Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) (8 page)

“Of course, Lady Joanna, it
would be my pleasure,” said Isobel, happily dismissing all thoughts of Lady
Edgerton.

 “I have heard all about what
happened to you and want you to know I am sickened at how you were treated. My
mama says you will not be accepted in society because of this. How can anyone
possibly blame you?” said Lady Joanna without preamble.

“The
ton
does not need
a reason to lay blame, Lady Joanna. Anyone involved in a scandal, innocent or
not, is tainted by it.” While this was true, what Isobel did not say was that
all of London knew that she had trapped Reginald into marriage. While she was
duchess, this was of no account and not spoken of, except in whispers. Now that
she was simply Miss Isobel Kennilworth, the unsavory details of her “courtship”
and marriage would be trotted out for all to dissect until something juicier
came along. The
ton
would agree with Drew, drat him, that Isobel had
plotted her own demise.

“I think men are horrible, do
you not?” asked Lady Joanna, in what seemed to be a non sequitur to Isobel, but
made perfect sense to the mercurial Lady Joanna.

“Not all men,” ventured
Isobel, thinking of Lord Westcott, but choosing not mention it aloud. “Lord
Mercer is quite nice.”

“Yes, but he is already
married and Lady Mercer has him well-trained. This is my first season. It is
not going well, at least according to Mama and Papa, so they brought me here to
this house party. I am not taking, you see.” Lady Joanna did not sound the
least chagrined. On the contrary she was gleeful.

“And I would speculate,”
Isobel said to the little minx, “that you are not taking, because you do not
want to take.”

Isobel looked at the girl
before her. She was not a beauty, but she had that golden red hair, green eyes
and a vitality that made her attractive and engaging.

“You would be correct, Miss
Kennilworth.” A mischievous smile lit up the young girl’s face. Gradually Lady
Joanna’s smile faded and she stuck her chin out. “I have told my parents that I
will not marry. They do not believe me and will most likely try and force me.
My father says he will not, but he tires of my lack of interest. He has begun
pressuring me, but I will not be bullied!”

Isobel admired her spirit.
She herself had spirit like that once, for all the good it did her. Something
made her want to protect this girl, this hoyden, from the very things that
ruined her own life. “What are your options?”

“Options?” inquired Lady
Joanna.

“If you do not marry what do
you plan to do? Live with your parents for their lifetime? And if they pass on,
are you provided for at all?” Isobel knew she sounded harsh, but wanted to
press upon this idealistic young woman the seriousness of her predicament.

“I had not thought…” began
Lady Joanna.

“And if they force you to
marry, what should you do then? Have you somewhere to go?” persisted Isobel
mercilessly.

“They cannot force me,” Lady
Joanna replied, her chin thrust out. “This is not the dark ages.”

“Can they not? It may not be
the dark ages, but unmarried women have little or no power, even in this
enlightened age,” Isobel declared baldly.

“And you know this from your
own sad experience,” Lady Joanna said sympathetically.

“Yes, Lady Joanna, I am
indeed a cautionary tale come to life. Behold and beware!” Isobel said with a little
laugh.

Lady Joanna giggled at this
as Isobel had meant her to do. For a few moments the two ladies, simply
listened to the music in quiet and reflection. Out of the corner of her eye,
Isobel could see Lady Doncaster periodically casting nervous glances at her
daughter who was cozily chatting with “Her Grace in disgrace”. But, Lady Stoughton
was expounding on something that was no doubt of the most vital importance and
Lady Doncaster would not risk the Marchioness’ censure by walking away.

“I would not mind marriage so
much if I could find a man that I could really talk to, someone who would
respect me, respect my ideas.” Lady Joanna said after a few minutes of
contemplation. “A kindred spirit. I dream of such a union.”

“Ah, so there is a romantic
hidden under your hoydenish shell,” declared Isobel with a smile.

“I confess there is, though I
am loathe to admit it to many.” Lady Joanna flashed a playful grin at Isobel.
“Do you not wish for such a union, Miss Kennilworth? A partnership with mutual
respect and admiration?”

