Promise Me Tonight (38 page)

James winced, but he wasn’t giving up. As his friend shoved another forkful of food into his mouth, James dropped himself in the neighboring chair. “The French already did,” he replied. “Twice. And it was a pretty damned near thing with your aunt, let me tell you.”

Henry unbent a fraction of an inch. “You do realize that I’m still going to pound you into the ground at Jackson’s?”

“Just as long as you realize that Isabella will pound
you
into the ground when she hears about it.” Actually, James thought Izzie might applaud her brother, but Henry didn’t know that.

Henry grimaced. “Damn it, you’re right. When I think about her with that poker . . .” He began to laugh.

James raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. But next time you anger her, I suggest you do it someplace out of arm’s reach of the fire irons.”

Henry was right, James thought. He didn’t want to know.

“And how is my niece? I suppose any child of Izzie’s is bound to be trouble.”

“Not Bride. God, Hal, she’s so beautiful and little and perfect and good.” He thought back to some of the days on the trip home. “Most of the time,” he amended.

Henry’s lips twitched. “Are Izzie and the baby here with you in London?”

James sighed. “Your sister sent me away. She claims she needed space, time to think. She doesn’t believe that I’ve changed, that I love her.”

“Do you?” Henry asked. “Love her, I mean.”

James met his friend’s gaze. “With everything I am,” he said solemnly.

Henry clapped him on the back. “Well, it took you bloody long enough to figure it out.”

“Just you wait,” James muttered. “When you fall in love, you’ll soon realize it’s a hell of a lot more confusing than you ever could have imagined. And when you get married—”

Henry shook his head. “I don’t plan on entering that state anytime soon, but when I do, it will be to some pretty young chit with nothing but fluff between her ears. My little sister may have your ballocks in an iron grip, but my marriage is going to be very, very different.”

“Just you wait,” James repeated.

“I will. I intend to wait a good, long time. What’s your excuse?”

“For what?”

“Why are you sitting here waiting? It’s obvious you miss her.”

“I told you, she sent me away. She said she needed time to think.”

“Ah, but what she thinks she needs and what she really needs are two different things.”

James didn’t think he was drunk, but damned if Henry wasn’t starting to sound profound.

“Wait, repeat what you just said.”

Henry gave him a funny look. “I never thought the day would come when
I
would be explaining something to
you
.”

“Neither did I,” James admitted, “but it’s the first thing that’s made any sense since I came to London, so say it again.”

“Very well. My sister thinks she needs space, but my guess is that she’s been miserable since the moment you left. Her asking you to go was a test; she told you to leave to see if you would. I have to say, coming to London was not the smartest move you’ve ever made.”

“You’re right. I realized that earlier tonight.”

“As for needing time to think, Izzie has never been one for long, thought-out deliberation. She makes up her mind in an instant, and then it’s impossible to get her to budge. You’re lucky, though, because she decided she loved you long before she decided she wanted to kill you, so chances are love will win out in the end.”

“Hal, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just go home and make my sister happy. Tell her I’m growing wise in my old age.”

“I’ll be off first thing in the morning, and I plan to spend the next fortnight making her very, very happy.”

Henry groaned. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.” “Sorry.” James’s grin was completely unapologetic. “Now, just so I know that all is right and the end of the world isn’t approaching ... ‘To be or not to be . . .’ ”

Henry frowned. “To be or not to be
what
?”

“That is the question. Perfect answer, Hal.”

“How could I have answered correctly? I asked you a question.”

“Your question was an answer in and of itself.”

Henry shook his head. “Now you’re just confusing me. Off with you. Leave me to my meal and my brandy—them I understand perfectly.”

Chapter 23

I have been most negligent in thanking you for all of the presents you have showered upon me. There is one gift in particular that remains most dear of all, and that, my beloved, is your heart. Mine was in your possession before you were even aware of it, but you had to work to give me yours. There were cracks to be mended, raw edges to be smoothed, missing pieces to be found, and a tough outer shell to break through. I know you believe these scars and imperfections to be offensive, but to me they are beautiful, for they have made you the man you are today. Our path has not always been smooth, but I would rather travel a bumpy road with you (preferably in a closed carriage) than walk an easy course with anyone else. I have made many decisions in my life, some admittedly better than others, but choosing you for my husband, recognizing you as the other half of my soul even at our first meeting, was the best one of all.

From the correspondence of Isabella, Lady Dunston,

age twenty

Letter to her husband, James Sheffield, Earl of Dunston,

concerning gratitude, flaws, and decisiveness—December

1798

“
H
e’s back! My lady, he’s back!”

Although Isabella had been sound asleep, her maid’s words jolted her awake. Her heart started pounding.

He was back, and it suddenly didn’t matter why.

He was back.

She had another chance at happiness. He had overcome his fears for her; this time she would be brave enough to defeat hers. She would fight for him.

No, she would fight for
them.

The pirate queen was headed into battle once more, and she planned to seize the day and conquer. There was a captive to ensnare, and once she had him, she was going to captivate him and bind him to her so tightly that there was no telling where she left off and he began.

But first she had a crucial decision to make. . . .

“Oh, Becky, whatever am I to wear?” she wailed.

“Keep calm, my lady. We’ll start with the essentials. Shift, stays, stockings, and garters.”

