Louise Allen (20 page)

‘She grew so quickly,’ Jane said. ‘One minute she was still a chubby little baby and the next, there she is—a little girl. Now I think we can see what they will be like when they grow up. They are both going to have the Needham height, don’t you think?’

‘Yes,’ Isobel agreed, swallowing the tears that threatened to well up. It was ridiculous to weep because she was so happy to be here and it would frighten Annabelle. ‘I cannot believe how she has grown.’

She had dreamed of the experiences she and her ‘niece’ would share as Annabelle grew up. They would go shopping together, she would be there at her first parties, her first dance. She would hear her whispered confidences about first love.

‘Isn’t it bath time?’ she asked, grinning at little Nathaniel as he stuck out his lower lip mutinously. ‘Come along, I’ll tell you stories about Wimpole Hall where I have been staying and about London and I’ll tuck you up in bed.’

‘Cake,’ Annabelle said. ‘Cake and bath and stories and bed.’

‘Bath and bed and stories now, cake in the morning,’ Isobel countered, holding out her hand to the little boy. ‘How many stairs is it up to bed? I’ll wager you cannot count them yet.’

‘I can!’ He was off at a run and Isobel followed him, her cheek pressed against Annabelle’s soft one.
Oh, Lucas, what a lovely child we made. I’ll protect her, I promise
.
Even if the danger was from the man she now loved.

* * *

‘Come and see the kittens.’ Annabelle stood beside the breakfast table and hopped from one foot to the other while Isobel spread honey on her last piece of toast. ‘Mama says I may have a kitten.’

‘A puppy,’ Nathaniel contradicted.

‘Both,’ Jane said, rolling her eyes. ‘But by the time they decide which they are going to have they’ll be grown cats and dogs.’

‘Shall I help choose?’ Both heads nodded as one—this was obviously the solution to an intractable problem.

‘Come along, then.’ Isobel put down her napkin. ‘And wrap up warmly.’

The farmyard was enclosed, with high arches in the walls to east and west. The walls kept out the wind and the stall-fed cattle and the horses kept the barns and stables surprisingly warm, so it was no hardship to sit on a bale outside the cowshed while the children brought out the kittens and puppies for inspection.

‘I think the little boy with the white tip to his tail,’ she said to Nathaniel. The pup was big and bold and looked as though he would cope well with the rough and tumble of life with Nathaniel. ‘And the black-and-white kitten with the white tip for Annabelle—and then they will match.’

Delighted, the children reached for their new pets and Annabelle promptly had her knuckles swiped by the mother cat who had stalked out to see what was going on. Isobel hauled the crying child onto her lap and hugged her and the kitten equally while she wrapped a handkerchief around the scratched hand. ‘It is all right, she was only cross because—’

‘What a charming picture. Maternal love. I thought that must be the secret, from the timing of things.’ The deep, familiar voice cut through the sounds of the farmyard, the child’s sobs, the barking of the sheepdog on its chain.

Chapter Twenty

I
sobel froze and Annabelle stopped wailing to inspect the new arrival.

‘Go—’ With an effort Isobel moderated her tone so as not to frighten the children. ‘Nathaniel, Annabelle, go inside and ask Cook to find a proper bandage for Annabelle’s hand and tell her I said you may have a slice of cake each.’

They ran, tears and strange men forgotten, before she changed her mind about cake directly after breakfast. Isobel stood up, the kitten unregarded in her hands. ‘You are not welcome here, Giles. How did you get in?’

‘The brawny yokel outside is guarding the front gate, but he does not appear to have the wit to work out that there is a perfectly obvious track leading to this one.’ Giles strode across the straw-strewn yard and stopped by the mounting block.

‘What do you want?’ Isobel demanded.

‘To discover if what I suspect, what my mother believes she has discovered, is true.’

‘Your mother discovered? So this is blackmail?’
Is it a secret that lays you open to blackmail, perhaps?
Giles had asked.
He knows
, she thought, a sort of bleak misery settling over her, eclipsing even the fear.

‘It would have been if I had not caught Geraldine in time and made her tell me exactly what she had discovered about you. She’s as protective as that mother cat and has about as many scruples.’

‘What do you think you know?’ Isobel asked. Her lips felt stiff, the question almost choked her, but she had to know what she was fighting.

‘That you have a love child whom you gave away to your friend to raise as her own.’

‘I did not want to let her go!’ The kitten gave a squeak of protest and Isobel set it down next to its mother who promptly began to wash it. ‘It was the only thing to do. I suppose you think I have no courage because your mother kept you.’

‘I have to thank her for that,’ Giles said.

‘It seems she had no scruples about shaming her family or taking you from your grandfather’s care. You grew up with a mother who had a scandalous reputation, and, apparently, she had no concerns about bringing you up to have to fight every day of your life because of who you are.’

‘She gave me life and she gave me, I hope, some of her courage. But she had to fight for so long that she does not know how to stop. When I discovered that she had found out something to your detriment and was coming here to threaten you with it, I stopped her.’

