A Most Improper Proposal
In her coldness he had lost nothing. After all, the ballroom was full of delightful young ladies ‒ all of whom, he was sure, would readily return his attention. He needed no approval from a cold-hearted wench. Though he could not easily fit the idea of her being cold with the glimpse of vulnerability he had spotted. And such vulnerability might well have caused her to erect a protective layer about her person.
‘Lord Crawford?’ Lady Castlereagh had placed her hand on his arm, her close proximity causing her heavy rose perfume to wash over him. ‘Are you searching for someone?’
James shook his head before replying. ‘No, not at all, Lady Castlereagh. I was just marvelling at how popular the waltz has become at Almack’s. Why, but a few years ago, it would have caused a scandal.’
The lady chuckled in response.
‘It is true, Lord Crawford but we must move with the times. Though we like to avoid any whiff of a scandal here at Almack’s, we must maintain our reputation as a fashionable establishment, and currently the waltz is fashionable. Now, look at my husband.’
James did as she bade him and saw that Lord Castlereagh was deep in conversation with the Earl of Liverpool. The two politicians stood so close that their heads almost touched and whatever topic they were discussing clearly had them impassioned.
‘He will be there for hours debating how best to conquer America or at least how to improve the trade routes. Let us take a turn around the room so that you can become reacquainted with our members and we can have a little tête-à-tête, for so much has happened in your absence.’
James allowed the lady to take his arm and watched as she smiled at her husband before they set off. The look that passed between the Castlereaghs made his heart lurch; it bore the understanding of a married couple secure in their relationship, in their mutual understanding and their knowledge of each other. He was not a close acquaintance of theirs but having known them for some time, he knew that they were devoted to one another. Though they had no children of their own, there was a bond between them that James could not fathom, and he envied their closeness as he witnessed it from his own island of isolation. It had been so long since he had been warmed by tenderness.
‘My dear James,’ Lady Castlereagh spoke quietly as they strolled round the perimeter of the ballroom. ‘You have been away for a long time.’
‘Indeed I have.’
‘What is it… five years?’
‘Yes, Lady Castlereagh.’
‘Come now, James, call me by my Christian name.’ She glanced at him then looked away again, smiling and waving at acquaintances.
‘Of course, Amelia.’
‘You left following such tragedy.’ She turned back to him and squeezed his arm gently.
James inclined his head, well aware that the lady was trying to encourage him to provide her with more details. He felt the old pain rising in his throat.
‘I never had the opportunity to express my sympathy, James.’
He raised his eyes to her face and found only sincerity.
‘Thank you.’ He cleared his throat.
‘To lose as much as you did in such a short space of time is dreadful. I am sure that your grief was overwhelming.’
‘It was, Amelia. But time heals.’ He bit his tongue at the old adage.
‘Of course, James. Of course it does.’ She nodded vigorously.
James registered her desire to convince herself, suspecting that she grieved still for her own lack of offspring.
They strolled the perimeter of the room and James listened to the powerful lady’s stories about the social movements amongst le bon ton and the recent births, deaths and marriages. It seemed that the lady had a detailed érésumé of everyone in the room, in London and mayhap all of England. He allowed her to regale him with her gossip in order to try to forget, for a moment, his own sad past.
‘See there, James.’ Lady Castlereagh waved her fan in the direction of a small circle of ladies and rose onto her toes to whisper into his ear. ‘That is Sophia Dubochet, formerly a courtesan and now married to Baron Berwick.’
‘I see.’ James replied, amused at her dramatic behaviour.
‘They say that, prior to their wedding two years ago, Miss Dubochet used certain methods of seduction to encourage his proposal… and the gentleman appears completely besotted.’
James shrugged. It happened. Love was not always selective when it came to a target.
‘When they married, he was forty-two and she was just fifteen.’
‘Well, if they both have what they wanted’ ‒ James whispered as he glanced at the pretty girl ‒ ‘then does it matter?’