“My goodness, you should meet
my Aunt Maude. She has similar notions of wedded bliss,” Isobel said, avoiding
the question altogether. “She has the idea that a successful marriage can only
be made a man and a woman with complimentary temperaments.”

“I would love to meet your
Aunt and hear more about her ideas,” piped back Lady Joanna, her eyes
sparkling.

“Perhaps when we return to
London there will be an opportunity to do so.” Isobel could not promise the
minx.

“London,” sighed Lady Joanna.
“Back to the routs and balls and endless dancing.”

“Do you not care for
dancing?”

“I love to dance, but for
myself,” Lady Joanna said cryptically.

“Whom else would you dance
for?” Isobel raised her eyebrows.

“My mama, my papa. It is not
just about dancing, but one must perform in order to attract the most desirable
parti, to snag the elusive bachelor.” She nodded toward Miss Parrish as she
continued to play the piano. “Miss Parrish seems to play for herself, something
I admire. But I was taught that playing an instrument, stitching a sampler,
painting a watercolor, and engaging in witty conversation had but one goal in
mind; to catch a husband. For that reason, I never took to any of it. I find
that very few husbands, once caught, care a whit about their wives’ watercolors
or needlepoint seat covers.”

“You are a philosopher, Lady
Joanna. Where did you learn such wisdom?”

“Hardly, though my governess
is a bit unusual, for a governess. Now, you mustn’t tattle and tell mama, but
she has exposed me to a wide array of thinking; Rousseau, Plato, Aristotle, the
Bible and not just the stuffy parts… even Mary Wollstonecraft. I do not really
enjoy reading philosophy for it often confuses me, but I enjoy discussing it,
in a practical sort of way,” admitted Lady Joanna.

“Well, then, you must engage
Lord Saybrooke in conversation, for he also loves to discuss religion,
philosophy and how it is incumbent upon all human beings to do what they can to
positively impact the world around them. He used to be a vicar.”

“Truly? I would relish a
chance for such a discussion, but I fear it might not be prudent,” sighed Lady
Joanna.

“Why ever not? Lord Saybrooke
is a kindly sort of man, to most people; you need not fear him,” Isobel
reassured the young woman.

“Oh, I am not afraid of Lord Saybrooke;
I am not willing to tangle with Miss Hyde-Price. She has her trap set out for
Lord Saybrooke, and knowing what I know of Miss Hyde-Price, I dare not get in
the way of that trap. It could be very dangerous.”

Isobel looked at the little
blond cherub, smiling sweetly as she chatted with Lady Cynthia and Henrietta.

“Miss Hyde-Price?”

“Do not let her angelic
appearance fool you,” answered Lady Joanna, also taking in the beatific picture
that Miss Hyde-Price made. “She is anything but sweet.”

“Of whom are you speaking,
Joanna,” came a voice behind Isobel’s shoulder.

Lady Joanna looked up at her
mother and sighed, something Isobel noted that Lady Joanna did with frequency.
“Miss Hyde-Price, Mama.”

“Good heavens, Joanna,” said
that lady in hushed tones. “Be careful what you say. The Hyde-Prices are
excellent
ton
and very influential.”

“Yes, Mama. Sorry, Mama,”
intoned Lady Joanna flatly.

“Now, it is time you took
your place at the piano. The gentlemen will be returning shortly. You must
display yourself to your best advantage.”

“Mama, I play the piano
poorly and certainly not with the passion that Miss Parrish played.”

“What has passion to do with
it? Just play the correct notes and all will be well.”

“Which gentleman would you
have me impress? How will I know whether to play Bach or Mozart or a country
tune?” Lady Joanna managed a straight face and a sincere timbre to her voice.
Isobel was glad her back was toward Lady Doncaster because she could not
suppress a smile.

“Just play the piece you know
the best. Come now. Do not bother Miss Kennilworth with your childish prattle
any longer.”

“Oh, but I enjoyed my
conversation with Lady Joanna very much. You have a remarkable daughter, Lady Doncaster.
I am sure she will be the toast of this season. You must be very proud of her.”
Isobel turned to look at Lady Doncaster and bestowed on that lady her brightest
smile.

