The Maiden At Midnight (13 page)

Miss
Hathaway
, it read,
pls supply list of engagements for next two weeks.
S

A list of her engagements? Isabella smiled
and crossed to the writing bureau. Pulling out a piece of paper,
she listed everything she was committed to over the coming few
weeks. It was by no means everything she would attend but it would
give him a starting point. Clearly he needed to know where she was
so he could plan who should be there.

So it was that the very next day, the earl
and Mr. Carstairs came across a very pretty picture displayed to
advantage upon the well-tended lawns of Vauxhall Gardens, a group
of young ladies being supervised by several older matrons.

Audrey spied the
approaching gentlemen first and shot her sister a swift glance,
making Isabella turn her head and look. Seeing that Mr. Carstairs
had accompanied his friend only gave her a mild jolt of annoyance
that was easily outweighed by anticipation. The man might be
irritating but he presented very well and his acerbic tongue was a
pleasant change from all the people who dressed up their
conversation with pointless pleasantries. At least Mr. Carstairs
did not
pretend
to
possess manners.

The two gentlemen approached and paused,
removing their hats and bowing to the assembled ladies.

‘Why if it isn’t the Earl of Stornley,’
Isabella said with obvious delight, adding, ‘and Mr. Carstairs. How
delightful.’

Harry Carstairs met her eyes sardonically
for a moment. ‘Miss Hathaway. What a surprise to find you
here.’

Elise Fortnum frowned, clearly less than
delighted by the arrival of his lordship but she was alone in this.
Lady Hathaway gave both gentlemen a smile.

‘Hello. Do you know my dear Isabella?’

‘I believe I had the very great pleasure of
dancing with her only last week,’ Stornley said. ‘It was at Lady…
Lady…’

‘Lady Renwick’s dance,’ Harry supplied
smoothly. He had run through it several times before they had set
out but Joss simply did not have the knack of remembering such
inconsequential things. It made his friend wonder how in hell he
had managed the classics but clearly his lordship had a most
unusual mind. ‘We had the pleasure of being introduced to Miss
Hathaway there.’

‘There were so many people present that
night,’ Lady Hathaway said ruefully, ‘I am sure that I do not
remember half of them. Allow me to introduce my other daughters.
Audrey and Millicent.’

Millie was looking both men over with the
critical eye of a not-quite-fourteen year old. While not afflicted
with her sister’s cursed tongue, she could be astonishingly blunt
at times.

‘I like your jacket,’ she observed, eyeing
the mulberry velvet jacket Stornley had affected.

The earl, conscious of the regard of the
lovely Alora, tried not to either stammer or blush, both the act of
a complete greenhorn, which up until he had decided to be serious
about Miss Piedmont he had never before been. It was, he reflected
bitterly, extraordinary how love could turn one into a fool when
all one wanted to do was be dreadfully amusing and more than a
little charming. He was prepared to swear the pretty Mr. Horsley
had never stammered a word in his life.

‘How kind of you to say so.’ There! He
managed seven words without tripping himself up. Getting himself in
hand, he gave Alora Piedmont a smile and was relieved when she
colored up adorably. She looked extraordinarily fetching today in
straw colored satin, a broad brimmed hat with a satin ribbon that
matched the color of her dress tied beneath her small chin,
protecting her delicate complexion from the sun. ‘Miss Piedmont,’
he managed with tolerable intelligence, ‘you are looking very well
today.’

‘Thank you,’ she said in her soft, sweet
voice. ‘You are very kind.’

‘Join us, won’t you?’ Isabella offered,
scooting over a little. The younger ladies were sitting on a wide
checkered rug while Lady Hathaway and Miss Fortnum sat on low
stools as befitted their years. Both gentlemen sat, not too close
for that would be inappropriate, but close enough to be part of the
group.

‘We have some strawberries left,’ Millie
told them, nodding to the sadly depleted bowl, ‘and some watercress
sandwiches. I don’t like watercress. It tastes like grass.’

‘You’ve tasted grass?’ the earl enquired,
interested.

