Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) (15 page)

“Oh,
I do not believe they meant to tell me, but they got to quarrelling and it all
came out. Isobel, I cannot tell you how sorry…”

“Aunt
Maude, please, not now. I have stemmed the water works and do not care to shed
another tear over the matter. It is done. You know the sad truth; let us put it
all behind us. You and I will live quietly here. We have sufficient funds,
though not overmuch, to live on. We shall grow old together. You shall write
and I will embroider seat cushions.”

“You
are terrible at needlework.”

“Thank
you, Aunt. But do you not see, in a few years’ time I should improve. Or
perhaps I shall try to grow orchids, or learn to play the harp.”

“Enough
of these bacon brained ideas. It is not over, Isobel. It is time for you to get
up and get dressed. We have work to do. There is to be a duel.”

Isobel
gazed at her Aunt, perplexed. “I daresay, though it is illegal, there are often
duels.”

“But
never before between two men that you love,” stated Lady Whitcomb baldly.

“Two
men that I love? I was unaware that there was one such man.”

“Saybrooke
and Wescott.”

“I?
Love Saybrooke? And as for Westcott…”

“Never
mind denying it, we need to do something about it. Think Isobel, after what
Reginald has done and Westcott asking you to be his Light o’ Love in view of a
number of the Bon Ton, if a duel is fought over you, the damage to your reputation
will be irreparable. Especially if someone dies.” Lady Whitcomb’s tone was
grave.

“Dies?
Oh, God! But what do you expect me to do?” Isobel pushed away her half eaten
toast.

“I
expect you to put that conniving brain of yours to good use. If you can trap an
already married Marquess into marriage, you can stop a duel. We think the duel
will be tomorrow, but Mrs. Kitchen will find out the details.”

“Mrs.
Kitchen?” asked Isobel incredulously.

“Her
sister, Mrs. Lyle, is housekeeper for the Windermere’s, who live on Curzon St.
two doors down from Westcott. Mrs. Lyle is quite friendly with Westcott’s
housekeeper. Mrs. Kitchen will visit her sister, who will in turn concoct a
reason to visit Ingle House. Gossip is bound to ensue. Now get up and meet me
and Mrs. Riggs in the salon in thirty minutes. You will have a clearer mind
when you are out of bed and dressed.”

Isobel
watched as her sweet Aunt Maude exited the room. “Is it me, Manning, or has my
Aunt become unusually assertive?”

“It’s
all those lady writers she reads. Downright pushy if you ask me.”

“I
suppose I cannot put her off. The violet sprigged muslin, Manning and one of
your headache powders.”

*****

Wescott
and Saybrooke were true to their word and visited at 65 Woburn place, though
thankfully their visits did not coincide. Saybrooke was refused, but Westcott
was led into the parlor to find a pale, but still beautiful Isobel awaiting
him.

“Oh,
my,” said Isobel looking at his swollen nose and black eyes.

“I
know I look a fright, but I could not stay away.”

“How
did it happen?” asked Isobel, concern in her voice.

“Saybrooke.
Evidently he feels the need to protect you.” Westcott could not keep the scorn
from his voice.

“He
has no right to do so. He is not my brother, or cousin or…”

“Or
lover.”

Isobel
flushed a deep red and suddenly found the tips of her feet quite fascinating.
Hoping to change the course of the conversation, Isobel ordered tea. They
talked of inconsequential topics until the tea arrived. Isobel poured and
conversation stopped. At last Renfrew retreated and Westcott began his
offensive.

“Isobel,
I know that you are angry and hurt. You have every right to be. I handled
everything so badly. Can we begin again? I meant what I said. I love you more
than I can say, more than I have ever loved anyone. Please believe me.”
Westcott spoke from the heart.

“I
do believe you. It…it was just such a shock to me. I had never considered
myself to be…unmarriageable. You must give me time, Jeremy.”

“My
darling, if it is time that you need, then time you will have. I just hope that
you will not bar me from your door.”