Lady Joanna covered a laugh
with a fit of coughing just as the gentleman entered. Out of the corner of her
eye, Isobel noticed Lord Mercer taking his wife aside. She wondered what was in
the note that was delivered to Lord Mercer at dinner. In the meantime, Lady Doncaster
hurried to ring for a glass of water for her daughter, just as Lady Joanna’s
coughing ceased. Isobel and the reluctant debutante exchanged knowing smiles.

“The toast of the season?”
laughed Lady Joanna.

Just then, Lord Mercer
cleared his throat. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I fear I have had some devastating
news from my estate in Surrey. There has been a fire that has taken a number of
lives and many of the crofters’ cottages. I regret that I must leave on the
morrow, for I am needed there. However, nothing need change here at Adelphi. I
beg that you would all stay as planned and keep my wife company. I hope to be
back by week’s end for the ball. ”

Isobel could see the
insincere smile pasted on Lady Mercer’s face; after all these were mostly his
friends! But, of course, her words were warm and welcoming. “Oh, my goodness,
yes, you all must stay! I have been quite cut off here, languishing in the
country. I beg you to remain and entertain me!”

There were smiles and murmurs
of assurances. Lord Mercer would go, the guests would stay.

Distracted by the unexpected
announcement, Isobel did not see Lord Saybrooke approach.

“Miss Kennilworth, it is a
fine night. I thought it might be pleasant to take a stroll in the garden.
Would you care to join me?” Saybrooke asked without a trace of pleasantness in
his voice.

“I was about to propose the
same thing, Saybrooke,” drawled Lord Westcott.

“Joanna!” called Lady Doncaster,
indicating the recently vacated piano.

“Excuse me gentlemen, Miss
Kennilworth. I must perform like a trained bear.” Lady Joanna shot Isobel a
parting smile and obediently played a mediocre rendition of Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata.

 “A thousand pardons,
Westcott, but I did ask first,” Saybrooke said through gritted teeth.

Westcott was much more at
ease and gave Isobel a dazzling smile. “Let us let the lady decide, shall we?”

Isobel looked at Drew and saw
his discomfort.

“Lord Westcott, I would be
pleased to stroll in the garden with you on another occasion. I must concede to
Lord Saybrooke’s prior request.” Lord Westcott’s smile remained fixed in place,
though it no longer reached his eyes. He bowed to Isobel. “I look forward to
it.”

Lord Saybrooke extended his
hand, helping Isobel rise from the settee. Placing her hand in the crook of his
arm, Isobel and Saybrooke walked into the torch lit garden. Isobel took a few
steps away from Saybrooke and admired Henrietta’s charming garden. The scent of
lily of the valley drifted in the unusually warm spring air and Isobel breathed
in the sweet, seductive smell. Saybrooke looked at her, wreathed in moonlight.
His breath caught.

“Izzy, I must talk to you.”
Saybrooke’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I assumed so, since you are
not one to suggest a moonlight garden stroll.” Isobel turned to face him and
they stood without speaking for a few moments.

“I am truly sorry about what
happened when I last saw you,” began Saybrooke.

“But not about what you
said.” It wasn’t a question.

“Dash it all, Izzy. Can we not
just forget about it? Can we not be friends again?” Lord Saybrooke, former
vicar and used to making sermons, was having a very hard time finding the words
he wanted to say to Isobel. Saybrooke pulled his fingers through his sandy hair
ruining, his valet’s effort.

“We were friends when we were
children. When we last parted, not recently in London, but years ago in Kent,
we were much more than friends, Drew. I do not think we know how to be friends
in adulthood. We seem to have lost the knack of it.”

“We have not even tried. Not
really. Perhaps you can help me? What can I do to prove a friend to you?”

“It seems to be my night for receiving
the offer of masculine friendship. Lord Westcott also offered his friendship,
but he did not need to ask how, Drew. He seemed to realize that all I needed
was a little kindness and not a lecture,” Isobel looked at Saybrooke his tall
frame swathed in moonlight. How she had loved him once.