Six

“Stop admiring blasted Brice! I’m ill from reading this syrup-covered drivel!” Reginald bellowed, tossing the diary across the room.

It landed with the pages splayed open on the worn floor in front of the door of his rented room. A second ticked past while he settled his breathing and stared at the small book. Then he moved to retrieve it.

Anger wouldn’t help him now. Calculation, on the other hand, was just what he needed. He would use every drop of knowledge he gained of this lady to end her father—and St. James by association. And with the season now gaining momentum, he was almost ready to make his move. He pulled the old necklace from his pocket and ran his thumb over the golden surface before returning it to his side for now. Opening the diary once more, he turned to the next entry written in Isabelle’s hand.

“Soon, Isabelle. Soon. And then your father and St. James will regret ever placing a finger on me.”

Isabelle Fairlyn’s Diary

February 1817

I’m worried over Victoria. She’s across the parlor even as I write this. She’s shuffling a deck of cards over and over. It’s a soothing sound against the cold winter rain pattering against the window, but is she practicing for something in particular? I don’t mind her enjoyment of a wager, but Father said he would send her back to our estate if she gambled again. I love the London season—the balls, the excitement of city life—but I don’t want to be here without Victoria. She may push me over my limits at times, but I adore her. She’s my sister. I hope she never reads this. She would taunt me with my words of love for weeks if she knew what I was writing.

Tonight is the first ball we will attend this season. We’ve scarcely been in town long enough to put down roots, and already I suspect that Victoria is sneaking out of the house at night to find a card game. I know I can’t stop her gambling, but I will hide her secrets to the end just as she would do for me. How do ladies survive life without a sister? I’m thankful I don’t have to discover the answer to that question.

—Isabelle

• • •

Spring 1817

“I’m fine. Quite fine. Thank you for inquiring,” Isabelle mumbled once the lady’s back was turned and she was moving away into the crowded ballroom. The evening thus far had been nothing but questions about Victoria—and only questions about Victoria.

How is your dear sister?

When will we see the lucky lady at a ball again?

We hear there’s to be a wedding—is it true? Since your sister isn’t in attendance, you must tell us all the details.

Her mother appeared to be answering their questions as well a ways down the side of the ballroom. The only difference was how excited she seemed over every answer she gave. Isabelle took a steadying breath under the guise of adjusting the heart-shaped locket at her throat and searched the ballroom for Evangeline and Roselyn. Or anyone she knew, really.

Victoria had always been at her side at these events, filling any silence with biting commentary about the festivities around them. Isabelle didn’t realize how awkward standing on the side of a ballroom was until now, but she’d best grow accustomed to it. She must. Roselyn and Evangeline couldn’t remain with her forever. They would busy themselves with their husbands and families one day. And here Isabelle would continue to stand, without even her sister for company.

No. Isabelle would carry on with her own path, as Victoria had chosen hers. With her eye on the crowd gathered around the perimeter, she took a step backward, closer to a row of potted trees that lined each side of the ballroom. Away from the surrounding groups of people, she could now observe and perhaps spy her secret admirer. There was such a crush—perhaps a bit farther. She took another step back.

“When you asked me to point out life with my keen pirate gaze, I didn’t think you intended on walking about without looking where you were headed at all.”

Isabelle spun around and looked up at St. James. Finally she’d found a friend this evening. She could throw her arms around him in gratitude. She didn’t, but in her mind she did. St. James! She wasn’t alone—she had him! And with his refusal to dance, he wasn’t likely to be married anytime soon, not like her other friends. She was saved.

“Being your lookout seems a great deal of work, now that I think about it,” he added when she greeted him with only a relieved smile.

“Not up for the job? And here I thought you liked any type of work. How disappointing.”

“Someone told me I worked too much,” he countered, warmth lighting his dark eyes as he looked at her.

“And you listened to her advice? She sounds like a ninny.”

“Nothing of the kind.”

She paused, studying him. He might be dressed for a ball in his dark evening wear, but he was here in some official capacity. She could see his intent in his occasional glance to the main doors and the tight set of his jaw. “You didn’t truly heed her advice, did you?”