“Not
at all,” said Isobel demurely. “In fact, I was hoping…oh, perhaps it is not a
good idea.”

Westcott
tenderly took her hands in his. “What is it, love? Tell me.”

“My
Aunt Maude will be going to the opera with some friends tomorrow night. I
wondered if perhaps you would care to dine with me. Mrs. Kitchen is an
excellent cook.”

Westcott’s
face shone with pleasure. “I would be delighted, my dear. I would dine on bread
and water if I could only be with you.”

“Shall
we say eight o’clock then?” said Isobel with a warm smile.

“Eight
o’clock,” assured Lord Westcott.

Isobel
looked at the clock on the mantel and gasped. “Oh, my. Look how late it is. My
Aunt will be coming any minute, and I confess she would not be pleased to see
you. She is quite angry with you.”

“I
understand.” He stood and kissed her hand. “Until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,”
Isobel repeated with a smile of promise.

*****

Lord
Saybrooke was in his bookroom sipping coffee and reading the Bible, when Finch
was shown in. The two exchanged greetings and Saybrooke offered his friend a
seat.

Once
the footman closed the door, Finch spoke up. “It’s all arranged. Tomorrow at
dawn, Hampstead Heath. Westcott will bring the pistols. I have engaged Dr.
Strong to attend.” Saybrooke said nothing, but walked to the window. His friend
went on. “I confess that this is exceedingly strange behavior for you, my
friend. How many times have you lectured me on the evils of dueling?”

“Countless,
I imagine, since you are such a hot head.” Saybrooke spoke quietly, still
gazing out of the window.

“All
this over a slight to Miss Kennilworth, who refused you half a dozen years
ago?”

Saybrooke
turned to his friend and spoke. “I would like to explain it to you, Finch, if I
could. But I do not understand it myself. I have always considered dueling a
barbaric custom. I still consider it so. Westcott goaded me and I succumbed to
his taunts. I broke the man’s nose, but it was not enough. I agreed to the
duel. Even now, I still cannot believe it.”

“It
is not too late for an apology,” reasoned Finch.

“He
does not deserve an apology. He was wrong. He has contributed to Isobel’s
ruin.” Saybrooke said with sorrow.

“So
you are judge and jury, then?” asked Finch provocatively.

Saybrooke
sat down and fingered his coffee cup. “I do not know what I am anymore. It was
all so much simpler when I was simply Andrew Stafford, vicar.”

“But
you are going through with it?”

“I
keep hearing my father’s voice in my head to get my arse out of the bookroom
and live. Run, jump, fish, hunt - kill something. He would always say that he
was glad that Lionel was the heir, for he knew what it meant to be a Lord. I
was useless to him. But I did not care; for I had my books and my Izzy. But
now, belatedly, I want to make him proud, to be Viscount Saybrooke, and I have
no idea how to do it.”

“You
are this maudlin already and the only thing you have had to drink is coffee?
Let us remedy that. Where is your brandy?”

*****

Manning
was just putting the finishing touches on Isobel’s hair, tucking up the last
curl, when Renfrew announced Lord Westcott.

“Tell
him I will be right down.” Isobel stood and looked at her reflection in the
cheval glass. Her periwinkle silk dress clung to her body in all the right
places. It was not overtly daring, but sweetly seductive.

Manning
looked at her mistress with concern. “Are you sure about this, Miss? I could
tell him you are not well.”

“No,
Manning. I will be fine. I am just a tiny bit nervous is all.” She gave Manning
a shaky smile and descended the stairs.

Lord
Westcott jumped from his chair when Isobel entered the room. His eyes scanned
her appraisingly and liked what they saw. “You look beautiful, Isobel. Good
enough to eat,” he said huskily.

“Remember,
my lord, I am not on the menu tonight.” She gave a coy little laugh to take
away any harshness the words may have evinced.

