The Wrong Woman (4 page)

“My attitude?”

“Stop repeating!” Cat whined. “Aunt Hetty, please tell Izzy that she's being childish.”

Both women turned to their aunt who was sedately flipping the pages of a book and pretending to ignore them. She had a coy smile on her face that showed she knew just what was happening, though.

“What? I'm sorry. I was not listening.”

Cat huffed. “Don't take Izzy's side.”

“I'm not taking anyone's side, Cat,” Aunt Hetty spoke calmly, setting aside her book.

“Then tell Izzy to be civil to Lord Revere!”

“Be civil to Lord Revere, Isobel dear. It will make your sister happy.”

“Oh, by all means, aunt.
Cat
must be happy. But I still insist I was not being uncivil to the man.”

“Then what was that horrid snort you uttered?”

“I told you. I had something in my throat.”

“Izzy, stop.” Cat stamped her foot. “I can tell by your glaring and your noises when he is in the room that you do not like Lord Revere. And I know you have your reasons for it. But you must see that Lord Revere is
trying
to be polite to you. And I rather like him for it. You do not make it easy and yet he persists. If you have any other objections to him, besides what I already know about, tell me now before I decide to throw myself into loving him.”

“Love!” Isobel was startled to hear Cat put it so plainly. But yes, that was what she would expect, wouldn't she? All Cat knew of marriage she'd learned from fairy tales and romances and from watching their parents' own happy marriage. She knew little of how society marriages were actually conducted. “But how could you love...”

“How could I love him?” Cat repeated the question, some anger in her voice.

“Yes, you don't know him at all.”

“And you do?” The question hung in the air. “It would be easy enough to fall in love with the man. He is very handsome and wealthy. And he has treated me very nicely.”

“Yes, he has, hasn't he,” Isobel could feel her cheeks flushing with emotion. “Because you are a very beautiful young woman. You will make a nice prize on his arm. Your dowry helps, too.” Isobel immediately regretted her angry speech. They sat in silence for a moment.

“Isobel Masters, are you
jealous
?” Cat began to laugh. The sound broke the tension that had built in the room. Aunt Hetty and Isobel joined in the laughter. “I do not want you to be jealous of me, dear sister.”

“Oh, Cat. Of course I am not jealous. I do want you to be happy.”

“But I do not want my happiness to come between us. I will forget Lord Revere if it means that much to you.”

“No,” Isobel sighed, “you should not. I promise to be more civil toward him.”

“And you will try to see the good things about him?”

“I will try,” Isobel agreed. “Though it might be hard for me. I am so used to seeing him as my nemesis.”

“Oh, thank you, Izzy.” Cat kissed her sister's cheek. “You will have your first chance to try liking him when we go driving in two days!”

“Indeed,” Isobel gave her sister a weak smile. “I shall begin to prepare myself this very moment.”

Chapter 5

Miles was still puzzling over his disconcerting visit to Catherine Masters when he arrived home that night. He'd spent the afternoon and evening at his club – where he had managed to lighten Blume's pockets by a considerable amount. Webster, his butler, greeted him with the news that a visitor awaited him in the library.

Miles was puzzled. Who would visit at this hour? He opened the door to see a young man of five and twenty kicking at the ashes that had escaped from the fireplace.

“Jack.”

The man turned and, in the same emotionless tone of voice, said, “Miles.”

The two looked wary of each other. Then Jack rushed forward and embraced Miles with strong arms and a magnificent smile dimpling his youthful cheeks.

“Brother, it is good to see you!” Jack effused. Miles returned the exuberance in a show of emotion that felt quite unnatural here in this place in town. The muscles of his face pulled themselves into a genuine smile, an expression he had not made in a month or more.

“What trouble are you in now, Jack, that you grace my doorstep so late?” Miles asked when they had broken their embrace.

John Shepherd – or Jack as he had always been called by family and friends – was seven years younger than Miles and had always looked up to his older brother as a model.

“Why come to town, brother?” Mischief played in Jack's eyes. “To visit your charming self, of course!” Miles raised a quizzical eyebrow at his brother.

“Is that the truth?”

“Of course!” Jack smiled. “Almost...”

“Almost?” He stared at the boy until he cracked.

