Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) (34 page)

“I
beg your pardon, Your Grace, but it seems that the young Duke is crying for
you. Something about a stomach ache and nurse is having trouble coping with him.”
If either Saybrooke or Isobel had known Reggie’s nurse, they would have taken
this for a faradiddle, which, of course, it was. For nurse was never unable to
cope. And though they did not know nurse and her extreme competence, they did,
however, realize that Reggie’s illness was a ruse.

“Hello,
Izzy,” he said after Adriana had left the room as if he had just entered.

“Drew,”
she said simply and inclined her head a quarter of an inch.

“You
are looking well,” Saybrooke commented uneasily.

“And
you also. How is your mother?” In her confusion Isobel continued this banal
conversation for want of anything else to say.

But
Saybrooke was suddenly unwilling to prolong the vapid exchange. The woman he
loved was seated before him. They were blissfully alone, and he would not waste
this moment. He counted it a gift from God.

“Hang
my mother!” he said startling Isobel with his vehemence. “Izzy, do you remember
that little speech I gave over a sennight ago?”          

“You
have given so many speeches; I cannot be sure to which one you refer.”

“I
will refresh your memory, shall I? I told you that I had been a fool and that I
had been chastising you about a splinter you had in your eye, when I had this
massive plank in my own. At the end, I asked you to marry me.”

“Ah,
that speech.” Isobel was suppressing her overwhelming desire to shout out, “yes”!

“The
rest of that night, as I am sure you recall, went badly. You behaved badly. I
behaved badly. But, I want you to know the offer still stands as does the
sentiment that prompted it.”

Isobel
wanted to make it clear that she had not been sitting at home pining for him. “A
lot has happened since that night, Saybrooke. I have plans. Laura and I are
starting a widow’s home.”

“I
know. I have heard. I think it a marvelous idea, Izzy. And I am so glad to see
that you have repaired your relationship with Lady Tyndale.”

A
thought suddenly came unbidden into Isobel’s mind and she understood. He had
heard that she was reforming and now that she was again behaving herself, he
wanted her back. The scoundrel!

“Lord
Saybrooke, while I am honored by your proposal, I must decline.” Isobel’s face
was as rigid as stone, but inside her heart was crumbling. Saybrooke’s
expression reflected his own broken heart.

“Why,
Izzy?” Saybrooke asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“You
dare ask? You have done nothing but criticize me since Warwick’s death. Though
I confess to being somewhat deserving, alright, very deserving, you who preach
mercy have shown me none.”

Smarting
from her palpable hit, though the fault was one that he had already realized,
he took a breath and tried to make his case. “I never wanted to punish you or
criticize you. I have been angry.” Saybrooke paused realizing that anger was not
quite right. “No, not angry, jealous. If you look back at every argument we
have had, it was caused by my own insecurities, my own jealousy. I was jealous
of Warwick, jealous of Westcott, even jealous of Lord Charles.”

“That
is ridiculous and unfounded.”

“Jealousy
is not logical. And neither is fear.”

“Fear?”

“I
fear losing you, Izzy and I get a little crazy.”

“How
can you lose me if you have never had me.” Isobel realized that she was being
cruel. Out of her own pain she struck out.

“Oh,
Izzy, but I did. We had each other and I have never gotten over it.”
Saybrooke’s voice was soft and caressing. Isobel felt herself succumbing to his
gentle words. She steeled herself.

“I
do not believe you. Oh, I am sure you believe yourself to be in love with me,
but it is not me you are in love with. You are in love with some plaster saint
you want me to be.”

“You,
a plaster saint! That is not at all what I want. I want you. I want Izzy,
impaired but incomparable Izzy. And I shall be damaged but darling Drew. We
will be flawed together and go through life accepting each other’s foibles and admiring
each other’s strengths.” Saybrooke said all this in a light, joking manner, but
he was very serious.

Isobel
could not help but smile. She suddenly wanted exactly this from life, to be
honest; it is what she had always wanted. To live side by side with this man, loving
and being loved, forgiving and being forgiven. She admitted that she deserved
most of Saybrooke’s reproofs. Yet, here he was offering her grace and she was
compelled to offer him the same. But she had one last argument left in her
arsenal.

