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"Perhaps," he replied quietly, "it is because I am not entirely sanguine concerning my prospects." He didn't know why he'd told her, but her soft "I see" reassured him.
"I do care for her," he confessed, as though the words were being pried from him, "a great deal. But I did not realise it until very recently."
"Yes. I understand how that can be. But I must tell you frankly, sir, that I wish you'd realised it somewhat sooner. Isabella has always been a clever, sensible girl, but in the past day or so...Ah, well. Time is always the enemy." She looked at him—rather sadly, he thought—but did not enlighten him further. "Nonetheless, I shall wish you success."
As he rose to take his leave, she added, "I'm afraid you'll not find her at home this morning. But we shall see you tonight?"
He nodded.
"Good." And, giving him a graceful white hand, she bid him adieu.
Chapter Eleven
After one last go-round, to see that all was as it should be, Isabella slipped away to a temporarily isolated comer of what a great deal of money and a great many servants had turned into a ballroom. Her face ached with the effort of smiling, but it was nothing to the aching of her head and heart. Basil's words had done their poisonous task. Yes, of course she'd been discontented at times in London. And she'd been unhappy at times at home. But there had been nothing in her life—not Papa's death, certainly, for he was a stranger to her—to prepare her for this utter misery of spirit.
And of course it was all her own fault. What business had she becoming infatuated with an earl, for heaven's sake? An earl who had—if one simply looked at what was under one's very nose—already found himself an entirely suitable countess, thank you. See, wasn't he smiling appreciatively at one of Lady Honoria's witticisms? She was reputed to be very clever. And certainly, she was the most beautiful woman in the room.
Isabella gave a small sigh, manufactured a benevolent smile, and gazed out over the multitude. For multitude it was, despite Lady Belcomb's ominous predictions. Mrs. Drummond Burrell might scold about "carryings-on," and refuse to honour the proceedings with her presence; but the vast majority was not such high sticklers. And they were curious to see for themselves Isabella and Basil in action. For the sad truth was, a great deal more had been talked about than had actually been seen, and London Society was eager to learn whether Isabella would outdo even Caro Lamb in making a public spectacle of herself. To society's disappointment, Miss Latham was the perfect lady, and Mr. Trevelyan's behaviour was punctiliously correct.
But Isabella was far less concerned with the ton's interest in herself than with their utter lack of interest in Alicia. The dowagers were coldly polite when they weren't outright rude, and the debutantes ignored her altogether. That Alicia was wealthy and devastatingly beautiful made her crime—a cit's daughter trying to elbow her way into Society—all the more heinous. Thus the early part of the evening had been an agony for Isabella.
Few gentlemen asked Alicia to dance, and those few were the same indigent gentlemen who'd made up Isabella's admiring circle in recent weeks.
Lord Tuttlehope had arrived rather late, on account of changing his clothes fourteen times and ruining two dozen cravats. And when he finally did arrive, he was so mortified at his tardiness and so convinced of having sunk forever in Alicia's esteem on this account that he was afraid to speak to her. It thus took him some time to notice that Veronica was surrounded by admirers and Alicia was not. Gradually, it penetrated his wits that his golden-haired darling was being snubbed. This made him mightily indignant, and he forgot his imagined disgrace as he bravely strode up to her.
Somehow Alicia managed to comprehend and accept his incoherent request for a dance, her face becomingly suffused with blushes. These having effectively routed his embarrassment, though causing him the most exquisite pain, he was able to keep both from treading on his fair one's toes and from stumbling over his own.
The next dance was claimed by Lord Hartleigh, who, if truth must be told, would never have noticed Alicia's plight on his own. But more than once he'd noted the concern on Isabella's face and her worried glances toward her attractive cousin. When the dance was over, he lingered a moment longer than necessary, as though he found Alicia's conversation utterly fascinating. The moment was just enough, however, to raise a flutter in the fair Honoria's breast and to kindle the competitive spirit of all the fine gentlemen in the immediate vicinity. After all, Alicia Latham was beautiful and rich, and if the Earl of Hartleigh, with his immaculate breeding, did not object to this cit's daughter, why should they? Within a quarter hour, Alicia found herself forced to break at least a dozen hearts because there were not dances enough to go round or hours enough to go round in.
