What Isabella Desires (20 page)

She could stay and plead, cajole and beg, and it wouldn’t make one whit of difference. She knew Marcus, no matter what he said; she knew the core of him. And once he made his mind up like this, he was implacable.

Totally implacable.

And she didn’t know what to say when he had shut her out so completely. There was no rational argument, because whatever was behind this was driven by emotion. Something wholly uncharacteristic for Marcus, who tended toward strategic, rational thinking.

And when he made up his mind…implacable.

She opened her eyes and lifted her chin, wobbling though it was.

She gathered her clothing, slipping on her chemise and messily layering her dress over top—laces, buttons, and connectors askew. Just enough to clothe her, so she could walk from his room to hers without going naked. It was not as if the servants were stupid. They knew exactly what was going on between the two of them. Or what had been going on between the two of them.

Tucking the rest of her garments under her arm, she looked at him. Her voice was no more than a whisper, as if saying the words softly would make them less real.

“Good-bye, Marcus.”

He continued his silent vigil staring at the wall away from her. She didn’t merit a response. Wasn’t even worth a look.

A wave of sadness and despair crashed through her, and for a moment she found it difficult to breathe.

The silence grew so painful that she could stand it no longer. She turned on her heel and focused on the door. Her steps echoed through the room and the door seemed farther with every empty step.

She touched the handle and waited.

Nothing. Emptiness.

She walked out the door and listened as it clicked behind her.

She wondered what he would have done had she just stayed at the manor.

Probably left her there. Well-protected, well-cared for, and utterly forgotten.

Bertie popped her head in the door. “My lady, Lady Angelford and her children are in the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Bertie. I’ll be right down.”

She listlessly patted her hair into place, then trudged down the stairs.

“Good afternoon, Calliope.” She forced a smile. “Good afternoon, Lord William, Lady Mary.”

The two babies beamed and returned to playing with a string and two blocks. Their nanny hovered behind.

Calliope smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, worried as she looked. “Good afternoon, Isabella. How are you today?”

“As well as the day is sunny.”

The weather had been miserable for the past week.

Her friend gamely continued. “Are you ready to go to the Marstons?”

No.

“Yes, let’s be on our way.”

The fivesome entered the carriage and Isabella found herself with a small body pressed next to her, an adorable little face and two huge blue eyes peering up.

Her throat tightened. Mary reached up to play with a long feather in her bonnet, and Isabella bent to let her feel it, her arm going round the little body and hugging her close.

Calliope chattered about a rout that evening and other plans for the next few days. Ever since Isabella had arrived back in London last week, Calliope had been stuck to her side. It would be just like Marcus to have said something to Calliope. Nothing specific, just a veiled hint, as he had at the masquerade. There were other times that he’d probably done the same thing, now that she thought about it. She smiled bitterly. Always keeping track of and protecting her.

But she appreciated Calliope’s concern. Calliope tried to cheer her up by bringing the children around and asking after home remedies, or tried to keep her busy by bringing sick plants in need of care. Bertie, on the other hand, was causing her to go spare with her wailing diatribes of “his wretched lordship” or “her poor lamb.”

And her mother…well, her mother had threatened to return to London unless she confessed everything. Not satisfied with the vague misdirection sent her way, doubtless her mother would be on her doorstep within a week if she didn’t discover a way to placate her.

The problem was, for the first time she had taken a risk and ended up with consequences she didn’t know how to fix. She had known the risks, but her rosy optimism had colored the risks as less harsh than she now knew them to be. She’d thought that Marcus not returning her affection before had hurt…she hadn’t known the meaning of pain.

The Marston town house loomed ahead, with its double front draped with hanging plants and creeping ferns. Stephen loved his plants as much as Isabella loved her gardens. She usually enjoyed visiting, to see his newest creations and what he was experimenting on. Today she couldn’t be less interested.

Sterns, their butler, greeted them all at the door.

He bowed. “Good afternoon, Lady Angelford, Lord William, Lady Mary, Lady Willoughby, Miss Johnson.”

