Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) (25 page)

“I
have decided to be magnanimous and forgive you,” she decreed. “However, if you
ever do anything so hare-brained again I shall shoot you, hang you and then
stab you to death!”

“If
I should ever attempt a similar folly I will deserve such a fate.” Lord
Charles’ appetite surfaced, and between Isobel and himself, not a morsel was
left on the tray.

In
between bites he aired his other pressing question. “Does my undeserved pardon
mean that I am allowed to stay?”

“Yes,
Charles, you are my guest until you are well. But mind this is not your new
home. You have a home; Hidenwood. You must get yourself squared away. It may
even necessitate marrying that heiress, whey faced or not.”

Lord
Charles groaned. Isobel laughed and they talked of pleasanter things.

Lady
Whitcomb was already in the salon, wearing a path on the Turkish carpet, when
Isobel entered a short time later. She turned toward her niece, her face a
study in misery. At first she was unsure of her reception, but once she saw
Isobel’s welcoming expression, she opened her arms wide and Isobel ran into her
embrace. Both women burst into tears and murmured heartfelt apologies.

“Isobel,
I should not have…”

“No,
no, Aunt you were right to chide me…”

Isobel’s
change of heart had not occurred immediately. She had paced about her room the
previous evening torn between fury and remorse. She had toyed with her dinner,
abandoning it in favor of a gothic novel. Even the handsome, fearless and
rather overbearing hero could not maintain her attention. Isobel had Manning
ready her for bed long before her usual bedtime and she tossed and turned for
most of the night. She had prayed, too, just as she had done when she was
young, still full of faith and hope. During her many periods of wakefulness her
mind and heart sought answers. Her prayers for guidance remained unanswered.

Though
she had slept fitfully, she rose early and her first thought was for a bruising
ride on Bella. She managed with some difficulty to dress herself in her forest
green riding habit and exited the house with no one the wiser. She was
blissfully alone in Regent’s Park which was located just blocks from Woburn
Place. Isobel let Bella have her head and they galloped along without
impediment.

Isobel’s
mind cleared as she and Bella flew through the park. She silently cried out as
the chilly morning air nipped at her cheeks.
What am I to do?
Aunt
Maude’s words returned to her. “Find a passion for some cause, some purpose. Stop
wallowing in self-pity and self-absorption, Isobel. It does not become you.”  As
she galloped through in the morning mist, she admitted to herself that she did
not like the person she had become. She was selfish and spoiled, deceitful and
self-serving.  And lonely. Oh, was she lonely.

Slowing
Bella to a canter, then a trot and a walk, she meandered along the deserted
bridle path and recalled the girl that she had been. She remembered the lofty
aspirations that she and Drew had shared.
We are going to help people,
the
childish, but sincere voices had declared.
We are going to make a difference
in the world!
  She remembered those halcyon days with Andrew Stafford and
longed once again for his counsel. But she could not expect his help.  She must
find the answers on her own, or with heavenly help. Even as Bella ambled along,
munching on the grass, Isobel had more questions, than she did answers.
How
could she find that youthful passion again?
How could she possibly make
up for all the pain she had caused?
  Isobel slid off of Bella and walked to
the edge of a small stream running through the park. She listened to the babble
of the brook for a short while, when suddenly one name invaded her thoughts and
touched her heart. And suddenly she knew what she would do.

Isobel
was both nervous and excited to tell her Aunt the decision she had come to in
the park. “Aunt Maude, I am going to find Laura Downing, that is, Lady Tyndale.
I had heard that she was left poorly off after Tyndale died and that her
parents wanted nothing to do with her. Do you know anything of her?”

Surprised,
Lady Whitcomb gave the question some thought. “I believe she became a companion
for a maiden aunt who is rich as Croesus, and just as crotchety. She lives
right here in London, I believe. Was it Berkeley Square?”

“Do
you remember the aunt’s name?” asked Isobel, intent on finding Laura without
delay.

“What
has put this into your head? Why bother with Lady Tyndale now?”

