Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) (6 page)

Lady Whitcomb reached up and placed her hand on her niece’s. “I do
hope you have a wonderful time, Isobel. You deserve some happiness.”

Isobel gave her aunt a shaky smile. “Thank you, Aunt Maude. I
intend to enjoy myself.”

Lady Whitcomb returned Isobel’s tentative smile with a broad grin
and patted her hand. “I’m sure you will, my dear.”

Lady Whitcomb watched the lithe figure of her niece as she exited
the dining room, her eyes full of concern.

“Good heavens, Wilkes! We are only going for a week,” cried Lord
Saybrooke as he watched the carriage being loaded.

“Yes, my Lord, but there will be shooting and riding and a ball as
well. And there are the linens and…” began the beleaguered valet.

“Linens? Why on earth would we bring linens?” interrupted
Saybrooke. “You do not think they have linens where we are going? We may be venturing
into the country, but I daresay they have sheets and towels!”

“I just thought that your lordship would be more comfortable…”

“Never mind, Wilkes. I am sure you have the right of it. I’m just
not used to all this fussing. Well, you get on with it. I think I will toddle
off. I need to make a brief stop and I shall leave straight from there. I will see
you when you arrive.”

“Are you sure you will not ride in the carriage, My Lord. It takes
several hours to get to Hertfordshire,” said his valet with concern. Saybrooke
would have been touched, except that he knew Wilkes’ concern was not for his
person, but his appearance.

“Ezekiel and I are looking forward to the ride, Wilkes. The poor
steed cannot get his fidgets out prancing about in Hyde Park. He needs a good
gallop.” Saybrooke rubbed Ezekiel’s velvet nose as he spoke. “You go on with the
coach. We shall be fine.”

“Very good, my lord,” Wilkes said, grateful that he could now do
his job unhindered. His lordship had a lot to learn about his place in the
world. Wilkes sighed, knowing that he would be the one who would need to teach
him.

Lord Saybrooke mounted his chestnut gelding, Ezekiel, and headed
for Bloomsbury.

Saybrooke had not answered Isobel’s last missive, simply because
he did not know the answer. Forgiveness was such a tricky business. One could
forgive with all sincerity one moment and then be overcome by feelings of anger
and ill-use the next.

Having made several unsuccessful attempts at writing to Isobel to
express the capricious nature of his emotions, he decided to see her in person
and hope that her allure might give him the words he needed to make amends.

Renfrew answered the door and admitted Lord Saybrooke with a very
unbutler-like grin. He was the first caller since Miss Kennilworth had moved in
and, to be truthful, there had been very few callers at all during the Duke’s
residency as well. His grin quickly faded as he remembered that Miss
Kennilworth was not in town and Lady Whitcomb was working and not receiving
visitors. He relayed this information to the handsome Lord.

“Out of town? Where on earth could she have gone?” wondered
Saybrooke out loud.

“That is not for me to say, my lord,” answered Renfrew, quite
properly.

“And you are certain that Lady Whitcomb cannot be disturbed. I
would only trouble her for a moment.”

“I’m sorry, my lord, but she made it quite clear that we should
not disturb her for any reason. She’s mighty worked up about that Bluestocking
article she’s writing. Not going well, I take it.” Renfrew informed him, not so
properly.

Frustrated, Saybrooke admitted defeat and left. Drat! Where could
she have gone? He needed to talk to her. And now he had to leave for this
ridiculous house party in the wilds of Hertfordshire. Why had he allowed Mercer
to talk him into attending? He knew why. And it wasn’t just that Mercer had
played on Saybrooke’s kindheartedness, lamenting about his poor, lonely wife
and her need for society. It was his, Lord Saybrooke’s, mother. She had made
him promise to participate in the season and look for a wife. But when
Saybrooke thought of a wife, he could only picture Isobel and of course that
would never do. He knew for certain that when his mother urged him to find a
wife that Isobel Kennilworth would be among the last women she would choose for
him. Why was it she seemed to be the only woman he wanted?