Lady Castlereagh sniffed her disapproval at his refusal to be drawn into her gossip. She clearly wanted his opinion to be more condemning and less accepting. They continued their walk and she made several formal introductions, much to James’ discomfort, for as soon as his eligibility was evident, he could feel the matriarchs closing in around him, willing him to notice their daughters and to claim them for a dance. Thankfully, Amelia kept him close and made it clear that he was her companion and that he would not be dancing for the foreseeable future.
Nearing the end of their circle, she turned to James and asked, ‘So, did you see anything of interest?’
James met her eyes above the edge of her fluttering fan. ‘Why Amelia, are you trying to find me a bride?’ He could not be angry with her, even when she was so keen to cast aspersions on others. It was just her way, the way she had been brought up and the manner in which most ladies of her acquaintance behaved. Why should he hope to find her any different?
‘No James,’ she laughed, ‘I merely thought to see if I could spark your interest. You are, after all, eligible.’
James slid two fingers beneath the front of his collar and eased it away from his neck. The ballroom was hot and stuffy and he felt suffocated between the heat of the candles above and that emanating from the hundreds of bodies all around.
His companion watched him closely.
‘Come, let us descend to the supper room for it is almost eleven o’clock.’
He nodded his approval then led her swiftly from the room.
At the bottom of the staircase, he savoured the cooler air as it washed over him. He froze as he spotted a familiar figure at the entrance to the club and Lady Castlereagh looked curiously at him then followed the direction of his gaze.
Isabella Adams turned, as if sensing his presence, and he held his breath.
Though she held his eyes for mere seconds it felt like hours, leaving her image engraved upon his mind. Her pretty gown was now hidden beneath a damask velvet cloak and only her cream silk gloves and ringlet clad head could be seen. But even across the length of the hall he could see the golden rings at the centre of her eyes and he stared, mesmerized at how they twinkled in the candlelight. His groin tightened and his member moved against the tight material of his breeches. There was that overwhelming urge again… to cross the room to her side and to take her in his arms. The power of his desire both confused and pleased him, for it had been so long since he’d felt anything arousing at all.
But in a swirl of her cloak, she disappeared through the doorway and out into the night, leaving him wondering if he really had seen a ghost of a smile on her full pink lips before she turned away. Or had it just been his desire to see her smile?
When he turned to the woman at his side, she smiled but he could sense her disapproval.
‘Your aunt’s companion, Miss Adams.’
Was it a question?
He did not know how to answer so he waited for further clues.
‘Do you know much about her, Lord Crawford?’
‘I must admit that I do not, Lady Castlereagh, for we have only become acquainted this very day. But I am sure, that as a guest of my aunt’s admitted to Almack’s, the young lady must have a flawless reputation.’
A frown passed over Lady Castlereagh’s face and James experienced a sinking feeling in his gut. Whatever could be wrong with Miss Adams? She was clearly not a debutante and appeared to be several years past eighteen but she was still young and he could understand how some men might find her attractive. Like you…
He had to admit that she stirred something within him, something that he believed he had long since buried. He realised that he was not being objective when he thought that she was still of marriageable age, still young enough to bear children. Any man would be lucky to make children with such a woman.
‘Lord Crawford, you must pardon me for I have a dilemma…’
‘Madam?’ he queried when she paused for several seconds.
‘We do only admit those with apparently flawless reputations to our exclusive club. However, your aunt…’
‘Is a powerful lady,’ he finished her sentence.
The lady nodded, staring into the distance as if seeking the correct way to explain matters to him.
‘And she…’ Lady Castlereagh patted her closed fan against her skirt. A burst of applause from above them signalled the end of the waltz and they both raised their eyes, aware that the dancers would soon be seeking some refreshments. ‘If I explain this to you, you must promise not to repeat it… for I would not wish to suggest that your aunt is guilty of blackmail nor that any of our patronesses are less than they would seem to be. The club simply cannot face any scandal.’
‘I understand and you have my word that my lips are sealed.’
She pursed her lips before continuing. ‘Lady Watson used her influence to gain access to the club for her companion. In short, although I was not at the mercy of her knowledge…’ He smiled briefly, aware that Lady Castlereagh was in possession of a flawless reputation. ‘Some of our other ladies were.’
He fought the smile that threatened to broaden, twitching at the corners of his mouth.