“Oh, all right.” Jack rolled his eyes and sighed. “Mother sent me to town.”

“She did?” This was something new. Mother generally disliked town. She especially disliked sending her mischievous children there for fear of what they might get up to. The instinct had deepened after Wesley's accident all those years ago. So to send Jack to town meant something big must have happened.

“Yes, mother sent me here to stay with you.”

“What on earth have you done?”

“Nothing!” Jack protested his innocence. “Almost...”

Miles chuckled. “Come on, Jack. Tell me the truth.”

“Mother sent me to stay with you because, according to her, I was getting too friendly with the local girls.” Jack rolled his eyes.

Miles laughed aloud now. “Really, Jack? Who is it this time?” Jack had been getting too friendly with the local girls for all of his life. They generally could not resist his good looks and genial humor. He was a handsome young man with light brown hair that was always falling over his forehead and bright blue eyes that reflected whatever shade of light he was standing under. Especially girls of a certain age saw Jack as an irresistible force.

“Annabelle Cooper,” Jack grinned.

“I'm not certain I remember an Annabelle Cooper.”

“She's the blacksmith's youngest daughter.”

“Good lord, Jack. How old is she? She was just a baby the last time I saw her.”

“She's seventeen, Miles! I do have some standards.”

Miles cocked his eyebrow again in disbelief. “You are twenty-five.”

“Well, at least I have some standards of beauty, if not exactly age...”

“So she is a beautiful creature?”

“Exceptional.” Jack sighed. “Miles, you should see her. She has the most brilliantly blonde hair that falls all around her shoulders in ringlets and her eyes... oh, her eyes...”

“Stop!” Miles held up his hand. “Stop before you go any further. I do not need to hear about your paragon of beauty. You are quite smitten with her, I see, and I cannot stand to hear you sigh over your new love. Clearly, mother does not approve.”

“Of course not. She considers Annabelle to be too silly for me. And there is the question of her being a blacksmith's daughter. But if mother would only meet her...”

Miles held his hand up again, quelling any further rhapsodies. “And so mother has sent you to town, thinking the dangers here to be less than the dangers of home. This is quite a reversal of her normal position. Could she not have warned me that you were coming?”

“She could have. But then she thought you would have refused to take me.”

“And she would have been correct.” Miles was genuinely happy to see Jack, despite the impromptu nature of the visit and the knowledge that Miles was expected to keep a careful eye on him.

A thought occurred to Miles, his brother might actually be useful now that he was here.

“Speaking of women, Jack, what are your plans for town?”

“Nothing really. Why? Do you have a beautiful lady for me to meet?”

“Yes and no. I would like you to meet her, but the beautiful one is mine.”

“Miles!” Jack looked at his brother in delighted surprise. “Have you finally fallen in love? I never thought I'd see this day.”

“You aren't seeing this day, Jack. Calm yourself. I am not in love, but I have chosen a lady who I think will make a very good wife. I am determined to win her hand. Mother has been nagging me again lately about my duty.”

“Your duty? But you do not love her? How can you contemplate a marriage without love?” Jack read entirely too much poetry.

“I can easily contemplate such a thought. Marriage does not require the kind of love you like to fancy yourself in every other day. I plan to marry a steady girl who will raise my children and do her duty by me and the family. I do not need the other benefits.”

Jack looked stricken, unable to believe what his brother had just pronounced. “But she is at least beautiful?”

Miles smiled. “Oh yes, she sounds quite like your fair beauty from home.” Miles saw Jack's eyes light up. “But she is
mine
, brother. Do not even think about whisking her away from me.”

“What is her name? Tell me everything about her.”

“Her name is Catherine Masters and she is a petite blond woman.”

“How are her eyes?”

“Her eyes?”

“Yes, her eyes! What color are they? They are the windows to the soul, as the saying goes.”

Miles thought hard. What color were Miss Catherine's eyes? He had not considered their color, only that whatever it was suited her completely and enhanced the picture of loveliness she created.

“I do not know what color they are.”

“Miles!” Jack exclaimed. “But I guess that is to be expected from one without a spare thought for dreaming or love.”

