The Maiden At Midnight (7 page)

‘I imagine it must be,’ he agreed with
feeling, ‘I’m always having to watch what I say myself.’

They eyed each other with approval, pleased
by the unexpected understanding of each other’s problems.

‘I am most awfully sorry that I took you by
mistake,’ the earl told her earnestly. ‘And of course, if you want
me to marry you then I would be delighted.’

It was a very odd proposal
of marriage. Somehow, Isabella had always believed her first one
would be rather different. But she accepted it in the spirit it was
intended – not the proposal, but the offer. His lordship had come
to see that he had committed a social solecism and wished to make
amends. But, while Isabella might have decided that she might like
him, she thought he would make very poor husband material. Besides…
there was no intellectual
spark
. Isabella knew she was probably
being unreasonable, but she did so want to marry a man who
interested her. It was more important than attraction or even the
nonsensical notion of love. She had thought she had found that man
in Willett who had been well-read, punctilious in his manners and
generally thought of as highly cultured. She had thought that she
loved him. She had certainly admired him. He had done the Grand
Tour around Europe at eighteen and had seen something of the world.
It had intrigued Isabella, who yearned to see something of the
world herself.

He had been considered by one and all as an
excellent catch and their forthcoming marriage had been touted as
the event of the Season, which had made Willett’s defection all the
more painful.

No; she had given up all thoughts of
romance, of passion and, most of all, of love. What she really
wanted was to be able to talk to somebody, to be able to express
herself freely and not be considered indelicate. Unfortunately, she
had to acknowledge that she might not find such a man. A partner
who possessed the qualities she hoped for might be too much to ask
for. Still, she found herself liking the Earl of Stornley, if only
because he so obviously did not mean mischief.

‘Thank you, but I am sure such lengths are
not required. If you return me home, then I am convinced that I
will be able to steer my way through this mess.’ Somehow.

It was a mere ten minutes before Harry
Carstairs returned, along with the requested items. Isabella nodded
politely as he handed them to her, holding up a rough spun brown
dress and aged cloak with the requisite hood. They smelt of onions
and other, less appealing things but they were certainly
nondescript.

‘Are they suitable?’ Mr. Carstairs inquired,
eyes fixed on her face.

She nodded, holding the
clothing to her chest as if they might provide a barrier. Unlike
the earl, Mr. Carstairs
did
prompt a response in her, the confusing kind that
made her feel rather flustered. But it was not the kind of
flustered she was looking for in a man and she would be very glad
when their brief acquaintance came to an end. He might be an
excellent friend to the earl, but there was a general air of
impatient superiority about him that she found quite abrasive. He
was probably happy to ‘save’ his friend from all manner of
disasters as it gave him a sense of being the better
man.

You are being ridiculous, Isabella Hathaway.
You don’t even know the man and you are making all manner of
judgments about him.

Just the same, she really did dislike
managing men. And Harry Carstairs was very much in the mold.
Turning on her heel, she hurried back into the bedchamber but she
was conscious of those green eyes following her all the way.

Harry watched Isabella
disappear and grimaced.
My God, but she’s
lovely!
Distractingly lovely, truth be
told. Under different circumstance he would be pursuing her with an
eye to furthering their acquaintance. Unfortunately, different
circumstances would be that she was the kind of girl who was
interested in a dalliance (clearly not the case) and that she had a
less thorny personality. She
was
difficult. Harry had seen that the moment he’d set
eyes on her, erupting through the door like a small, enraged
fury.

‘I did offer,’ Joss’s voice cut across his
thoughts, ‘but she thought not.’

‘What?’

‘Marriage. I said that if I really had
ruined her, then I would do the honorable thing.’

‘And she said no?’

‘Well… I don’t think she thought me suitable
husband material.’