‘I see.’ James squeezed her hand. ‘So are you at liberty to explain to me why Miss Adams required my aunt’s influence to gain admittance?’
Lady Castlereagh scanned their surroundings, as if checking that no one was listening. ‘Let us move out of the hallway and find somewhere quieter and I will tell you what I know.’
James took her arm in his and led her into the high-ceilinged supper room. He walked slowly and fought the urge to hurry her in order to find out what it was that Isabella Adams had done wrong. Though he barely knew the girl, she was in a very close relationship with his aunt and if she was unsuitable then… then what? What exactly would he do? Express his disapproval? Insist that his aunt replace her? He was already attracted to her and he couldn’t quite pinpoint why but there was something about Miss Adams that had drawn both his aunt and himself towards her.
Besides, when had Aunt Lydia ever listened to anyone else?
Safely ensconced in a shadowy corner of the supper room, her hand resting lightly upon his arm, Lady Castlereagh began to relate to him all that she knew about the scandalous Isabella Adams.
Chapter Four
At breakfast the next morning, Lady Watson appeared tired. She was usually so chirpy in the mornings despite the lateness of the hour at which she often retired but this morning she seemed to carry a heavy burden to the breakfast table with her.
Isabella watched silently as the elderly lady picked at her breakfast, moving the ham and eggs around her plate until the sticky yolk had congealed and no longer appeared appetising. The Lady’s face was as pale as the linen tablecloth and the shadows beneath her eyes could have been drawn there with soot from the fireplace.
The silence was broken as Henrietta bounded into the room with all the grace and elegance of a baby elephant.
‘Good morning ladies! And how are you both this fine morning?’
Isabella looked up at the girl in her cream morning gown, an image of loveliness with her golden ringlets and rosy cheeks, and she fought the urge to reprimand her, for what had she done wrong other than appear happy and full of youthful energy?
As Henrietta took a seat, piling her plate high with muffins, sausages and eggs, Isabella could not help smiling. The girl was so much healthier in appearance than she had been when she’d first arrived at the house. She was no longer scrawny and hollow eyed with lank straw hair. Instead, she had filled out to a pleasant plumpness and her hair and eyes shone with youthful exuberance.
‘You have recovered from your headache, Henrietta?’ she enquired.
‘Yes, thank you. I slept all evening and all night and I feel much better. In fact, I am positively ravenous this morning!’
And radiant, Isabella thought, a warmth spreading from her belly at the joy Henrietta brought.
With that, Henrietta began tucking into her breakfast, making up for the lack of appetite that afflicted her companions at the table.
Isabella sipped her strong tea and watched Lady Watson over the edge of her cup. This would not do. The Lady was too old to suffer from shock and Isabella felt that she must do everything in her power to protect her. If that meant standing in the way of Lord Crawford and whatever it was about him that so affected Lady Watson, then that was what she would commit herself to doing. Lady Watson had helped her and it was time to repay the debt.
‘Will you come for a drive this morning, Lady Watson?’
The older woman looked across the table at her companion.
‘What dear?’
‘I asked if you would come out in the carriage this morning. Some fresh air might be of benefit to you.’
‘That would be lovely, dear,’ Lady Watson replied with a faint smile, ‘But remember, I am expecting a visitor.’
‘Ooh, a visitor!’ Henrietta exclaimed. ‘Who is coming?’ she asked through a mouthful of buttered muffin.
‘Henrietta,’ Isabella admonished. ‘Do not speak with food in your mouth.’
‘Sorry,’ Henrietta made a show of chewing then swallowing. ‘Whom are we expecting?’
Isabella bit her lip and looked at Lady Watson.
‘My nephew, dear.’
Henrietta frowned and turned to Isabella for clarification.
‘Lord Crawford, Lady Watson’s sister’s son, has returned to London. We met him last night at Almack’s. It seems that he is to pay Lady Watson a visit this morning.’
Henrietta nodded then frowned again.
‘Why didn’t he visit you before attending a social event?’