‘How? Are you telling me you can control that woman?’

‘Oh, yes. She believed me when I told her that if she tried to hurt you I would take her back to the Dower House, lock her in and keep the key. I have done it before when she went beyond the limit and I’ll do it again if I have to.’

‘Then I must thank you for that, at least,’ she threw at him. ‘But if you have the situation under control, what are you doing here?’

‘I wanted to make sure you were safe here, that her agents had gone. I knew you had a secret before she discovered what it was.’

‘How?’ She had been so careful...

‘Just putting together things that you said. I realised it was something here, in Herefordshire, something to do with Needham.’ He took a step towards her, then shook his head and turned back to hitch one hip on the mounting block. ‘I must have gone over every word you have said to me, Isobel. Every silence, every moment when there was such sadness in your eyes. Until I realised she was on your trail all I wanted to do was protect you by keeping away.’

‘Why, Giles? Why did you care so much? Are you—?’ Isobel broke off, her courage almost failing. But she had to know. ‘Are you telling me you love me after all?’ she asked flatly.

‘No,’ he said, his face tight and stark. ‘Nothing has changed, Isobel. I care for you, I want to keep you safe. And I am every bit as ineligible for you as I ever was.’

Her pride would not let her weep or plead. ‘What a good thing,’ she said. ‘Of course, I have realised that I do not love you—it was a foolish infatuation when I was lonely and miserable. Now I am doing the Season and looking for a husband—I will be delighted if I never see you again.’

‘I was a foolish infatuation, was I, Isobel? In that case either your acting skill is incredible or you have equally good powers of self-deception. You fell in love with me and I believe your current protestations as much as I did those at Oxford or at the ball.’

‘I am not a good actress, merely someone telling the truth,’ she said forcing the words out between numb lips. ‘I needed what you could give me at Wimpole. I needed heat and warmth and...affection.’ One brow slanted up satirically at the euphemism. She felt her cheeks burn red. ‘You do not care for me now, so why are you concerning yourself? I told you at Oxford that I did not want you.’

‘On the contrary, at Oxford you told me I had betrayed your trust and your feelings.’ He stood up and took one step towards her before her upflung hand stopped him.

‘I would say anything to get rid of you,’ she threw at him, desperate to hang on to the last shreds of her self-control. ‘I do not want you, I do not need you—all I need is your silence and for you to keep your blackmailing mother silent also.’

‘So the little girl is your daughter and your friend is raising her as the twin of her son.’ He glanced down at the Border Collie puppy that was attempting to chew the heel of his boot, picked it up by the scruff and handed it to Isobel. She caught it up without taking her eyes from his face and clutched the warm squirming bundle to her bosom like a shield. ‘She has your eyes. May I see her?’

‘No! I have told you, I do not want anything more to do with you. Go back to London and marry a wife your mama will buy you. She will purchase your heirs in the same way as she bought your accent and your education and your smooth society manners.’

‘No one controls my life.’ There was anger in his voice. ‘Not since I was a child. Do you condemn my mother for wanting the best upbringing she could get for me? What do you buy for your child, Isobel? Do you pay for her clothes and her nurse? Will you pay for her governess? Will you search for the right husband for her when she is old enough to make her come-out, even if you do it from behind the walls of your own home? Or will you wash your hands of her and leave it all to Mrs Needham so you can walk away and find this husband you seek?’

‘Between us Jane and I will do everything we can for the children. I thought this would be best for Annabelle. I did not want her to grow up as...’

‘A bastard?’ Giles enquired in a tone that made her wince. ‘I manage.’

‘I do not want her to have to
manage
. And it is different for a woman and you know it,’ she threw at him.

‘Isobel, are you all right?’ She turned and there was Jane, a shotgun in the crook of her arm. ‘Don’t you dare lay a finger on her,’ she said fiercely to Giles.

Giles took a reckless step towards the woman with the gun. A woman who Isobel knew was perfectly capable of taking a shot at a cattle thief. And now it was the children under threat. ‘There is no call to shoot anyone.’

‘None at all if you leave,’ Jane agreed. ‘And are silent about this.’

‘I will tell no one,’ Giles said. Then, ignoring both Jane and the gun, he went to stand in front of Isobel. He lifted the puppy from her arms and set it down before catching her hands in his. ‘Isobel, I thought you loved me.’ He spoke directly to her as though they were alone, so close she could feel his warmth, smell his familiar scent of clean linen and citrus and something that was simply Giles.

‘I—’ She stared into the green eyes and the farmyard seemed to vanish. Jane, the animals, everything faded away and there was only the two of them, handfast. She could not lie to him, not about this. ‘Yes, I love you. I try not to, but I cannot lie to you about it.’ And in his eyes she thought she read an answering love and all the doubt and fear vanished. ‘I love you, I trust you and I am sorry that my faith in you wavered for a while.’