Calliope twinkled at him, hoisting Mary higher in her arms. “Afternoon, Sterns. How have you been? How’s your knee?”

He drew himself up and looked down his nose imperiously. “I know not of what you speak.”

Calliope ignored him and peered down at his left leg.

The butler drew back, offended. Or at least, mock offended. He had been Calliope’s butler for a few months while Stephen and she had been plotting, before she was married to James. So the two of them were good friends.

“I could make you a tisane, Sterns,” Isabella offered.

He sniffed. “I do not need a tisane.”

Calliope nodded vigorously behind him in the fashion of saying, “Yes, he does.”

“Of course you don’t. But you could share it with the others in the household, could you not? I would like to see if it is effective.”

“For the good of the others I might be able to do that, Lady Willoughby. The weather has been quite poor this week.”

Calliope smirked, but wiped it off when Sterns turned back to her. She set Mary down.

“This way,” the butler said.

Though Sterns was leading them, there was little need, as they very well knew the way. But he was a stickler for propriety. Or, at least the aspects of propriety that he felt necessary.

Audrey started to rise to greet them, but they shooed her back down in her chair—her pregnant belly extended far forward. William opened his mouth and a large belch echoed forth. Mary gummed the arm of a chair and grinned—around the wood—at Isabella.

Calliope sank into the seat across from Audrey and smiled wryly, peeling her wood-chewing child away and onto her lap. “And just think, soon you’ll be stuck with one too.”

Isabella busied herself with helping serve tea, eyes on the teapot and making sure to pour correctly. She hadn’t spilled a drop in years, but with a heavy film clouding her eyes, pouring became more difficult.

“Isabella, what is this I hear about you and Roth being estranged after your trip seaside?”

The teapot jerked in her hand and a small drop hit the table with a splat. Isabella had less in common with Audrey than with either Stephen or Calliope, but Audrey was immensely loyal and someone she was glad to have in her corner. She always cut to the heart of things. But sometimes it was hard being on the receiving end of her frankness.

Calliope studied her teacup, as if she could see something fascinating in its depths.

Isabella cleared her throat. “It was a lovely trip.”

It had been a lovely trip, all the way up until the end.

“And?”

“And it was time to return to town.”

“But you were barely there a week. And after all the struggle with leaving…”

She took a fortifying sip of her tea. “Luckily my absence has hardly been remarked upon due to the duration.”

Actually there had been one or two comments, but it was as if people didn’t know what to make of things.

“That doesn’t explain why you returned so quickly.”

She put her cup down. “The villains were caught, were they not?”

Audrey was watching her closely. “How much do you know of that business?”

“Only what Marcus would tell me.”

“Do you want to know more?”

She did. And yet, she didn’t. What was the point now?

She was getting maudlin again.

“Yes, I’d like to know more.”

“You know Roth looks into matters for the Foreign Office, correct?”

“Yes. I understood them to be diplomatic matters, but have started reforming my opinion.”

Audrey smiled. “That is what they want everyone to believe.”

“Telling our secrets, dear wife?”

Stephen strolled in, and Audrey visibly brightened. Isabella watched him place a kiss on top of her head. Watched her lean into his body. Watched William and Mary playing next to Calliope, their heads bowed together as they held some secret conversation without words. Isabella felt more in common with Miss Johnson, the nanny, at the moment. Though the nanny had a smile on her face, an easy air of belonging to the Angelford family. Isabella thought a smile might crack right off her face if she attempted one in this idyllic scene.

Maudlin? She was going to become downright weepy in a second. And for what? This was a familiar scene. She had been in this tableau before with these exact same people. But she had never felt the longing and loss quite so keenly.

“Too many secrets from Isabella here.”

He looked at the nanny. “Miss Johnson, we have just finished the nursery. Would you care to take William and Mary up? Sterns is outside and can show you the way.”

Miss Johnson nodded and disappeared with the two children on her hips.

They sat in silence for a moment. Isabella saw Audrey motion to Stephen with her hand.