‘Henrietta…’ Isabella scowled across the table. The girl really lacked manners at times, there were some things that you just didn’t ask. But a noise from Lady Crawford made her turn in confusion, for the old lady had started to laugh.
‘Oh Henrietta, dear, you are a funny girl. So many people think things but never have the courage to say them but you…’ she pointed a finger at the girl, ‘you just say whatever is in your head and I adore you for it.’
Henrietta smiled from under her dark lashes and took a gulp of her tea, smearing butter over the rim of her teacup. Isabella fought the urge to instruct the girl to wipe it off. Who else was there to see it and disapprove?
Isabella felt that she would never understand other people. Society was so strict about what one could or couldn’t do and if you stepped out of the set boundaries, or if a family member did not conform in some way, then you and your nearest and dearest faced public scandal. In fact, in the flick of a fan you could become a social pariah. As well she knew.
Mayhap it was more than a flick of a fan… four golden rings…
Her old shame lifted its ugly head. Oh if only she could take back her past. She vowed though to protect Henrietta from frivolous behaviour. She could at least do that.
And yet somehow, here she was, companion to a wonderful aristocrat who had turned all of the rules and regulations upside down. Lady Watson had taken in Isabella with her shadowy past and her tarnished reputation without a second thought and she seemed immune to the opinions of her peers; unaffected by the sneers and sniggers that occurred behind raised fans whenever she appeared in public with Isabella by her side. She appeared to be truly fearless and Isabella found herself constantly bursting with admiration for her because of it.
Then, as if her acceptance of Isabella was not enough, the great Lady had become guardian to little Henrietta. Isabella recalled the conversation regarding the girl’s imminent arrival clearly.
‘Isabella, we are to have a new companion.’
‘We are?’
‘Yes, dear. A Miss Henrietta Pembrey. She has been… asked to leave her boarding school so I have invited her to stay with us.’
‘Asked to leave? But why?’ Isabella had frowned.
‘Her… funding… her benefactor has passed… and the school’s patroness does not wish her to remain there any longer.’
‘But that is awful, Lady Watson. She cannot pay so she is to be cast out?’
‘I agree with your sentiments, dear, but people will do what they will do. I am convinced that Miss Pembrey will benefit from living in a secure and comfortable environment where she will receive nourishment and affection and be able to avoid stressful situations… like the embarrassment of having no money to call her own.’
‘You mean here… with us?’
The Lady had nodded.
‘Does she have no family?’
‘The poor girl was apparently abandoned by her own mother because of her illegitimacy, my dear. Such things sometimes happen unfortunately.’
‘Illegitimacy? Really, Lady Watson?’ Isabella had made an effort to pull her eyebrows down to their normal position.
‘Yes and I suspect that she was born to a lady from the upper echelons of society, conceived as the result of an illicit affair and then placed ‒ out of sight, out of mind ‒ in a girls’ boarding school.’
Isabella had nearly choked on her tea.
‘But how would a… a lady get away with such behaviour? Would her husband not notice?’
‘Mayhap he did, mayhap he didn’t.’ Lady Watson had shrugged as if such things did not matter and Isabella had accepted that the conversation was over.
Thus, six months ago, after Isabella had been with Lady Crawford for almost a year, Henrietta had joined their country household and had now accompanied them to London for the season. Isabella knew though, that Henrietta’s chances of finding a suitable match would be as limited as her own now were. What man of the ton would stain his reputation by connecting with a woman of no name? Henrietta would need guarding from the pain that forming an attachment could bring and Isabella longed to shield the girl from anything that could hurt her. Namely, men.
Lady Watson finished her tea then rose from the table. Isabella watched as she placed her hands upon the back of her chair to steady herself.
‘Girls… I would appreciate your company this morning when Lord Crawford visits.’
‘Of course,’ Isabella replied quickly, having no intention of leaving Lady Watson alone with the man who had clearly abandoned her and caused her significant pain.
‘However,’ the Lady raised a shaky hand, ‘we will require some privacy as we have much to discuss. So, following pleasantries, I would appreciate it if you retire to the window seat.’