“No.” He almost grinned. “I’m meeting someone here in a few minutes about a business matter.”

“Spare minutes in your day? Whatever shall you do with the time? Take up some sport? Perhaps read a book?”

“Why were you backing out of the ballroom?” he asked, ignoring her taunts.

She supposed she should have known this topic—the blasted fire, Victoria, the wedding—would be an inescapable talking point. It was the only conversation she’d been able to have all evening. “I was getting a better vantage point to see the available gentlemen. I…don’t know if you’re aware, but there was a fire.”

“I know,” he stated, removing the need for her to delve into matters once again.

“Well, then…I suppose Mr. Brice, or Lord Hardaway rather, told you of it. He must be…quite pleased.”

St. James didn’t reply, only watched her with an intensity that made her glance down at her hands.

“Anyway, it seems I require a new choice of husband. If it can’t be—” She broke off, not wanting to continue the conversation. Isabelle could always be counted upon to chatter on about any topic offered up in conversation. But not about this. The subject was simply too painful. She looked away, watching a lady in the opposite corner of the room laugh at something a gentleman had said.

“Have you seen anyone of interest thus far?”

She looked up, meeting his gaze. His brows were drawn together in what she assumed was concern. What a kind friend she’d found. No one else at the ball mattered just now, not even the gentlemen she was supposed to be scouting, because she was here with St. James. He somehow understood without words. He knew her secret and her heartbreak, and he was here to comfort her. She blinked away tears of gratitude and smiled up at him. “Are you offering to help me look for a replacement?”

“A replacement husband? Not up to your usual romantic standards, is it?”

“A replacement for my interest,” she clarified with a small sniff she hoped he wouldn’t notice. “The husband part will come after I’ve met him, of course. I can’t sit about for the remainder of the season. I need something to do, a project of sorts. I have a list of qualifications.”

His brow quirked up in question, and he almost smiled—almost. “You’re referring to it as a project, and you have a list of qualifications as in an advertisement for employment? Now who is overly interested in business matters?”

“That is still you, Mr. St. James, but that’s why this task should suit you.” He would help her, wouldn’t he? She didn’t want to be alone in this just now.

He crossed his arms over his chest and settled into a businesslike stance, studying her. “Tell me your list.”

“I knew you would assist me!” She raised her hand and began ticking off items on her fingers. “My future husband must be jovial in spirit. A bright smile that lights the room and a booming laugh wouldn’t be remiss, but that part doesn’t matter as much as the meaning behind it.”

He nodded in understanding. “You want your future husband to have all his teeth. That should be manageable.”

She glared at him for a second. “It has nothing to do with teeth, St. James. Haven’t we discussed this already?”

“Of course. How could I forget? Heartfelt smiles displaying inner joy. Good to know I’ve already been eliminated. Do go on.”

“He must have a noble and honest heart.” She ticked off another finger on her hand.

“Should the gentleman in question leave his shining armor with a footman when he arrives tonight? What of the sword he used to defend the honor of that maiden in the last story?”

“He would never wear something as inappropriate as armor to a ball,” she replied with a grin. “But if it helps narrow the field, I do prefer brightly colored ensembles. Though I’m making an effort to look beyond such things.”

“A Sir Lancelot with large, protruding teeth and bright clothing. He should be easy to find, even in this crush.”

“Perhaps I was wrong to trust you,” she threatened, not meaning a word of it.

“No. You can trust me.” Any good humor St. James possessed vanished in an instant. “A good-natured, honorable gentleman… Someone who will make you laugh, care for you—it’s what you deserve.”

In a sea of unfair words spoken about her sister’s much-deserved happiness this evening, St. James’s comment was a raft that offered rescue from drowning. This conversation with him, these few minutes spent together, was returning life to her limbs and joy to her heart. St. James was truly the most sympathetic and kind pirate she’d ever met.