He took a breath. “Isabella, the matters we take care of for the Office are complicated. Some of us started working there as a lark in our youth, some had something to prove, others just wanted to serve their country during the war in a way that was allowed—most heirs are not allowed to serve in the forces, for obvious reasons.”

“Some of what we do in the office spills over into other sections of life, most noticeably government dealings. When you get used to making life or death decisions and dealing with less than stellar segments of society, you sometimes tend toward, well…ruthlessness.”

She waited for him to say more. They all looked expectantly at her.

“Yes?” she said tentatively.

“We tend to make enemies.”

She waited for him to continue. He seemed to be waiting for the same.

“The villains will never be caught. Not totally. There will always be another.”

Ah.

“And even if Marcus leaves, there will always be someone who wishes him harm.”

“Yes, he does tend to produce that reaction.” She wouldn’t mind an opportunity with a cudgel herself.

“If you are with him, you will be in danger too.”

Isabella was mystified. “You think I’ll change my mind. Why would you think this would make me feel any differently about Marcus?”

Stephen smiled wryly. “We didn’t, but I can guarantee you that Marcus feels that way.”

She put her teacup down. “But that is not the full reason. It may be part of the reason, but it is not the full reason behind his…rejection.”

Lines appeared around Stephen’s eyes. Audrey and Calliope alternated between throwing out theories and comforting her, but Stephen remained silent and watchful.

She gripped her teacup and was both relieved and disappointed when Sterns reappeared to say that William had become fussy.

A round of fussing over the babies and intermittent conversation broke the tense atmosphere, and before she knew it, the visit was over.

Stephen gripped her hand as she walked toward the door. She felt a piece of paper slide into her gloved fingers.

“It’s always useful to have a sister-in-law with continuing ties to the underworld. Though it took a great deal of convincing for Faye to hand this over, you will find what it is you seek.” He paused and touched the tendril of a hanging fern. “I do hope.”

She walked outside, a bit unnerved, and opened the note as the rest of the group exited behind.

The note said: 7 Hampley Lane, Wednesdays at one p.m.

Odd. She turned to say something to Stephen, but he simply smiled mysteriously, and perhaps a bit sadly, as Sterns closed the door and his visage disappeared.

Two days later she found herself in front of a brick building located on a side street just off the busiest street in the district, Bertie at her side. She could see the carriages moving past on the thoroughfare, but few people turned to look down the small residential passage that resembled an alley more than a street.

Stephen’s mysteriousness and later refusal to answer her questions made her uneasy, especially given his comment about underworld ties and her recent craziness about being a target. But she trusted him, almost as much as she trusted Marcus, and if she thought about it rationally, underworld ties could merely mean information.

A sign to the side of the door read: “MARY CHATWOOD’S HOME.”

Isabella wasn’t sure she wanted to enter. Usually such a sign meant a group home—and sometimes new information was a dream destroyer. What if this Mary Chatwood were somehow related to Marcus? What if she were his mistress, or long hidden wife, and there were dozens of their children inside?

Would Stephen do that to her? Make her find out with her own eyes?

She knocked on the door. A small, elderly woman answered—her hair in a bun, wire glasses on the end of her nose. She propped her hand against the door and took a moment to inspect Isabella and her maid behind her. Her eyes grew wide and joyful.

“Are you from the Ladies’ Society? We had just thought to contact them. We didn’t expect a response so soon.”

The home had to be some sort of charity if they’d contacted the Ladies’ Society. Isabella relaxed fractionally. She was in fact a member of the Ladies’ Society, so she didn’t feel too much guilt when she replied in the affirmative.

The woman’s smile dimmed somewhat and she wrung her hands. “Oh, but we never have guests in on Wednesdays. It’s the one day closed to all.”

Isabella waited patiently, hoping that the woman would keep control of the conversation and allow her to just follow along. “Simone is in charge of contacting patrons,” the woman continued, “and I was sure she said she would invite you in for a Monday. What was Simone thinking?”