beauty alone, had been the subject of pointed fingers and whispered rumors since her debut almost two decades ago.

“So,” her aunt continued, “once Charlotte realized she would not be getting a baby to play with, she decided a dog would do just as well. But now, with any luck, the presence of her favorite cousin will cause her to forget that ridiculous promise I made.”

“My dear sister, you should know by now, there is nothing in the world capable of coming between a female and a promise made to her, whether she is four or ninety-four. There is nothing so sacred to a woman as a promise.”

And that, thought Isabella as she hurried off to tell Olivia of their plans, was the God’s honest truth.

Chapter 14

I am writing to inquire whether your store has any books on the subject of the proper care and feeding of great Danish dogs. I should also like to find out if you have a copy of
The Mysterious Enchantress of Castle Clermont
—it was published by the Minerva Press. Our copy met with a rather unfortunate accident, and I have promised my sister that I shall do my best to replace the volume.

From the correspondence of Isabella, Lady Dunston,

age twenty

Letter to Mr. John Hatchard, proprietor of Hatchard’s

bookshop, written to the sounds of sighs and barks, the former

emanating from Lady Sheldon, the latter from Charlotte,

whose attempts to learn the “dog” language caused

her mother much distress—April 1798

Haile Castle, East Lothian, Scotland

April 1798

D
uring the journey to Scotland, Isabella felt cross and out of sorts. She was at once exhausted and restless, alternately ravenously hungry and sickened by the sight of food. She assumed she had caught a touch of something, but it lingered far longer than it should have. She had been in Scotland for a little less than a fortnight when she was struck by a realization at once terrible and wonderful.

Setting aside the book she had been pretending to read, she began to pace about the cozy room in the north tower known as the Queen’s Parlor in honor of Mary, Queen of Scots, who had stayed at the castle just prior to her ill-fated marriage to the Earl of Bothwell. Despite the tragic history of the room’s royal occupant, Izzie liked the Queen’s Parlor; it felt soft and safe, and she and Aunt Kate spent much of their time there.

Livvy was usually to be found in the cavernous library. Once she discovered that the thousands of volumes were shelved randomly, a state of affairs that offended every orderly bone in her body, she had undertaken the daunting task of reorganizing. Izzie doubted she would ever finish, but that was her sister’s problem. She had her own problem, she thought with a sigh, and it was going to be far harder to sort out than a jumble of books.

Her aunt, who was seated at her escritoire, had set aside her writing materials and was now watching as Isabella attempted to wear holes in the ancient, and no doubt priceless, carpet.

“Are you planning to do that all day, or will you tell me what bothers you?”

“I have a problem,” Izzie blurted out. “A small problem now, but I fear it shall grow into a very big problem.”

“All right, out with it. Whatever it is, we shall think of some solution.” Her aunt smiled reassuringly. “I am sure it cannot be all that bad.”

“Can it not?” Isabella replied shakily, sinking down onto a settee. “I am with child.”

She looked on as the words were slowly absorbed, saw her aunt grapple with the unexpected news, watched as joy and excitement replaced astonishment.

“But darling, this is wonderful news!”

Isabella shook her head sadly. “No, Aunt Kate, it isn’t.”

“But why ever not?”

“I told, I
promised
him, that I wouldn’t—we wouldn’t—have children.”

“Darling, one doesn’t always have a choice about these things. I still don’t understand, though. I thought you wanted children.”

“I do. Even though it was wrong, I hoped for this child. And yet, with every wish, every prayer, I betrayed him.”

“I take it James is opposed to the idea of children.” Isabella nodded, wiping at the tears that sprang up far too often these days.

“First,” her aunt declared, leaping to her feet and resuming Isabella’s pacing, “let me point out that you cannot be held wholly responsible here. It takes two people to create a child.”

“He won’t see it that way. I forced him into this marriage or, at least, into what led to the marriage. His pride was injured, but I thought that with enough time, we might have a chance. That was before the babe. But now . . . He will never forgive me for this.”

“Nonsense. The second point I was going to make is that many men think they don’t want children, but they change their minds when the babe actually arrives. James will come around; you’ll see. He was always marvelous with small children. Besides, he needs an heir.”

Isabella sighed wearily and sank back against the cushions. “Not according to him, he doesn’t. Can you believe, he actually intends for the line to end with him? There is so much anger and hate inside him that sometimes I don’t think there is room for anything else.”

“Then you must help him make room,” her aunt responded wisely. “Surely by now his anger has cooled. Much as I selfishly adore having you here with me, perhaps it is time for you to seek out your errant husband.”

Isabella thought for a moment—a short moment. It wasn’t very hard to convince herself of what she already wanted. She jumped up and hugged her aunt, happier than she had been in a long time. “Aunt Kate, I do believe you are right!”

“Yes, I usually am,” her aunt said, sounding very much like Izzie’s mama for a moment.

“Besides, one shouldn’t inform a man through a letter that he is to be a father,” Isabella added.

“Certainly not! One must impart news of such an intimate nature in person.”

“Yes,” Isabella agreed. “Only, I haven’t the faintest notion where he might be.”

Her aunt frowned. “He left you no means at all of contacting him?”