Page 4 of What the Lady Wants
‘I will adjust it when I find a mirror,’ he said.
‘My hair has not come down?’ Her maid had dressed it in a new style that was all the rage in London; the long braids were coiled in elaborate fashion high upon her head, with a few strands brought artfully down and curled to fall becomingly in front of her ears. She wore no widow’s cap, of course, on such a formal occasion. It felt as though the confection was still all securely pinned in place, but it was as well to be sure, and men could be terribly unobservant where such things were concerned, she knew.
‘It has not,’ he reassured her, and then, as though he could not stop himself, as though he scarcely knew what he was saying, ‘I wish it had, in all honesty. I would love to see you with your beautiful hair down about your… your shoulders.’
It was ridiculous to blush, considering what she meant to propose to him tomorrow, but Isabella was conscious of her cheeks becoming hot, and bit her lip in frustration. She meant to be a dashing, daring, unconventional sort of a person, at least for a short while before she returned home to Yorkshire and a quiet life of respectable widowhood, and to colour like a schoolgirl at the slightest suggestion of intimacy did not suit her resolution. It was provoking.
He was observant, after all, for a man; he said contritely, ‘I’m sorry, have I offended you? I did not mean to. It was an improperwish, I suppose, and I should not have uttered it aloud. Forgive me.’
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t improper – or, if it was, it is of no consequence. I must not be a hypocrite, and I expect you will think that what I mean to say to you tomorrow is far more improper; indeed, by conventional standards, it is.’
‘Really? Shall I be shocked?’ She thought he sounded quite cheerful at the prospect.
‘I hope not.’ She bit her lip again. ‘Possibly.’
Before her rational self could take charge and stop her, she gave in to an overpowering impulse that shocked her with its strength. Standing on tiptoe and pulling his face down to hers, she fastened her hands on either side of his face, and then she kissed him once more, his mouth opening to welcome her, then she nipped gently at his lower lip with her teeth. He gasped, and though she knew she should stop there she simply could not. She sucked on the sensitive flesh, allowing herself just a taste, and felt his whole frame quiver at her touch. She too was quivering. With an enormous effort of will, she pulled her hands from his face and stepped away.
‘Tomorrow at four,’ she said. It was not a question, and she did not wait for an answer, but whisked away, back to the ballroom and the dancing. She did not look back to see if he was following, either. She knew he would be. It was working.
Later, alone in her bedroom, she would take out her list from where it was locked securely in her jewellery box, pick up her quill, dip it in ink and draw a firm line through the first item: kissing.
And then, with an unconscious little sigh, she drew a blank sheet of paper towards her and began writing.
Dear Mama
I hope you and Papa continue well. Blanche and all the rest of the Mauleverers require me to send their best regards to you both. I am in excellent health and spirits, so there is no need to be the least concerned about me. And though you were quite right to say in your last letter that the London air cannot be considered healthful and is liable to cause putrid sore throats, I promise that I have taken no ill effects from it. Tonight was Gabriel and Georgiana’s ball at their house in Grosvenor Square, which was a great success, and I wish you could have been there to see it, even though I must admit that it was very crowded in the way such things always are, which you could not have liked. But otherwise, it was so very splendid in every respect and must have impressed you greatly. Georgiana looked lovely in white silk and diamonds, and I am sure no husband could be more attentive than Gabriel, which is most gratifying to see. I know that you think the waltz fast and not quite proper, but it is now danced everywhere – even at Almack’s Assembly Rooms, I believe! – and I am sure if you had seen the great ballroom full of couples dancing it in the most unexceptional manner possible you might have changed your mind and approved it. I have no particular plans for tomorrow, so you will be happy to know that I am not burning the candle at both ends, as you feared I might…
4
Lady Blanche and her daughter Eleanor accepted Isabella’s excuse of a headache without the slightest sign of suspicion; they were all a little out of sorts, they agreed, after the excitement and exertion of yesterday’s ball, and she promised she would rest while they paid their dreary duty visit on an elderly FitzHenry cousin who was, in any case, no sort of relation of hers and could have no interest in meeting her. She did not care to deceive them, but it was necessary, and, if her plan worked, would continue to be necessary.I must learn to be ruthless, she told herself.The new Isabella is a ruthless woman. I have so little time before I must go home.
She dressed with care and sat waiting for Captain Winterton in a state of suppressed nervous agitation. Again she wore one of her new gowns; this one was olive green, with long sleeves that were slashed in fashionable Elizabethan style to reveal the fine, almost transparent habit-shirt she wore beneath it. She knew – she did not care to think just now of how she had gained that knowledge – that sometimes a few tantalising glimpses of naked skin, or the suggestion of naked skin, could have a more powerful effect on a man than large expanses ofbare flesh. Although he hadn’t seemed to object to her low-cut, short-sleeved gown last night. He had seemed to like it, rather. When his fingers had brushed the skin of her shoulder… But she couldn’t dress like that in the daytime, for it would present a very odd appearance. She was aiming for subtlety, in her dress at least, though she would be obliged to say some truly outrageous things before she was done today.