Instead
of the dining room, dinner had been laid upstairs in the salon. “Much cozier,”
explained Isobel and Westcott agreed. Dinner was superb, beginning with turtle
soup and ending with a raspberry trifle with numerous courses in between. They
conversed freely, sharing ideas, laughing spontaneously. The time seemed to fly
by. It was shortly before ten o’clock when all the dishes had been removed, all
the servants (meaning Renfrew and the maid, Anna) had gone below to their own
dinner, and Westcott and Isobel sat alone in the neat little salon sipping
brandy. Westcott was in alt and could not suppress a grin. She was to be his,
after all. Inexplicably the brandy seemed to be going to his head for he was
trying to put his arm around Isobel, but he could not seem to manage it. His
head was becoming excessively heavy as well. He shook it to clear the fog in
his brain. He saw Isobel sitting next to him, watching him. He could not resist
her and tried for a kiss, but Isobel moved at the last minute and he fell head
first onto the floor and knew no more.

“That
will not help his nose heal,” chuckled Aunt Maude.

“No,
it should be quite painful,” agreed Isobel. “It really is a pity, for he can be
such a charming man.”

“Charm
is overestimated,“ contributed Mrs. Riggs. “I much prefer an honest man.”

A
picture of Lord Saybrooke entered Isobel’s mind, unbidden. She shook it off.

“Renfrew,
are you sure you and William can manage getting him to the third floor?”

“Yes,
Miss. Young Jem will help us, too.” They proceeded to half carry, half drag the
unconscious Lord Westcott down the hall. Then came the whump, thump, whump
thump of his body hitting each step as he was dragged up the narrow flight of
stairs.

“Manning,
you are sure that I gave him enough to last the night?”

Manning
held up his empty glass of brandy. “He drank it all, Miss. If he is up before
midday I will be very surprised.” She could not stifle a giggle.

“Well,
Saybrooke shall go to Hampstead Heath in vain tomorrow. Westcott will look the
fool for reneging and Saybrooke will live to pontificate another day.” Lady
Whitcomb put her arm lightly around her niece. “Well, done, my dear.”

“As
you say, Aunt Maude, I seem to have a knack for this kind of skullduggery,”
Isobel said with a sigh.

*****

The
gray mist slowly began to dissipate as dawn broke over Hampstead Heath. Lord
Saybrooke and  Jasper Finch heard the approaching horseman before they saw him.
A spectral figure approached, gradually mutating into human and equine form. It
was Perkins. Alone. Saybrooke, taut with anxiety, spoke with more pique than he
intended. “Where is Westcott?”

“He
will be along shortly,” assured Perkins as he dismounted. “We planned to meet
here.”

“And
the doctor?” asked Finch.

“Westcott
will be stopping by for the doctor on his way. He is bringing his coach in case
it is necessary to transport an injured man.”

“Ah,
I see Westcott has thought of everything,” Saybrooke said with disdain.

The
three men stood silently for some time, waiting. At last Perkins suggested to
Finch that they mark out the paces in order to be in complete readiness when
Westcott arrived. This was done and still Lord Westcott had not appeared.
Saybrooke sat in the damp grass, praying.

Ten
more minutes passed and then twenty. Saybrooke and the seconds did not speak;
the only sounds were the horses’ snuffles and an occasional jackdaw’s cry. At
last Perkins spoke. “I cannot understand what can be keeping him. Perhaps he
overslept.”

“Perhaps,”
said Saybrooke skeptically.

“We
will give him another quarter of an hour,” decreed Finch, looking at his pocket
watch.

The
hands of Finch’s watch moved painstakingly slowly. But, at last fifteen minutes
had passed and Westcott was not in evidence.

“He
has forfeited,” declared Finch.

Perkins
blanched as he thought what this meant for his friend’s reputation. Attempting
to procure a mistress at a respectable house party in full view of his future
bride could be forgiven by the ever mercurial ton; reneging on a duel of honor
could not.

Seeing
Perkins face, Saybrooke came to a decision. “It is a lovely day to walk the
wilds of Hampstead Heath, is it not Finch. I am quite glad you proposed the
outing. Fresh air, open spaces; it is good for the body and soul.”