‘Of course.’ Millie seemed surprised by the
question. She was darker than either of her siblings, her hair a
mid-brown while her eyes were a light brown, almost the color of
caramel. Even so, both her sisters predicted that she would grow up
to be quite distractingly pretty for her nose was short and pert
and she had the loveliest bone structure a girl could wish for. Not
that Millie cared. She was very much a tomboy who liked nothing
better than to be off riding. Her family – what remained of it –
worried about how she had taken the news of Marcus’ disappearance
for they had been very close. When he had been home he had taken
his youngest sister fishing and hunting and all manner of things
that a proper young lady should not do and she had adored him with
all of her heart. Unlike the rest of them, Millie spoke freely of
both Marcus and her father, remembering things that had happened
with a good humor that had taken both her mother and her sisters
aback.

‘Perhaps she does not
realize?’ Audrey had said, only a month before, ‘about Marcus? I
mean, it isn’t as if we really
know
.’

‘But we do, don’t we?’ Isabella had replied
sadly. ‘Perhaps she just prefers to keep them in her head and in
her heart. It might help to ward off the pain. I wish I could do
the same.’

‘Do you think we should talk to her about
it?’

‘I suppose so,’ Isabella
had said unwillingly for really, Audrey was asking if
she
would talk to Millie
about it. So she had, when she had gone to say her usual goodnight
to her sister, sitting on the side of the bed.

‘Dearest,’ she had begun,
smoothing back her sister’s shining brown hair, ‘you do know that
Marcus is… that Marcus…’ It had been so
very
hard to say the words. She had
drawn in a deep breath to steady herself but Millie had spoken for
her.

‘You’re going to say exactly the same thing
that Mama said, aren’t you? That Marcus isn’t coming back?’

Isabella had bitten her lip. ‘I’m afraid I
am.’

Millie had merely shook her head. ‘It’s all
right, Belle. I know you think he is gone. But you’re all going to
be in for a jolly big surprise one day when he comes home.’

‘But Millie, it’s been so long. What makes
you think he is coming home again.’

Her sister had looked at her
sympathetically. ‘It’s more a question of… what makes you think he
isn’t?’

And there it was. Isabella had left her soon
after, knowing full well there was nothing she could say. She
should have realized that their mother would have already spoken to
Millie but they had not discussed it. Mama did not speak a great
deal in the months after Papa’s death. She seemed to be holding
herself together with difficulty and all three of her daughters had
gone about trying to ensure that nothing unnecessary troubled her.
Unfortunately, there had not been a great deal they could do about
the worrying matter of money. They had none and something had
needed to be done.

Several things soon became apparent as the
conversation progressed. Alora Piedmont did indeed like the Earl of
Stornley and Miss Fortnum, her aunt, despised him. Why that should
be the case was a mystery for he went out of his way to be
courteous. Whenever possible, however, Miss Fortnum made barbed
comments, almost always directed at something that Stornley
said.

Isabella watched this phenomenon with a
puzzled expression.

‘She really does not like him,’ Mr.
Carstairs murmured. He had edged a little towards Isabella, the
better to have a word.

‘But why? I would have thought his pedigree
was unremarkable enough to please anybody. Although his family was
mad,’ she added doubtfully, ‘I suppose she might not like
that.’

Mr. Carstairs gave a soft snort of
amusement. ‘Not everyone is delighted by the prospect of
introducing lunacy into their ranks.’

She turned her head and found that he was
surprisingly close, his face only six or so inches from her own.
His nearness made the breath catch at the back of her throat, just
for a moment and she looked away quickly. ‘It does not bother most
people. Why, half the families in England have at least a dash of
madness.’

‘Perhaps it’s his reputation. He is known as
something of a womanizer.’

‘He’s hardly seeped in sin,’ she returned
tartly, turning back to look at him. This close, she could see the
clear green depths of those eyes, fringed around with impossibly
thick dark lashes. Harry Carstairs was very good looking, features
even and regular while his smile, when he chose to employ it, could
well be used to devastating effect. ‘Do you know what I think, Mr.
Carstairs?’

‘I would be fascinated to hear your opinion
on practically any subject.’