“Ruining
Laura was my first truly shameful act and the only one that I can possibly
atone for now. I cannot bring Reginald back to life or give Lord Charles money,
since I have little. I cannot marry Saybrooke, for he will not have me. But
perhaps I can make it up to Laura. We were friends once, though I betrayed her.
I am hoping she might be willing to forgive me, though it matters not. I must
at least ask. And if she is happy where she is, then I will be happy for her,
but if she is not, then I will ask her to live here with us in Woburn Place.”

“I
was not suggesting last night that you needed to do penance, Isobel.”

“It
is not penance, Aunt. It is simply the right thing to do and you encouraged me
to do something positive . I know that I cannot negate what has happened, but perhaps
I can start again. As I sat waiting to hear Reginald’s will being read, that is
all I could think of, that I was getting a new start. I hope that now I really can.”

“Newsome!
That is it. Maria Newsome, spinster. She lives near Berkeley Square. Hill
Street if I am not mistaken. But there is something else that is nagging at me,
but I cannot seem to put my finger on it.

“God
bless your memory, Aunt Maude. Is she an old friend? Do you know her well
enough to drop by for tea?”

“No,
not a friend, but she was on the outskirts of my circle. Couldn’t stand the
woman! But, suddenly I have a strange desire to become reacquainted with the
old tartar. She will be horrified, but she will receive me. Very few people can
tolerate her. Even an unwelcome guest is better than no guest at all.”

Before
they left for Mayfair, Isobel made sure that Lord Charles was brought down into
the parlor to get a change of scenery, the parlor having a good view of the
bustling Woburn Place from its bay windows. Renfrew and Griffin carried him
down and placed his Bath chair near a window facing the street, making sure to
prop his leg on the ottoman. Assuring him that they would be home soon, Isobel
and Lady Whitcomb left him to spy on their Bloomsbury neighbors.

And
so shortly after three o’clock, Isobel and Lady Whitcomb instructed the coachman,
William, to drive to Hill Street near Berkeley Square. “I do not know the house
number, but I believe I shall remember the house when I see it. I went there to
one of the first big balls of our come out season. The ball was quite a
success. Miss Newsome’s matrimonial aspirations, however, were not.”

Only
moments after the two ladies left Woburn place, the Doncaster coach arrived
bearing only Lady Joanna. Miss Parrish was laid up with a cold. Lady Joanna
hopped out of the carriage. Today she was determined to see Miss Kennilworth,
whether Miss Kennilworth liked it or not. When Renfrew told Lady Joanna that
Miss Kennilworth was not at home, she assumed the young woman was still
refusing company.

“Fine,
Renfrew, I will wait in the parlor,” said Lady Joanna suiting her words with
actions.

Lord
Charles, turned his attention from the window to the door as he heard it open. In
came what Charles could only describe as a force of nature in a sprigged muslin
frock. She stopped when she saw him, her eyes widened and she said simply,
“Oh.”

“Lady
Joanna, isn’t it? Are you looking for Isobel?” Lord Charles asked the young
lady. The rather pretty young lady, assessed Lord Charles, though she looked a
tad disheveled.

“Yes,
in fact I am. I am Lady Joanna Doncaster. We met some days ago.”

“Oh,
I remember,” said Lord Charles with a wicked grin. “You are out of luck, as to
Isobel. She and Lady Whitcomb just left. Couldn’t have been more than five
minutes ago.”

“Oh,
I thought Renfrew was hoaxing me, that she was avoiding me.”

“So,
you barged in?” Lord Charles retained his devious grin.

“I
did not barge. I walked.”

“If
that was walking, I would hate to see barging.” Lord Charles let out a chuckle.
Jousting with this little minx was better than watching strangers out of the
window.

“How
rude of you to say so, Lord Charles, I believe it was,” said Lady Joanna in her
frostiest tone.

“I
beg your pardon. Yes, Lord Charles Aiken, since you don’t seem to remember our
previous introduction. I would stand, but as you see, I cannot.” He gestured to
his broken leg.

Lady
Joanna took a closer look at the young man in the Bath chair. “What on earth
happened to you? Were you run over by a grocer’s cart?”