Roselyn and Evangeline had consoled her over the past day in their own ways, and it had helped. They’d offered promises that life would move on and the sun would still shine, but this conversation was different. This man somehow knew what she needed to hear: that she deserved to feel the sunshine, that she deserved laughter. And just now in the glow of candlelight, it actually seemed possible.

St. James was watching her warily, as if he’d just told his darkest secret and was waiting for a reaction. It was a rare peek into his true thoughts, yet she didn’t understand them. His statement had been about her life, not his. Why would he feel exposed by those words? Whatever his thoughts, this moment between friends was touching, and she found she couldn’t look away.

“Thank you,” she finally said to break the silence.

“I suppose he should have blond hair like Hardaway,” St. James murmured.

“My only true wish is for a good man, an upstanding gentleman with a positive disposition who is in a position to marry. Do you think he exists?”

“Not here,” he said in a low voice, glancing away for the first time in a few minutes to check the door. Likely for the arrival of the lord with whom he was to meet.

“Am I too far in the shadows of the ballroom? Perhaps you’re correct. Mother has warned me that only scoundrels lurk about in corners.”

“You should listen to her,” he said with a meaningful glance at their shadowed surroundings. “The other side of the room seems to hold promise.” He took a step away from her, suddenly looking more sullen than business minded. “I must attend to the matter that brought me here tonight. Will you excuse me? Perhaps I’ll find you later.”

“I could be married by then if I find the right gentleman. Marriages seem to happen rather quickly as of late.”

St. James nodded uncomfortably at her jest and moved away through the crowd.

“I thought it was rather lighthearted, considering the situation,” she mumbled to herself as she watched him leave. At least now she could allude to Victoria’s wedding without speaking around a lump in her throat. She considered it a marked improvement, and it was because of St. James.

She smiled after him and set off for the other side of the ballroom in search of the perfect gentleman to marry.

Isabelle had only been on the edge of the ballroom floor for a minute before her mother caught up with her, with a halfhearted setdown about wandering about alone. Lectures from her mother always began the same way, with a reference to another lady who had been offended by Isabelle’s behavior. In this case the affronted party had been Lady Smeltings.

“Lady Smeltings saw you move to this side of the ballroom and was so concerned…”

Despite giving birth to children of her own, her mother had never seemed certain of what a mother was intended to do, at least to Isabelle. Always looking to those around her to gauge whether she should be outraged by her daughters’ behavior had made her mother a rather inconsistent chaperone. Isabelle supposed everyone had strengths. Her mother’s strong suit was what she supposed it had always been—her youthful looks and ability to bat her eyes over the rim of a wineglass. Her skill had served her well in her younger days. After marriage, however, it had not served her well at all.

Which was why Isabelle would find a marriage where no one fought, a marriage where every day was filled with complete happiness. But she couldn’t find it standing here, being berated by her mother.

Isabelle tossed out a quick apology for wandering away without an explanation or an escort and turned away from her mother to begin her study of the gentlemen who were milling about the area. Leaning around a group of ladies, she ran her fingers over her necklace as she scanned the room for gentlemen.

“In search of a better view of the room, Lady Isabelle?” Lady Smeltings asked as she joined them. Her usual air of judgment turned her question into quite the put-down, but Isabelle didn’t flinch under her scrutiny. At least it wasn’t personal—Lady Smeltings acted that way with everyone. “Striding off that way alone had us quite concerned,” she added.

“I should have told my mother of my plans. Apologies if I worried you.”

“Has a certain gentleman caught your eye?” the woman pressed. “You and your sister could share a wedding breakfast. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Everyone present would enjoy that, I’m certain.”

“That would be quite the event.” Isabelle almost choked on the words.

“Who is the lucky gentleman who has caught your eye?”

“I’m not certain just yet.” Isabelle put aside her misgivings about the lady at her side. If there was one person who knew the details of society’s doings, it was Lady Smeltings. Well-known busybodies and gossips were usually also authorities on available gentlemen, which at the moment was rather convenient. “Perhaps you could assist me on that front.”