Harry looked at his friend, wondering why he
felt a slight sense of relief. He had been actively encouraging his
friend to marry her. God alone knew, any girl would do for Joss to
get out of the fix he was in although the year long wait put a
different complexion on things. Still, surely an arrangement could
be organized with Gallows Jack? Not that it mattered now. Joss was
having none of it. How typical that his friend would pull up
stubborn on the issue. Harry had not thought that Joss was serious
about Miss Piedmont but clearly he had it wrong. Which made
everything all the more difficult for he had no idea if the girl in
question was actually keen on Joss or not.

The money issue was an irksome one. If only
Uncle Percival would do as promised and turn up his toes there
would be no problem for Harry would come into his own inheritance
and there would be enough money to get the earl out of trouble. But
while Harry had enough to live on, it was merely an allowance and
did not run to the kind of ready required.

‘What are you planning on doing now?’ When
Joss looked at him blankly, Harry sighed. ‘You said there was an
urgency about obtaining funds?’

‘Ah. Yes.’ The very thought seemed to cast
Joss down but he shook it off with an effort. ‘One disaster at a
time, shall we? Let’s just restore Miss Hathaway home again and
then I can go and… think. Can I think at your place?’ he added, ‘I
have a feeling it might not be prudent for me to go home.’

‘Of course. More than welcome, any
time.’

Joss looked at Harry, blue eyes somber. ‘You
are very good to me Harry. I know I place a burden on our
friendship.’

Harry shook his head, dismissing this. He
had never explained to Joss how his casual, easy camaraderie when
he had gone up to Oxford had made him feel less isolated at a time
when he was very much alone. For an undistinguished lad from the
wilds of Cheshire, he had felt completely at sea when he had
arrived in the hallowed halls of that great institution. His
acceptance was by no means guaranteed for he was not a peer and his
grandfather had been in trade, something that would cast a pall
over anybody’s pedigree. Stornley was an earl and was immensely
popular. His friendship, bestowed for no other reason than that he
seemed to genuinely like Harry, had made his years at Oxford so
much more enjoyable than they might have been. When he had
confessed, one alcohol soaked night, as to his antecedents, Joss
had been genuinely puzzled as to why Harry should care.

‘What did he do?’

‘He owned a mill in Yorkshire. A very large
mill. It made a great deal of money.’

‘And it comes to you after your uncle dies?
Well done!’

‘My grandfather was in trade.’ Joss had not
seemed to grasp this.

Joss had shrugged. ‘When
you consider how half the peerage came by
their
funds – the ones that actually
have funds and are not living on chits to their bankers, that is –
then I cannot see how anybody could object. Money is money, old
man. And it is a fine thing to be in possession of. We’re both in
the same boat, really. I have to wait until my father shuffles off
before I can get anything more than a piddling allowance. And you
have to wait until your dear old uncle kicks it. Irksome, but there
it is. On the bright side, they’re so ancient that they might go at
any time.’

And that had been that. Joss had not given a
damn where Harry’s money came from – when it came to him - and
their friendship had blossomed. What’s more, he had never mentioned
Harry’s background to anyone, an unusual display of discretion that
had shown singular sensitivity.

If Harry felt inclined to help his friend
whenever it was required, then he would help him. A thousand times
over, if necessary. The Earl of Stornley might be a feckless
wastrel – as his two guardians liked to point out with monotonous
regularity– but he had a heart of gold.

‘It’s be all right, Joss,’ he said now,
voice suddenly quiet.

Joss nodded and sighed. ‘If you say so,
Harry. If you say so.’

Chapter Four

Isabella knew there would be a fuss and so
she was prepared for the emotional storm that crashed over her head
when she appeared. Quite naturally, her appearance caused a stir of
unprecedented proportions for her aunt was inclined to be dramatic
and immediately called for the heart shorn when Isabella arrived,
collapsing artfully onto a chaise lounge, although this might have
had more to do with Isabella’s outfit than anything else.

Her mother had hurried forward to gather her
daughter into her arms and Isabella had understood how truly
terrified her mother had been for she was trembling
uncontrollably.

‘My darling,’ she’d whispered. ‘Oh thank
God!’