“I
admit that sounds wonderful. But why now, Drew?” Saybrooke allowed himself an
internal burst of joy. She had called him Drew, not Saybrooke. “I believe it is
because you found out that I am reforming, starting the widow’s home and making
amends for my mistakes of the past. Now you have come running back to me. When
I am good, you want me. When I am bad, you punish me with words. How could I
live like that?”

“Isobel
Kennilworth, hear me! My coming back now has nothing to do with the widow’s
home or your ‘reformation’. I have not come to see you before, though I
desperately wanted to, because I was ordering my life.”

“Ordering
your life? Was it disordered?”

“In
a way, yes. I had lost my way. But, I have become active again in some of my
charities, such as the climbing boys and an orphanage in Southwark. I have been
working with Wilberforce again on his anti-slavery bill. I even went to see
Charles Simeon. I was doing this, because I, Andrew Stafford, former vicar of
Axminster, Surrey, current Viscount Saybrooke want to be worthy of you. I want
to practice what I preach.”

“That
is exactly what I am afraid of, the preaching.”

“I
am no longer a vicar. I will try not to preach.” Saybrooke stood and walked
over to Isobel. He took her hands in his and raised her from the couch. He
looked down at her, their eyes locking. “I am not perfect. You are not perfect.
But I love you Izzy and I always will. Do you love me, too?”

Isobel
could hardly bear to see the passion in his eyes. It frightened her, it
thrilled her. It made her heart race and her stomach flip. Her whole body
responded to his loving look, her hands quivering in his. She had exhausted
every objection she could think of, but was afraid to speak what she felt.
Instead she said, “I do not know what to say.”

“It
is simple, my dear,” said Saybrooke still gripping her hands. “Either you love
me or you do not. Either you want a life with me or you do not. I have made my
feelings abundantly clear. It is left to you to decide. What do you say?”

Isobel
did not speak right away and Saybrooke’s heart sank. Finally, with her chin
thrust out, her gray eyes sparkling she said, “I say yes.”

Saybrooke
lowered his lips to hers in a tender kiss. The tenderness gave way to yearning
and the yearning to passion, till with great difficulty Saybrooke pulled out of
the kiss and put Isobel at arm’s length from him. “I do not want to wait for
the banns to be called. I do not want to wait at all. Can we marry soon?

“Tomorrow?”
proposed Isobel, looking at him with a seductive shyness.

“That
might prove to be a bit difficult, but I shall try to obtain a special license
as soon as can be.” He pulled her to him again and kissed her, but she broke a
way.

“Wait,
but what am I to do about the widow’s home? You should know that Lady Warwick
has become a patroness and is going to work with Laura, Aunt Maude and me. We have
ambitious ideas for expansion. The work has just begun, I cannot just leave
them.”

“All
I ask is a month long honeymoon. I think we can trust it to those three ladies
while we are gone. And when we return we can explore all kinds of ideas for
helping widows, for I hope be able to take part in the venture. It is a worthy
cause and one close to your own heart.”

“Though
I was never truly a widow.”

“And
I sincerely hope you will not be for a very long time,” said Saybrooke with
feeling. He crushed her to his chest, kissing her fiercely, and she kissed him
back.

“Look,
Mama, they are kissing,” said Reggie as he dashed in the door just behind Duke,
his mother trying to catch them up. Saybrooke and Izzy broke apart, trying not
to look embarrassed.

“You
naughty boy, Reggie! I said NOT to go into the Blue Parlor,” scolded his doting
mama.

“Sorry,
Mama. Duke smelled tarts.” The young boy smelled them as well, and his eyes
devoured them.

“I
am so sorry,” said Adriana to her guests. To her son she said, “You may take
two tarts to the school room. One for you and one for Duke. Nurse is waiting
for you.”

The
mischievous duke left with the equally mischievous canine Duke, and Adriana
again turned to Isobel and Lord Saybrooke, a playfully devious smile on her
face. “I hope I gave you enough time. And, I hope that you are not angry with
me for this little scheme. Lady Joanna said that…”

“Of
course,” laughed Saybrooke at the very same moment the Isobel exclaimed, “Lady
Joanna!”