Five minutes later, after Lady Smeltings had imparted the high points of those standards she held in perfect regard, Isabelle was rewarded with a full dance card. Perhaps her ladyship was correct and Isabelle would be married soon. Though a joint wedding breakfast with Victoria and Lord Hardaway was utterly out of the question. This evening had certainly turned in a positive direction since she had seen St. James in the crowd.

Or perhaps not…

Only a few minutes later, she was dancing the most rigid version of a waltz she’d ever experienced and on the arm of a rather severe-looking gentleman. According to her ladyship, Lord Erdway was the most generous-hearted man in town, having just returned from some charitable endeavor in the countryside. He might have a sterling character, but he’d yet to smile.

Wouldn’t benevolent gentlemen be predisposed to cheerful things like smiles? Perhaps he was only contemplating his next gift to the community. Meanwhile Isabelle was contemplating that this would be how armies waltzed if they were to dance into battle. Left, left, march, march, and take that hill with a twirl!

She smiled to herself. There would be less war if the military had dance instruction from this gentleman. No one who danced was angry enough to fight. One simply had to look around a ballroom to know that statement was true. Dancing was happy and romantic. St. James should try it sometime. And she should focus on her own dance partner, not waltzing armies, the ball around her, or her businesslike friend.

“Lady Smeltings tells me you’re only recently back in London,” Isabelle led in to begin some conversation with the man.

“That is true,” he stated as they rounded a corner of the room with a jerking motion. “I spent the past year converting one of my estates near the Welsh border into housing for children in need.”

“An orphanage?” She drew back in surprise. He cared for children who had no home of their own. She would have never guessed it of the stern man before her. “How wonderful. You have a large heart to do such a kind thing.”

“I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“I agree,” she replied with a smile. “Once you know that someone is in need of your assistance, you could not turn your back. But the donation of an entire estate is quite the gesture. The poor dears will be well cared for now. You must be pleased.”

“Quite. Like I said before, I didn’t have a choice in the matter. But all is settled now.”

“You saw the orphanage project to completion, then? How kind you are.” Perhaps he would be a good fit for her after all. They would travel the countryside establishing charitable establishments and spreading goodwill.

“The project is ongoing,” he corrected, cutting into her thoughts. “Or perhaps it isn’t. I haven’t an idea. I sold my interest in the estate and returned to town as soon as possible.”

“Oh.” He sold his interest. But what of the children? “Is the orphanage still to open on schedule?”

“That is no longer my concern.” His harsh words about children’s welfare were the end to any musings she’d had about marriage as far as he was concerned.

“I see,” she muttered.

The remainder of the dance passed with comments about how nicely lit the ballroom was tonight, what a fine turnout there was for the event, and, for Lord Erdway’s part, how everyone should be forced to learn the proper steps to the dances or not be allowed on the floor.

When the dance ended and Isabelle was returned to the side of the room, she realized how straight her spine had been in an effort not to offend her dance partner. Not only was his giving spirit not as generous as had been portrayed by Lady Smeltings, but Isabelle also had no desire to stand like a soldier for the entirety of her marriage. She allowed his lordship to walk away as quickly as he wished. Lord Erdway, as it turned out, was not a suitable replacement for Mr. Kelton Brice, Lord Hardaway, after all.

By the beginning of the next dance, Isabelle was once again filled with hope. Lord Hempshere was said to be quite the upstanding gentleman in town. With him at her side, she would host only the most respectable of events, and they would base their relationship on honesty with each other. Honesty and trust would be a strong foundation for their marriage.

They had just come back together for a time after circling the other couples on the floor when Lord Hempshere asked, “Do you enjoy the quadrille?”

“It’s my favorite,” Isabelle said honestly. “I always make a misstep and dissolve in laughter by the end of it.”

“That doesn’t cause you embarrassment? How curious,” he mused, just before they separated once more.

Isabelle spent the entire time she circled the lady opposite her justifying his comment. It was simply a forthright question, and she wasn’t accustomed to such talk when it didn’t come from her sister. By the time she returned, she knew he was only attempting to speak with her in earnest. She should explain herself, allow him to know her and understand her to a greater degree. “I learned these dances when I was older than most, when my father inherited his title. I suppose the steps didn’t sink in as well as they ought.”