“Not fair, brother,” Miles laughed at Jack. “I dream plenty, but I reserve that for my bed. When you meet her, look at the color of her eyes and report back to me. You seem very much more concerned with it than I am.” The brothers went silent, lost in thoughts of beautiful blond-haired women.

“So,” Jack interrupted the comfortable quiet that had fallen over them, “if I am to meet this beauty and
not
fall in love with her, what shall I occupy myself with while I am in town?”

Miles was recalled to the plan he had formed earlier. “Well, I do have a favor to ask of you.”

“I'm listening.”

“Miss Catherine has an older sister who also acts as her chaperone.”

“Is she beautiful, too? I would not so much mind an older woman, I think...”

“No,” Miles said decidedly, whether to answer his brother's question or simply quell the mischievous look that had come into Jack's eye, Miles himself did not know.

“She's not beautiful? What a pity. But still, perhaps I shall fall in love with her anyway. Perhaps she likes poetry and love and as much as I do. Is she an old matron with a lonely soul? Beauty fades, you know.”

“Jack,” Miles rolled his eyes. “Leave off of love for a moment. The elder Miss Masters is...” he did not want to be uncharitable, “... quite plump and she does not like me too well, though I am not entirely sure why that is.” He did know why but it was too much to explain to Jack now.

“You have probably injured her in some way. Or perhaps she simply does not like your looks.” Jack giggled.

“I believe it might be a grudge from a long time ago.” His brother did not press him to explain. “So, will you accompany us to the park in two days?”

“Yes. I feel that I must try to clear the Shepherd name, after whatever damage you have done to it with the elder Miss Masters,” Jack nodded.

Miles was doubtful of Jack's ability to change Isobel Masters' mind, but he welcomed the distraction his brother could provide for the woman who hated him while Miles was wooing her sister. He could keep his eye on Jack, as mother had clearly intended, and work on marrying Miss Catherine at the same time. Mother would be happy on both counts. Jack would be happy to be around a beautiful woman and perhaps to talk poetry with Miss Masters. And Miles would be content to do his duty in all things.

Chapter 6

Isobel was trying her best to enjoy herself. The day was fine and she was on her way to the park. Forget the fact that she was in Lord Revere's barouche and Cat was sitting a little too close to him on the front seat. Mr. Jack Shepherd sat beside Isobel in the back. Though the men had said it was Mr. Shepherd’s pleasure to ride with them, Isobel had quickly guessed that Lord Revere's younger brother was meant to keep her occupied while Lord Revere made up to Cat.

Isobel glared at the back of Lord Revere's head. So intent was she on this project that Isobel hardly had a moment to spare for the young man sitting next to her. He was desperately trying to grab her attention with some topic of conversation.

“Miss Masters, have you read much poetry?”

“I have, yes, Mr. Shepherd.” Isobel's answer was short. Had Lord Revere moved closer to her sister? Isobel's eyes narrowed, trying to measure the distance.

“Who is your favorite poet?”

“Hmm?” Isobel had not heard his question.

“Poetry. I was attempting to talk of poetry, Miss Masters. And not doing a very good job of it, apparently.” He smiled in a self-deprecating way.

“I am sorry, Mr. Shepherd,” Isobel felt badly for ignoring him. He did seem to be trying to entertain her. With a last glance at her sister in the front seat, Isobel turned her attention to the young man. He at least had not yet earned her wrath. For Cat's sake she would try to be pleasant this afternoon. “I am sorry. My attention was distracted briefly. Poetry, you ask?”

“Yes, I was asking if you read any.”

“Indeed, Mr. Shepherd. I read it voraciously. It is one of the many accomplishments a respectable woman of middle age is allowed to own.”

“Middle age!” Mr. Shepherd exclaimed. “Hardly. You cannot be a day over twenty, Miss Masters.”

Isobel saw mischief in his eyes. She could not resist it and they both laughed.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Shepherd. But it is sadly true. I am nearing thirty years old. Quite a middle-aged spinster. And much too honest to delude myself that I am anything more.”

“We disagree about your age and prospects, Miss Masters. But perhaps we shall agree on poetry. Who is your favorite?”

“Favorite? Must I choose one?”

Mr. Shepherd made a grand gesture. “If you had only one poet to read in the entire world for the rest of your life, who would you choose?”