She waited for the words, but they did not come, only a shadow that clouded the clear green eyes and a twist of the mouth that she so much wanted to kiss. ‘Do you truly not love me?’ she had to ask at last when he did not speak. ‘Can I be so wrong in what I feel from you?’

‘I cannot allow myself to love you, Isobel. There is no future for us. Nothing has changed except that now I know you are too vulnerable with this secret to risk the slightest breath of scandal. The secret is safe, I promise you. There will be no risk, Isobel, because this ends here. This is where we part.’

‘I know.’ She had faced that finally on the long drive. There had never been any hope because a scandal would ruin him, would break her parents’ hearts, might even compromise Annabelle’s future in ways she could not foresee. ‘I know that. I give up.’ Her voice cracked and she controlled it somehow. ‘I just need you to tell me how you feel, Giles.’

‘No.’ His face was stark as he bent his head. ‘No, I will not say I love you, Isobel. Only that I care too much to make this worse than it already is.’ The kiss was gentle, achingly tender. His lips lingered on hers and she could taste the heat and the passion that he was holding in check, feel the tremor that ran through him when she raised her arms and curled them around his neck to hold him for just a moment longer.

‘Goodbye, Isobel.’ He turned and strode out of the yard and when she sank down onto the bale, her legs too weak to hold her, and looked around, she was alone. Jane had gone. Distantly there was the sound of carriage wheels, then silence.

Something wet touched her hand and she looked down. The puppy that had been chewing Giles’s boot was licking her hand. It wasn’t the pup Nathaniel had chosen, but a skinny little female with a comical white patch over one eye. Isobel scooped her up and the puppy licked her nose.

‘Hello,’ Isobel said, her voice sounding thready in her own ears. Then she got up and walked inside with the dog in her arms. ‘One more day and then we are going to London,’ she said to it as it wriggled.

‘Isobel.’ Jane stood just inside the empty kitchen and hugged her and the pup together. ‘Oh, my dear.’ When Isobel just shook her head she said, ‘I would not have shot him, you know. Not the man you love.’

‘Thank you,’ Isobel said, her smile hurting. ‘I will go home tomorrow. May I take the puppy? I don’t expect trying to housetrain a dog in a post-chaise is easy, but I will manage. We will be fine.’

‘Of course you will,’ Jane said and her face showed that she knew it was not the puppy that Isobel was talking about. ‘Come and let Annabelle choose a name for it.’

* * *

A puppy in a post-chaise was certainly an excellent distraction. Maude, as Annabelle inexplicably named the black-and-white bundle, proved to be ravenously hungry and ate and drank everything put in the dishes on the floor for her—with inevitable consequences. Jane had the foresight to give them a small sack of sawdust and a large roasting dish, so Dorothy climbed out to empty it at every stop, complaining vociferously.

But Isobel would not let her chastise Maude, even when she started to chew shoes and the edge of the carriage rug. ‘She’s only a baby, Dorothy,’ she said, picking up the puppy and receiving a wet slurp on the nose for her pains. With a contented sigh the little dog went to sleep on her lap, worn out by her adventure.

Which left all the stages from Gloucester still to sit through. They would not arrive in London until past ten that night after a six o’clock start in the morning. Dorothy started to doze, wedged in one corner against the jolting, but Isobel sat upright, cradled the puppy on her lap and let her mind wander where it might. She was too tired and too hurt to try to think sensibly. And besides, what was there to think about?

Other than Annabelle, she realised with a smile that faded as the guilt took over once more. Her parents would adore her and yet they would never know they had a granddaughter.

She realised she was about to drift off, and did not fight it. It would bring dreams, she supposed, but dreams were all she had left now.

Trust...I trust you
.
The words she had said to Giles. But it was not his face in the dream, it was her parents, watching her anxiously. She woke, but the image did not fade. They had trusted her when she had fled to Hereford, loved her enough to leave her there a year when she wrote and begged not to be asked to come home. They had believed her when she was sent home in disgrace after the house party when virtually no one else had. If she could trust anyone, she could trust her parents, she realised. Perhaps, after all, some good could come of this unhappiness.

Isobel curled into the corner of the chaise and went back to sleep.

* * *

‘God, she has courage, my Isobel,’ Giles said to himself as he sat at the writing table in his inn bedchamber.

Isobel, so frank, so brave, so direct with the truth and with her love. She had known he would never act on his true feelings, never show her what was in his heart. The most she could hope for was his flirtation and his idle, thoughtless kisses. So she had shown him what love was.

He screwed up what he had been writing and threw the paper on the fire. A letter would only do more damage. He had written the words he had wanted to say, the true words. But they were better as ashes—it would do Isobel no good to tell her he loved her.

What was he going to do now? He was not going to marry Miss Holt, that was certain. Somehow he would have to make Geraldine accept that. She only wanted him to be happy and she found his independence infuriating. She wanted to arrange everything to her satisfaction, including his happiness.

He would be happy again, one day, he supposed. One day.