Page 40 of Lady Controversial
‘What’s all this I hear about illegal gatherings?’ Felix asked, bounding athletically into the room. ‘Our mother is convinced that we are all on the point of being murdered in our beds and wants to know what you plan to do about it.’
Ellery laughed and slapped his brother’s shoulder. ‘You had best come with us tonight and you will be able to give her a first-hand account,’ he said.
Chapter Thirteen
Isolda had never felt less prepared for what she would be required to do that evening. Her thoughts were all over the place, for which she held Lord Finchdean entirely to blame. He had no business sending her mind on previously unchartered sensual detours. Concentration was key to her success, to say nothing of her own survival and that of her family. If she was injured, Barker would drop her from his stable and Isolda would have the devil of a time explaining away the injury in question. Worse still, if her identity was exposed, it would create an almighty scandal and Jane would suffer the consequences. She was facing an uphill battle to make the marriage she yearned for as it was, given her lack of dowry and their father’s disgrace. If Isolda added to her colourful reputation then no one would receive her.
With that sobering thought in mind, Isolda adjured herself to prepare for the evening ahead. Slipping away without Jane asking awkward questions had become increasingly challenging. Despite Mrs Compton’s disapproval of Isolda’s activities, she also knew that she had no alternative. By prior arrangement she lured Jane into the rare luxury of a warm bath, where she washed Jane’s hair and generally fussed over her.
Drying Jane’s hair was a prolonged process, as was inserting the necessary curling papers. But it was also a ritual that would completely occupy Jane since it revolved around her appearance. By the time Mrs Compton had finished with her, Jane would fall into bed without once stopping to ask where Isolda had got to.
With Jane now in the bath, Isolda changed quickly into her lightest breeches, over which she wore an enveloping cloak.
‘Here, let me help you.’
Isolda clutched a hand over her heart, jumping like a scalded cat. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack, Mrs C,’ she said, breathing heavily. ‘I didn’t hear your approach.’
‘Sorry, lamb. Anyway, Jane’s in her room, admiring her appearance. Here, let me.’
She took the bandages that Isolda used to flatten her breasts and bulk out her body and tied them efficiently into place. They hampered Isolda’s movements, but there was no other alternative.
‘Thank you,’ Isolda said, pulling her chemise and then a shirt over the bindings.
Mrs Compton arranged her hair into a tight bun and fixed an equally tight cap over it to prevent rogue strands from escaping. Isolda pulled a cloche hat over the arrangement, and the mask that she would wear when the time came dangled from her fingers, ready to conceal her features from view.
‘I wish you didn’t have to do this, love,’ Mrs Compton said with a wistful sigh. ‘I fear for your wellbeing something wicked. It’s only a matter of time before you get beaten and then where shall we be? No good can come of it. You just mark my words.’
‘It won’t be for much longer, Mrs C. The moment Jane secures a suitable admirer, my duty will be done.’
‘That chit don’t deserve you.’ Mrs Compton placed fisted hands on her ample hips and expelled air indignantly through her lips. ‘She has absolutely no idea what sacrifices and risks you take on her behalf. Sometimes I could shake the ungrateful little miss.’
‘As could I, but it will serve no purpose. Jane is selfish. She always has been and there’s nothing to be done about it now.’
‘I think you enjoy what you do, the risks you take,’ Mrs Compton said accusingly.
Did she? Isolda paused to consider that possibility. In a way, Mrs Compton was in the right of it. She did enjoy the surge of excitement that ricocheted through her when the crowd roared in support of her efforts, totally unaware of her gender. Would she miss it when it came time to hang up her sword?
It was impossible to know, she decided, as she inserted the sword in question into its scabbard and gave the hilt an affectionate pat. As ready as she would ever be, she closed her eyes for an expressive moment, wishing she didn’t still feel as though her head was filled with fog. She fell into the deep breathing routine that had become a habit prior to her fights and attempted to empty her mind of its clutter, concentrating on what she would be required to achieve. Barker had put her up against ever harder opponents as her reputation soared. It could only be a matter of time before she met her match.
Hopefully that would not happen tonight.
It couldn’t, she reminded herself, otherwise everything she had attempted to achieve would come crashing down around her ears and she would be obliged to go cap in hand to her aunt. Or worse yet, to Lord Brooke.
That very real possibility caused fresh determination to strengthen her resolve. She could do this one more time.
She absolutely could.
Satisfied with her disguise, and as calm and focused as she was ever likely to be, Isolda hugged Mrs Compton. ‘I shall see you very soon,’ she said.
‘Godspeed, my love,’ Mrs Compton replied, releasing Isolda from the comfort of her plump arms and wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
Isolda let herself out of the cottage in good time to meet the carriage that had been sent to collect her. She was astonished when she climbed into it and found Mr Barker in occupation of it. He did not ordinarily collect her in person and she felt a tingling of alarm because he had felt the need to do so on this occasion.
Barker had bad breath, wandering hands and an inflated opinion of his own attractiveness. She had been obliged to slap his hands away from her person on more than one occasion in the past. Only her novelty value in his stable of performers forced him to take nofor an answer. He knew, because she had made it clear to him, that no matter how much she needed the blunt she made from risking life and limb, she would never submit to his advances.
‘What have I done to deserve your company?’ she asked, seating herself as far away from him as the narrow confines of the carriage’s interior permitted.
‘I protect my assets,’ he said, leering at her. ‘And anyway, I need to talk to you.’