She eyed him suspiciously but elected to
ignore this. ‘I think that you and his lordship have both enjoyed
cutting a dash with the ladies for quite some time. Now, for
whatever reasons, his lordship has decided to marry -’

‘He’s in dun country and needs the money,’
Mr. Carstairs interjected softly.

‘ –
and you do not like
it.’

‘Why wouldn’t I like it?’

‘Because you will lose your cohort. When
Stornley marries you won’t be able to run around as you have,
getting up to the usual things men like you get up to.’ She looked
at him, mouth pursed. ‘I think you might be a little jealous of
Miss Piedmont.’

It was extraordinary how distracting that
pout of a mouth was. So distracting, in fact, that it took him a
moment to absorb her words. Then he scowled. ‘What nonsense!’ His
vehemence brought several heads round and he immediately pasted on
a smile. But really! Jealous? ‘I hope that Joss does secure Miss
Piedmont. God knows, he talks of little else lately.’

‘Indeed? How irksome for you.’

Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘I am a grown man,
Miss Hathaway and I do not need a companion to go about holding my
hand while I undertake my day to day affairs. His lordship is an
excellent friend and naturally, I wish him well in this endeavor.’
There! He had given her the set down she deserved. Thinking that he
would be pining for Joss’s company when the fool got married…

But even as he derided the idea, a small
kernel of doubt wriggled beneath his skin. He was forced to
acknowledge that he didn’t really want Miss Piedmont cluttering up
his comfortable landscape. He saw a great deal of Joss and he
rather suspected that that would all end, when the banns were
announced.

Typically, Isabella Hathaway was
unimpressed, not in the least bit cast down by his censure. ‘So how
are you going to help him, then?’ she demanded coolly.

‘What do you mean, help him?’

‘Help him find me a husband. He thinks a
great deal of you. Surely you would not object to helping him in
this?’

‘I do not see why it is my
job to find you a husband,’ Harry glanced around the small group.
Several other people had joined them and their circle had swelled
to accommodate quite a few friends and acquaintances. It was
propitious, as he and Miss Hathaway could talk with some privacy.
‘
I
am not getting
anything out of it.’

The pursed lips returned. He knew it was
because she disapproved of him but once again, when that full, soft
mouth pursed up in such a way, it resembled an invitation to kiss
her and he groaned inwardly. The girl sitting next to him was the
last female in all of London he was likely to kiss. But dear Lord,
this close, he wanted nothing more than to drag her into his arms
and do exactly that, kiss her senseless, until the militant light
in those clear blue eyes had melted into something far more
appealing. Just the thought of it sent a tremor of aching desire
shuddering through him.

‘I call that a very selfish view point.’

Harry blinked, taken aback by the strength
and the speed of that flash of attraction. It had come out of
nowhere and he felt flummoxed by it. It took him a moment to gather
himself together. She was talking about this damned plan of hers,
of course. ‘I am a very selfish man.’

‘Clearly, that is the case.’ She turned her
gaze back to Joss who had bitten the bullet and had taken the
conversational bull by the horns. His determination may have been
inspired because the group had been joined by Sir Peregrine
Horsley, he of the scented hair promenade. Now that she looked
around, she saw that quite a few gentlemen had made an appearance
and were circling Alora with singular intent. ‘Good heavens!’ she
muttered, vexed. ‘They really do gather around her.’

Harry glanced at the group
and grimaced. ‘She
is
an heiress.’

‘And this is a nuisance. How can I possibly
get Alora to focus her attention where she should with so many men
mixing up the scent.’

‘Is that a hunting metaphor?’

‘I suppose it is. I am a country girl, Mr.
Carstairs.’

‘And yet your family had a house in
town?’

‘Indeed, although we spent most of our time
in Wiltshire. Papa came up to town the most frequently. There were
not nearly enough clubs in Salisbury to accommodate his taste for
Piquet and faro.’

It was said so matter-of-factly that Harry
found himself momentarily in danger of believing that the tragedy
that had befallen her family had not affected her. But there had
been something, further down, a small throb in her voice of… what
was it? Bitterness? He knew he would be making a grave mistake if
he assumed that Isabella Hathaway had not been devastated by the
events that had befallen her in the past.