It began to rain lightly and the dampness suited Lord Saybrooke’s
mood. His mother’s parting words echoed in his ears. “Make the most of this
opportunity, Andrew. You may well find your future wife at Adelphi. House
parties are infinitely better than balls and routs for throwing two people
together. I heard that the Hyde-Price chit will be there. She is worth twenty
thousand pounds.” He laughed out loud and without any humor. He continued on
his way, becoming increasingly wet and out of sorts. But he persevered for it
was too late to back out now. A house party would be a slow form of torture for
Andrew Stafford, but as Lord Saybrooke it was his duty to attend as promised.
Once outside the congested streets of London, Saybrooke gave Ezekiel a little
kick and galloped off to his fate.

*****

“He is a sweet baby, Henrietta,” Isobel told her friend as she
observed the sleeping baby in her arms.

“For the present,” Henrietta answered, watching her older son,
Giles, knock down a block castle that his nurse had painstakingly built. He let
out an ear-splitting screech of delight.

Isobel smiled. “Giles is sweet, too.”

“Sweet? He is a little savage,” said his mother, her smile and
fond tone belying her words.

Giles confirmed his mother’s pronouncement by throwing the blocks
wildly about the room.

“Come now, admit it. You are smitten with the adorable child.”
Isobel laughed as she watched the toddler’s gleeful rampage.

“Of course I am. But that does not make him any less the savage.
An adorable savage, but a savage nonetheless.”

Giles began to stomp on the remaining bricks, scattering them
about the nursery floor, all the while screaming, “I winned! I winned!”

Henrietta took “the Spare” from Isobel and kissed his chubby
little cheeks before handing him to the nurse. She stopped Giles mid jump and
kissed him on the forehead. He wriggled free and continued to jump. His chant of
“bye, bye, mama!” followed them down the hallway until they descended the
stairs and could no longer hear him.

“Let us have some tea before the throng descends, shall we?”
Henrietta led Isobel into the comfortable sitting room used solely by the
Fotheringay family.

Teacup in hand, Isobel sipped contentedly and smiled at Henrietta.
“I am so grateful to you for inviting me. It is just what I needed.”

“Well, I cannot vouch for the company since Mercer chose such a
strange assortment of people, mostly out of obligation. His political career is
promising to be quite brilliant, despite the fact that he is a Whig, but it
requires us to invite a number of rather lofty people who can be rather high in
the instep.”

“Perhaps I was too precipitate with my gratitude,” said Isobel
with a grin. “Who are these paragons?”

“The Marquess and Marchioness of Stoughton, and their stunning
daughter Lady Cynthia, who while beautiful, has ice water running through her
veins. Also, there are the Earl and Countess of Doncaster, and their daughter
Lady Joanna, who is an unrepentant hoyden. I rather like her. And there are a
number of Lords this and Captains that, whom the esteemed aforementioned guest
requested attend, I cannot quite remember who is who.”

“Were you allowed to invite anyone?”

“Such was my question to Mercer. We had quite a little set to
about it. That resulted in my being allowed to include our local vicar, Mr.
Parrish, and his wife and daughter. They are of good family, but he is a fourth
son and practically penniless. He is a good vicar, though, and I enjoy their
company. And you, of course.”

“I hope I do not cause
undue
awkwardness for you,
Henrietta, due to my circumstances. Lady Stoughton and Lady Doncaster are sure
to disapprove of my being here.”

“Well, if they are unhappy, they are free to return home! It is my
house and my house party! “

“But you have Mercer’s career to consider.”

“If Mercer’s career cannot weather his wife inviting a dear friend
who is
temporarily
excluded from society, then he is not as clever as
both he and I think he is.”

“I certainly hope mine is a temporary banishment.”

“Poor Isobel! I know you felt abandoned. The
ton
can be so
merciless. I only wish I had been in town to comfort you sooner. Did no one
come to offer support?”

Isobel sighed. They had stayed up late into the night talking.
Isobel had truly bared her soul for the first time since hearing the staggering
words from Mr. Pickens. But there was still more to tell.