“Nothing
quite that dramatic. Set upon by footpads.” Charles watched as the plainspoken Lady
Joanna grimaced while eyeing his battered face. Realizing he was not looking
his best, he tried for humor to give himself a charming air. “If you think I
look bad, you should have seen the chaps that attacked me!” Lord Charles
attempted a cheeky grin, but his swollen lip made it look more like a sneer.

“Well,
if Miss Kennilworth is truly not at home, I suppose I should go along.”
Obviously hesitant, Lady Joanna turned to leave.

“No,
please stay. Mrs. Kitchen prepares an excellent tea.” Lord Charles did not want
the chit to go away. She was definitely amusing.

“I
am well aware of that Lord Charles, since I have been here on a number of
occasions,” she intoned with dignity. “What brings you to Woburn Place, My
Lord?”

“Isobel…Miss
Kennilworth, kindly offered me a place to convalesce. She is my sister in law.
Well, at least she was. You see, she was supposedly married to my brother
Reginald, who was the duke of…” Charles rambled.

Lady
Joanna interrupted, already acquainted with the tragic tale. “I know the story
and I know who you are, which makes me hesitate in accepting your offer of
tea.”

“And
what is it you think I could do? In this condition? Besides, I am a gentleman.
I would not take advantage of you, even if I could.”

“Prettily
said, Lord Charles. Though, it really is not the done thing to be alone with a
gentleman, no matter how incapacitated he may be.”

“Ah,
Lady Joanna, you disappoint me. I did not take you for a stickler.”

“And
I am not!” cried Lady Joanna, highly offended. But despite her disdain for
societies dictates, she was a gently born lady and decorum had been drilled
into her from young age. This caused her a moment’s uncertainty. “Nonetheless,
it is highly improper…oh, fiddle, why not. Let us keep the door open. My friend
Mary is ill and I am as bored as can be. At least jawing with you will pass the
time.”

“I
am overwhelmed by your flattery, my lady.” Lord Charles said with another grin,
which hurt like the devil. “Please do sit down.” She did.

“I
am curious, Lord Charles. I know you lost your inheritance to a nephew you did
not know you had. It must have come as quite a shock to you. Though, I do remember
hearing that you inherited an unentailed estate? Is it large? Have you seen it?”
prompted Lady Joanna boldly. Her mother would be gasping for breath if she
heard such a rude question leaving her daughter’s well-bred lips. Lady
Doncaster would hardly approve this as a conversation starter.

“What
the devil!” Lord Charles, his eyes wide with surprise, was aghast at the
impudence of the chit seated opposite him.

“You
forget yourself Lord Charles,” drawled Lady Joanna with a great deal of
dignity. “I am not accustomed to such language.”

Lord
Charles was flabbergasted and that happened rarely. This saucy little baggage
was an unholy mix of prickly propriety and intemperate impertinence. “Where did
you hear such a thing?”

“Oh,
here and there. Gossip abounds in the Haute Monde, as you should well know,”
said Lady Joanna matter of factly.

“God
bless the
ton
. How nice it is to know that everyone, even girls fresh
out of the school room, know one’s business.”

“I
am not fresh out of the schoolroom. I am eighteen years old.”

“That
old?”

“You
may make fun sir, if you will, but you did not answer my question.”

“Pardon
my lapse. Indeed I do have a smallish estate in Derbyshire named Hidenwood.”

Just
then Renfrew arrived. “Renfrew, bring tea and a map of England if you please.
And perhaps you could ask Manning if she would act as chaperone for Lady
Joanna.” Renfrew looked a bit wary of the situation, but gave no argument.

Manning
grudgingly agreed to act as chaperone. Tea was served, the map was brought. Before
long Lady Joanna and Lord Charles were conversing as if they had known each
other for years.

Lord
Saybrooke sat across from Charles Simeon, the vicar of the Holy Trinity Church in
Cambridge and his personal friend and mentor, a glass of sherry in hand. The
vicar, at aged fifty eight, looked drawn, his health of late, poor, but he
retained a certain understated vitality, an intensity that Saybrooke admired.
At Cambridge his benevolence and goodness were legendary.