Lord Tuttlehope, however, for his astounding act of courage, earned the promise of a second dance, and was allowed the unlooked-for privilege of escorting Alicia in to supper. Emboldened by this honour, the baron declared that he personally would speak to Lady Cowper in the matter of obtaining Alicia a voucher for Almack's.
"But Lady Jersey has already refused me," Alicia gently reminded him.
"Her own grandfather was a banker. Don't know where she gets her notions. But no one shall refuse you," her hero replied, and blinked so hard at his own audacity that his eyes watered.
Alicia had found a moment to hurriedly relate this interesting exchange to Isabella before an eager young major swept her back to the dance floor. So, Isabella thought, Lord Tuttlehope had a spine after all. But would his family accept his choice? Though they might not be able to influence the young man, they certainly might contrive to make Alicia miserable. Immersed in her thoughts, Isabella did not hear the two young ladies approach, and as she caught the drift of their conversation, she backed away into the shadows.
"Well, I wondered at it myself, but Lord Hartleigh has unusually high notions of duty. And he has always been the most chivalrous of men. How can one be surprised at his acknowledging the little merchant princess when he's taken in that nameless orphan child?"
"That is true, Honoria. And he thinks the world of the little girl, does he not?"
"Yes" was the tart reply. The rest Isabella did not hear, for the ladies slowly moved on.
Of course. Basil wasn't the only one to see it. "Unusually high notions of duty." She'd wanted to think it was for her own sake he'd asked Alicia to dance, but it had been chivalry, plain and simple. Another maiden in distress, and there was the Earl of Hartleigh, to the rescue.
"Ah. So here you are. I feared you'd gone off with your sketchbook and pencil—for a change, you know."
Still caught in her unhappy meditations, her gaze stuck at the intricate folds of his neckcloth for a moment before she looked up into Lord Hartleigh's face. He was smiling, but there was an intensity she'd never seen before in his dark eyes. Her heart beat a little faster as she forced a smile in return.
"I...we...had not expected such a crush—"
"Yes. This affair is an obvious success. But all the same, the role of hostess can be wearisome."
"You give me too much credit. My aunt is hostess, and more deserving of your sympathy—"
"Your aunt has assumed the rights of office, but it's clear you have its responsibilities; not that you need have any anxieties. Your cousins have obviously taken…” He spoke as though he understood her mind, as though he genuinely cared what she felt. And he had been responsible for Alicia's success. The ton respected him.
"Yes, My Lord, I think you are right. And I believe I owe you some thanks—"
But he sensed what she was about and wouldn't let her finish. "Your cousins are lovely, and Alicia has a genuine warmth and good nature which is tremendously refreshing. But I did not come to talk of your cousins. I have come for a dance. To command you to dance, if need be, for here you have been having all the responsibility and none of the fun."
She took his proffered arm, wishing she had the willpower to gracefully decline. But of course she could not. His muscular arm was a comfort, as were those warm brown
eyes, as was that low, calm voice. While he spoke to her, all the gossip and snobbery receded into a distant background. And now, as they danced, even the bleak picture Basil had painted seemed a little brighter. What if he did love Lady Honoria? Wasn't it better to take whatever crumbs he might offer than to go on suffering as she had since that morning in the park? Even if in time, after they were married (she flushed at the thought), he came to resent her, he would be too much the gentleman ever to show it. But his next words called her back.
"Miss Latham, I hope you're not drifting away to a more interesting place, just now when I most need your help; for Lucy insists that I describe your gown in exact detail to her tomorrow morning. And though I have scrutinised you carefully, and committed you to memory, I fear my ignorance of feminine couture will cause me to fall far short of my ward's expectations."
She was brought back to earth with a jolt. And suddenly the accumulated tensions of the last few days were too much for her. She was exhausted. Since that meeting with Basil, she had slept fitfully—when she had slept at all. The ball preparations had demanded her constant attention. Her aunt's nagging had been a constant strain. Alicia's difficulties at the start of the evening had stretched her nerves taut. And now this innocent reminder of why he sought her out, why he was so kind to her, undid her. She tried to inject humour into her voice as she began to explain Madame Vernisse's mysteries, but her voice faltered, and tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.