Isabella smarted at the idea but what could she do? She would just have to keep an eye on the dark figure of Lord Crawford and ensure that he did not place too much strain upon his aunt. For as brave as Lady Watson might be, Isabella had last evening seen a chink in her armour in the shape of the lady’s nephew, and she had no intention of allowing that chink to be penetrated by a weapon of the heart or mind.
* * * *
Waiting in the parlour, Isabella found it hard not to fidget. The room was cool, dark and uncomfortably quiet. Lady Watson sat on a high backed chair next to the fire, warming her feet and appearing engrossed in her embroidery while Henrietta sat next to Isabella at the window seat.
She looked round the familiar room, trying to distract herself from the nauseating churning in her stomach, and she crossed and uncrossed her ankles; unable to make them comfortable.
Why did she feel so nervous? It was ridiculous to think that it had something to do with the enigmatic Lord Crawford. Yet try as she might, she was unable to banish his handsome countenance from her mind.
Fool!
She had been here before, taken in by a fine appearance, softly spoken words and the tenderest of touches. And where had it got her? Regardless, this James Crawford had the power to wound the lady Isabella cared so dearly for. She would not allow him to affect her so deeply that she lost focus on her duty to Lady Watson.
Isabella glanced around the room, trying to distract herself from her errant thoughts but everywhere her gaze landed, it met the stern face of a family member of Lady Watson, captured forever in oil paint on canvas. It was ridiculous to think that the subjects of these portraits could possibly be looking at her with disapproval, yet it felt that way, that they were peering down their aristocratic noses at her in the same way as most of London society – in the same way that Lord Crawford certainly would do when he learnt more about her past.
She stood and wandered around the room. She paused to make slight alterations to the arrangement of dried flowers on a corner table. They were brittle beneath her hands and despite the maid’s cleaning, dust had settled between the folds of their petals. She ran her fingers over the cover of the family bible, the only object placed upon the main parlour table, she shuddered as she thought of the tales of persecution and retribution within its covers. The great book made it clear how a young woman should behave and what awaited her if she strayed from the path of righteousness. Yet, Isabella smiled wryly, the ton’s treatment of young ladies in possession of what it deemed to be loose morals, probably made the biblical punishments pale in comparison.
‘Isabella!’ Lady Watson’s tone was uncharacteristically sharp. ‘Please sit down. You are making me feel most uneasy.’
‘I am so sorry, Lady Watson.’ Isabella had not realised that her own anxiety would affect her companions and she certainly did not want to add to Lady Watson’s tension. She hurried back to the window seat where she sat next to Henrietta. The pretty girl was absorbed in her sketching, her blonde ringlets falling forwards over her pink cheeks as she concentrated on her artwork.
Isabella peered over Henrietta’s shoulder expecting to find a picture of a rolling landscape or a child playing with a kitten. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene before her and she sucked in a tremulous breath.
‘Henrietta!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why on earth would you draw that?’
The girl’s eyes were hazy with confusion. ‘I am sorry, Isabella,’ she blushed and made an attempt to cover the drawing with her hands, ‘but it was so clear in my mind and I felt the need to capture it on paper.’
Isabella balled up her fists and pressed them into her skirts as vivid memories flooded her mind.
‘What is it, girls?’ Lady Watson asked, glancing up from her embroidery.
‘Nothing, it is nothing, Lady Watson,’ Isabella muttered, putting out a restraining hand to prevent Henrietta from rising.
‘But it must be something interesting if it has brought such a flush to your cheeks, dear,’ Lady Watson smiled. ‘Is it an image of a man, mayhap?’ Her smile broadened.
Isabella was so relieved to see the older woman’s smile that she removed her hand and allowed Henrietta to rise and hand her drawing over.
Lady Watson began to chuckle. ‘Why, Henrietta this is excellent. You have captured the scene quite well. Did Isabella really appear so furious with Lord Crawford?’
Henrietta looked from Lady Watson to Isabella, her lips twitching, and Isabella began to laugh then for the sketch really was excellent. She felt the joy bubbling low in her belly then spreading outwards so that it shook her whole chest. Had she really appeared so startled, so ridiculous as she sat there on Rotten Row, covered in horse muck and surrounded by the ton?