She sat pretending to sew, waiting. How she hated sewing. Recovering from being ill had seemed to involve a lot of sitting around sewing with her mama – she had understood after a while that it was a sort of public sign that she wasn’t mad any more, since presumably a woman who could set a straight stitch couldn’t possibly be deranged – and she wouldn’t care if she never picked up a needle again.
He arrived on the stroke of four; she was listening intently and heard Lady Blanche’s butler climbing the stairs in a slow, stately fashion to enquire if she was at home to Captain Winterton, who had brought Lady Blanche a present from the Duchess of Northriding, he said. His normally impassive face showed disapproval, but not of her, she soon realised, nor even of her visitor himself. The ducal gift, he informed her, occupied a box, and appeared to be moving within it, and making noises. ‘Goodness,’ she said calmly. ‘Whatever can it be? I think you had better show the Captain in, Hodge.’
When her visitor entered the room and the door closed behind the rigid back of an offended upper servant, she saw that the gentleman was indeed carrying a fairly substantial container: a bandbox, which had at a previous period of its existence apparently contained a hat, but obviously did so no longer. ‘I think I’d better open it before I explain,’ said the Captain after he had greeted her punctiliously, his firm mouth quirking into an infectious smile.
‘Please do,’ she replied, intrigued, and glad to delay for a moment the extremely awkward conversation they would soon be having. At her invitation he sat, setting the box down on the floor and lifting off the lid; carefully he reached inside and to her surprise extracted a small ball of black fluff, which was emitting furious squeaking noises and appeared to take grave exception to being held, however gently, in the Captain’s large, capable hands.
‘This,’ he said gravely, ‘may appear to be a decoration for a lady’s winter hat in some outlandish new mode, but in fact, is nothing of the sort, but a mouser of an illustrious Yorkshire line. I was to tell Lady Blanche, or you, that his name is Billy Biter, and although this means nothing to me, I can vouch for the accuracy of the sobriquet, for his teeth are like needles. May I set him down? Please say I may, ma’am, before he draws blood.’
She was laughing at the comical expression on his face. ‘Of course! Billy Biter is a figure of Yorkshire legend who killed a dragon. Does Blanche expect such a ferocious guest?’
‘I believe so. I understand that any person of discernment should know that mere London cats are vastly inferior to Mauleverer cats from Yorkshire and that Lady Blanche greatly desired one for her household, and will be delighted to receive him. Whether she will be equally delighted to see him climbing her sitting room curtains, I cannot say.’
Isabella had been taking tea, and now had the happy inspiration of pouring out a dish of milk for the tiny creature. After a few moments’ coaxing, he paused in his perilous exploration, descended from the pelmet, and condescended to lap from a saucer set down for him, with a miniature pink tongue not much bigger than Isabella’s fingernail. His attitude suggested that he regarded Lady Blanche’s precious Sèvres china as nothing less than his due. Once finished, he performed a thorough set of ablutions and fell asleep on the satin sofa nextto her, white paws tucked neatly in, but not before glaring at Captain Winterton, whom he clearly regarded as a vile abductor who would not soon be forgiven or forgotten.
A slightly charged silence fell. Then they both spoke at once, and entangled themselves in apologies as a result, but in the end, Captain Winterton prevailed and insisted that Isabella should speak first.
She found she unaccountably had an obstruction in her throat, but she cleared it and pressed on. ‘As you know, sir, I am a widow, and my husband died very suddenly. You might say that I should have expected to lose him, since he was a soldier…’
‘I would never say that,’ he responded quietly. ‘No one truly expects to lose a dear one in battle; it is simply impossible to accustom one’s mind to such an idea, or to live in the constant expectation of bereavement. Anyone who says that they have reached such a state of resignation in advance is merely lying to themselves. But I’m sorry, I did not mean to interrupt.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re right, I think. Of course, I knew in theory that Ash could die, but I had not expected it. Not really. All the more because of the bizarre circumstances of our life in Brussels last summer. I had been dancing with him at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball that very evening before the battle – he was all but wrenched from my arms, it was almost impossible to comprehend and still seems like a fever dream when I think of it. I know so many other women of all ranks and nations were bereaved in those dreadful days, and I know too that many of them were left in want and destitution as a result, whereas I am fortunate enough to be financially secure. I am aware that I am very lucky, in comparison with so many. But… for the longest time, I did not feel lucky.’
‘You told me of your illness.’ She could see that her words affected him, but she had no time to dwell on the significance of this; she went on before her courage deserted her.