Which had, quite naturally, brought tears to
Isabella’s eyes. Not for the world would she cause her mother a
moment of anxiety, not after the truly dreadful year they had
undergone and she had held her remaining parent that much harder.
Audrey and Millie had been holding back, white-faced and wide-eyed
but had hurried forward to join the family embrace when their
sister had glanced apologetically towards them.

‘Oh Bell!’ Audrey breathed, ‘I was so
frightened for you.’

‘Yes, where have you
been
?’ Millie added,
sounding shaky. ‘We stayed up all night. Well, Mama and Audrey did.
I feel asleep in a chair.’

Isabella had hugged them,
feeling wretched. ‘I am
so
sorry. I had a… a little accident but I am
perfectly all right.’

Naturally, Aunt Geraldine had demanded to
know the moment she had recovered from her faint where her niece
had been all night and was incensed when Isabella had insisted she
talk to her mother alone. Eliza Hathaway had cut across her
sister’s protestations calmly.

‘We will be in the yellow drawing room,
Geraldine. Please, give us a little time to talk.’ And she had
swept her daughter away, leaving Aunt Geraldine searching for
words.

Isabella had told her
mother the truth, from start to finish. She had been shocked,
naturally. It
was
shocking to hear that her daughter had been abducted in the
most reprehensible manner but as Isabella was clearly sound in body
and spirit, she rallied quickly. Fortunately, she had managed
Isabella’s absence with the presence of mind that her daughter had
been praying for. Unable to find her at the masquerade, they had
returned home, believing that Isabella would be there. Why she
should have left without telling her mother had been s mystery but
Eliza Hathaway had enough faith in her daughter to assume that she
would have had a very good reason. Of course, discovering that
Isabella had
not
returned home had proved to be a serious blow, but she had
remained calm – outwardly, anyway – determined to wait for her
daughter’s return. Thank God. The hardest part, aside from the
waiting, had been silencing Geraldine, for the woman was inclined
towards theatrics and a missing debutante was certainly excellent
material to work with.

‘I know it is all very dreadful,’ Isabella
had sighed at the end of her tale, ‘and that the consequences could
have been dire, but truly Mama, the earl was fully in his cups and
did not realize how foolishly he was behaving.’

‘He behaved appalling!’ Mama had stared at
her, blue eyes trouble. ‘What a thing to have done, my dear! No
matter how drunk the gentleman was, his behavior must breach the
bounds of what is acceptable. If this were to get out -’

‘But it shall not!’

‘No,’ Mama had agreed, ‘it certainly shall
not.’

‘If we can keep my absence quiet, surely
there is surely no harm done?’ Isabella had said quickly, eyes
fixed on her mother’s face. ‘If you said nothing, then nobody will
realize that I was gone all night.’

‘I had a job of it, silencing your aunt. She
has a good heart, Isabella, but she has little enough in her life
and likes the opportunity to posture. I managed to hush her; she
was upsetting Audrey and Millie.’

‘And the servants?’

‘Even Martha does not know the truth for I
told her you had retired with a sick headache and that I would tend
you myself.’ Martha was their maid, a lady of middle years who had
been with the Hathaways forever. It was an indication of how very
anxious about Isabella’s circumstances her mother had been, that
she had disguised her disappearance from such a trusted servant.
But servants gossiped. Even a hint that all was not well and
everybody in the household would know. And from there, it was but a
short step to ruin…

Isabella had gone upstairs quickly to change
and to repair the night’s ravages, Audrey going before her to make
sure she was not seen. She had slipped into her room and changed
into a more appropriate morning gown, coming down to luncheon as if
nothing was untoward. Even Aunt Geraldine contented herself with
nothing more than a long, lingering look but she said nothing
leaving Isabella gratefully wondering how her mother had managed to
keep her quiet.

After the meal was over, her aunt had laid a
hand on her niece’s arm as she was leaving the room. ‘Your dear
mother is very circumspect,’ she’d said softly, ‘something that we
all appreciate. But if anything happened last night that you feel
may impact upon your chances, you should tell me, my dear.’