Isobel
approached Adriana, her hands outstretched, her eyes shining. “How could we be
angry? We are both very stubborn; one wonders how long we would have stayed
apart if you and Lady Joanna had not seen fit to move things along. I think
that scheming is acceptable, when one’s motives are pure.”

Adriana
took the proffered hands. “I wish you well, Isobel. I hope that you come to know
the love you have so long been denied.”

The
two women embraced and Saybrooke thanked the duchess for “speeding things
along”. After a few more minutes the newly betrothed couple took their leave,
their destination, Woburn Place.

At
number sixty five Woburn Place, the news was received with great enthusiasm by
one and all. Laura and Serena wept tears of joy, as did Mrs. Riggs and Mrs.
Kitchen. Renfrew himself shed a tear or two. Charles, unsure of his reception
with Saybrooke merely smiled, and Charis danced around in circles shouting,
“Happy, happy, happy!”

Aunt
Maude was nowhere in sight, but was drawn downstairs by the commotion.

“What
on earth is all this racket? How is a person to get any work done?” Lady
Whitcomb glared at the rowdy crowd.

Isobel
stepped forward, her hand in Saybrooke’s. “Wish us happy Aunt Maude, we are to
be married.”

Lady
Whitcomb merely blinked and said, “Is that all? Well, of course you are to be
married. You were made for each other.” Aunt Maude looked at her niece and then
Saybrooke. “I only wonder what took you so long.”

*****

It
took almost two weeks for Saybrooke to obtain the special license and for
Isobel to make preparations for the wedding and arrange for matters at Woburn
Place. Isobel assured Laura that, despite her wedded state, she still planned
to be active in the Warwick Home for Widows, but asked Laura to take oversee
the day to day running of the home. Laura accepted.

The
wedding was held on a fine June day in the Blue Parlor at Wren House, at the
Duchess of Warwick’s insistence. The furniture had been cleared and chairs
arranged in rows, with a improvised aisle down the center and arch of flowers
mimicking an altar.

There
were few in attendance by design. However, those who were near and dear to the
couple were all invited, including the residents and staff of 65 Woburn Place. Lady
Whitcomb refused to be a bridesmaid due to her advanced age, but she gladly
attended, wearing a striking ensemble of yellow silk with black stripes. She sat
next to Adriana, sleek and lovely in widow’s black, the contrast making Lady
Whitcomb look like a large, well-fed bee. Laura was resplendent as Isobel’s
bridesmaid in pale green silk, while Jasper Finch appeared at his finest as
Saybrooke’s best man. Charis Endicott scampered down the aisle tossing tiny
fistfuls of rose petals in the air, giggling as they fell on her head and
pausing numerous times to jabber at the various guests. “I fwow woses!” she
squealed over and over again.  Young Jem had been charged with keeping the
young girl on task. He made a feeble effort to hold her hand as they made their
way down the short aisle, but was preoccupied trying to loosen the collar of
his fancy new shirt, declaring that it threatened to choke him. He had been
thrilled when Isobel had asked him to participate in the wedding and agreed
readily. He had not reckoned with a brutal scouring in the bath and a deuced
uncomfortable new suit. The only other unsatisfied guest at the wedding was
Saybrooke’s very unhappy mother. However, her persistently sour expression did
not at all dampen the lively spirits of the rest of the guests, who included Lady
Joanna and her mother. The consequence that Lady Doncaster and her daughter
lent to the occasion helped Lady Saybrooke to feel slightly less disgruntled.

Renfrew
had cherished a secret hope of being asked to give the bride away, but it was
Lord Charles, with only the aid of stout cane, who escorted Isobel down the
aisle. She was dressed in an ice blue satin gown, with a white lace overlay,
her hair swept up into a glowing cascade of curls. Saybrooke took in his
beloved’s appearance with approval, but what held him was her radiant face and
her sparkling eyes. Isobel Kennilworth almost floated down the makeshift aisle,
despite Lord Charles’ uneven gait, her eyes locked with Saybrooke’s.