“Don’t concern yourself with how off-balanced you look doing the steps. I don’t think anyone has noticed,” he said with a smile. With a blasted smile! Was he unaware that he’d insulted her?

She’d always enjoyed the lively nature of this dance until now. She glanced around, suddenly very conscious of the proper direction she was to take after this curtsy. “Thank you for that reassurance.”

“I meant no offense. Only offering a bit of honesty.”

“Honesty is an admirable quality,” she hedged, now wondering how high a priority a noble character was on her list. Apparently it was possible to be too honest to suit her.

Lord Hempshere deposited her back at her mother’s side a moment later and nodded as he left.

Isabelle was fairly certain that as lovely as this ball was, even with everything bathed in candlelight and scented by the flower arrangements, there was no romance to be found here tonight. It was quite the sad thought, and it had her turning to search for a footman with a tray of champagne glasses. Her mother had a glass—surely more existed around here somewhere.

As she turned back to the ballroom floor, a man was standing in front of her. She almost jumped back at the sight of his bright-green waistcoat but caught herself after only a quick blink. He was looking at her as well, his focus moving from her face, over her gown, and back up her neck before meeting her gaze once more.

“Good evening. I didn’t see you approach. Do I owe you a dance?” Isabelle’s eyes darted to Lady Smeltings, unsure of what the woman had arranged for her. But her ladyship was turned away chatting with Isabelle’s mother, leaving Isabelle to wonder at who this gentleman in the brightly colored evening wear was. There was something familiar about the build of this man or perhaps the intensity in his gaze, but she couldn’t quite add up the pieces enough to place him in her memory.

“I saw you from across the room and knew I must come speak with you.” He flashed a wide smile as he looked at her. “If you have room on your dance card…”

“My dance card is a mystery at the moment. A friend of my mother’s was determined to see it filled and has taken over all control of it. I fear my feet may fall off by the end of the evening.”

He laughed openly and tossed his white-blond hair back as he did so. It was an unusual hair color. It was as if he’d dipped his head in snow and didn’t look quite natural, but it somehow suited his sharp features. “Perhaps you could use a break from the dance floor, then.” He signaled someone behind her and a second later produced two glasses of champagne and handed her one.

How did he know she was thirsty? She studied him as she took a sip. Perhaps it wasn’t the grandest of gestures, but offering her a drink and the option to sit out a dance seemed rather heroic, noble, and good at the moment.

He took a drink before indicating the bustling ballroom floor at his back. “I must confess, though I would enjoy a dance with a lady such as yourself, I prefer other entertainments. Books and art are more to my liking, but these events are never held in a library or a gallery. What’s there to see in a ballroom—other than you, of course?”

She blushed at his compliment even as her mind clung to his previous statement. “You enjoy books and art?” He was rather ideal, down to his emerald-green evening wear. “What a wonderfully small world we live in. I volunteer at the British Museum.”

“We were destined to meet one another, then,” he said with another wide grin.

“Perhaps so.” Her heart was still a bit bruised from the recent betrothal news, but if this was destiny, she should at least be receptive to it. It was almost unnerving how well he embodied her list of qualifications—the old list and the new—like she’d somehow wished him into existence. She looked up in wonder at this man. Was he her secret admirer? Could it be?

“I apologize for keeping my distance before tonight,” he confided after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for longer than I’d care to admit.”

“Have you?” Her hand flew to the locket, her fingers sliding over the metal surface as she watched the man who stood before her. “Why did you delay?”

“Timing…but none of that is important now. I see you received my note.” His grin returned, even wider than before.

“I did. I very much liked—” She broke off with a glance at her mother to ensure they couldn’t be heard. “The gifts. They were beautiful.”

“It will be our secret. We could keep every word spoken between us a secret. I confess, I’m a bit of a romantic.”

“What’s your name? Or is that to be a secret as well?” she asked in a low voice, captivated by the excitement of it all.

“For only you to know, I’m Mr. Reginald Grapling.”