“Only my childhood friend from Kent, Andrew Stafford, recently
become Lord Saybrooke.”

“Ah, yes. I heard about poor Lionel succumbing to the influenza.
Such a pity. But, wait, Isobel. Is not the new Lord Saybrooke, the Drew that
you almost married so long ago?” asked Henrietta with relish, sensing more
drama.

“The very one.”

“My, my, that is interesting. Did he come to comfort you?” she asked,
a sparkle in her eyes.

“I believe that was his intent, but we argued and it ended with me
hurling a tea cup at his head,” Isobel answered, her face suffused with a rosy
blush.

“My, my,” said Henrietta again. “Did you hit him?”

“I am afraid not. My aim is off since becoming a respectable
duchess.”

“Well, now that you are a ‘Miss’ again, you will have to practice.”

“Shall I practice on your guests this week?” Isobel laughed,
enjoying her blunt friend’s frankness.

“You may need to. He is coming.” Henrietta pronounced.

“He? You mean Saybrooke? He is coming here?” Isobel’s smile faded.

“Yes, he is a friend of Mercer’s. At least he is a Whig and shares
some of Mercer’s ‘radical’ views. He is also an eligible bachelor, so he made
the list. But, my dear, there will be others. You need not see much of him if
you do not want to. There will be plenty of other very eligible men here ripe
for the plucking.”

“Henrietta, I did not come here to find a husband.” Isobel sounded
a bit petulant, even to her own ears.

“No?” Henrietta smiled and spoke in an off-hand manner. “No
matter. Perhaps we will find you one nevertheless.”

*****

Isobel stood beside Lord and Lady
Mercer and greeted the guests as they arrived. Not a hint of the agitation that
she felt showed on her carefully schooled features. The reaction of the other
guests as they greeted Isobel was varied. Lord and Lady Stoughton arrived first
and were obviously displeased with Isobel’s attendance at the house party. With
a barely imperceptible nod in Isobel’s general direction, Lord and Lady Stoughton
hurried their daughter, Lady Cynthia, past Isobel, their longish noses in the
air. Lady Cynthia was, as promised, beautiful and as predicted, cold. Lord
Pelton, a ruggedly handsome man of about thirty years and Captain Danvers, his
and dashing, if not quite handsome friend strode in soon after. They were full
of obvious admiration for the lovely Miss Kennilworth. Both men kissed her
hand. Lady Mercer ordered tea.

Lord and Lady Doncaster and
their daughter, Lady Joanna, arrived next. Lady Doncaster seemed flustered by
Isobel’s presence and her husband was cordially dismissive. Lady Joanna,
however, was disposed to be friendly toward Isobel, giving her an open and
charming smile and chattered about her lengthy journey, the pleasant weather
and fashion in London. She seemed a disarming sort of girl with an easy manner
and a ready wit. She was attractive in an understated way. Though expensively
dressed, there was a certain carelessness about her appearance. Her hair was
cropped stylishly short, her red gold curls framing an elfin shaped face. Though
Isobel had just met the young lady, she guessed that the short coiffure was
less for fashion than ease and comfort.

Lord Doncaster had already
found the tea tray, so it was incumbent upon Lady Doncaster to remind Lady
Joanna that she must not monopolize Miss Kennilworth’s time and she had yet to
greet Lord and Lady Stoughton and Lady Cynthia.

“Oh, mama, I just saw them in
London last night. I hardly think they are pining to greet me.” Isobel could
not suppress a grin as she watched the spirited girl and her long suffering
mother walk toward the others. Perhaps this will be enjoyable after all, she
thought.

The local vicar, Mr. Bertram
Parrish, and his wife, Mrs. Anne Parrish greeted not only Isobel, but the
entire party that had so far assembled with a hearty affability, so pleased
were they to be included in such an auspicious gathering. Their daughter, Mary,
trailed behind them looking as if she wished the floor would swallow her whole.
She is not bad looking
, thought Isobel as she greeted the young girl,
just
countrified and obviously painfully shy
.