Isabella scrambled out of bed and followed Becky into her dressing room. She shook her head at the plain cotton shift her maid held out. “What if I have to resort to seduction again? No, I must wear one of those lacy silk gowns Aunt Kate gave me. I suppose there’s nothing to be done about the stays. They’re meant to be sturdy, not salacious. And I will wear the clocked stockings with the pink roses and the garters that match.”

“I’ll set everything out, my lady, while you see to Lady Bride. I expect we’ll be hearing from her soon enough.”

Becky was right, and by the time Izzie had nursed the baby, donned her prettiest undergarments, tried on four gowns, and had her hair styled two different ways, the clock tolled the noon hour. A maid brought up some sandwiches for luncheon, but Isabella had no appetite. Her stomach was too fluttery with anticipation.

Surely he wasn’t going to make her wait until dinner! After an hour had passed with no communication of any sort, Isabella began to eat, contemplating which piece of china she was going to throw at her husband’s head when she finally saw him. She picked up a novel, but found she couldn’t focus. After reading the same page five times without taking in a word of it, she gave up.

She would have gone to confront him directly, but she was brought up short by her own ridiculous rules. She couldn’t enter James’s wing of the house without an invitation. Impatient, she began to compose a letter asking James to come see her as there could not possibly be a more pressing matter than the state of their marriage. Sometime, and many crossed-out lines later, she was interrupted by a noise at her door. It sounded as if something heavy had bumped against it. Intrigued, she turned the handle and discovered it was not something, but rather some
one
, two someones to be precise—Becky and Davies—both looking far too flushed and happily embarrassed to suit Izzie’s mood.

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but Mr. Davies wishes to speak with you.”

“I think he would rather speak with you, Becky.”

Her maid turned crimson.

So did Davies, but he quickly recovered his equilibrium. “No, my lady, for I am only here on behalf of the earl, and his message is for you. He requests that you allow me to escort you to the west wing. He thought you might like to see the renovations.”

“Am I to see him as well, or am I simply to be taken on a tour of my own home?”

“Certainly not. His lordship wishes to see you. Indeed, I believe he has a great deal he wishes to say to you, my lady. Now, will you come with me?”

Isabella nodded, unable to speak. Davies’s words sounded ominous. What if James had changed his mind during their time apart? She knew he adored Bride, but what if he had realized he didn’t love
her
, too? What if she couldn’t convince him to give her a chance to make things right? A flurry of doubts attacked her, crumbling her confidence. Isabella trailed Davies through the house to the main hall, then down a long corridor and up two sets of stairs. When they reached the second landing, Izzie heard James’s strident tones ring out. “No, not there.
There
. A little to the left. Yes, perfect. By all that’s holy, John, I think it’s finally finished. And just in time, too. Davies should be here with her any moment.”

“I think I can take it from here,” Izzie said softly.

“Very good, my lady,” Davies replied, turning to head back down the stairs.

Isabella squared her shoulders and set off in the direction of James’s voice. It was time to face her husband.

She tiptoed down the hallway until she spied an open door and cautiously peered into the room. Her breath caught as she took in the loveliest nursery imaginable. The sunny yellow walls were adorned with murals of sweet woodland animals. A rocking horse occupied one corner, and dolls and toys covered nearly every available surface.

Standing in the middle of the room, with his back to her, was James. He was gazing up at the something above the fireplace that Izzie supposed must have been the subject of the conversation she’d overheard. A painting, she figured, but she couldn’t see it from where she stood.

Another man, John, she presumed, was kneeling on the floor, putting away his tools. He looked up and caught sight of Isabella. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but Izzie quickly put a finger to her lips. He closed his mouth, jerked a nod in her direction, and got to his feet.

With one hand he gripped the handle of the leather case, and with the other he took hold of a short ladder that must have been borrowed from the library. “I’ll just be returning these to their rightful places, my lord.”

James murmured his thanks, never looking away from whatever was above the fireplace. Isabella used the covering noise of John’s departure to slip into the room. And then she saw what held James so captivated.

Above the mantel was a large portrait of her and Bride. The pose was informal; the artist had captured the two of them in a moment of play. Bride’s chubby little hands clapped in delight as she looked up at Isabella, who held her on her lap. Isabella gazed down at her, her expression a mixture of laughter and maternal tenderness.

She wondered how he’d had it done, as she certainly would have remembered sitting for a painting, and then she remembered how Henry had used Olivia’s sketches to have the portraits done for her necklace. Livvy had sketched her with Bride several times in Scotland; James must have asked her to paint a watercolor before they left, which meant he’d been planning this for some time. A rather thought-out, complex scheme, but a successful one, executed by a rather complex, successful, and very thoughtful man.

Her throat closed with emotion as she looked at herself in the painting. Her face was familiar, the image she saw each morning in the looking glass, but it was different, too. Perhaps she was different. He had changed her in so many, many ways—mostly for the better, she thought. She had been forced to learn some hard lessons, made to weather rough storms, but she had survived. At her ball, she had thought herself grown-up, but her actions had still been those of a child.

It was sobering to look back on that time, the person she had been. It wasn’t that she had been bad, precisely, since there had been nothing evil or malicious about her actions, but she cringed to remember how she had recklessly pursued what she wanted without any thought to the consequences. She had been so certain that she knew what was best for others, that her way was right. She had spoken but not truly listened, touched but not really felt. Everything had been black and white, and there had been no middle ground, no compromise. Actually, there
had
been compromise—her own.

Yes, she was a different person now—a woman, not a girl; a mother, not a child—but no amount of time would ever alter some things.