Page 11 of The Baron’s Halo

Giggling at the nonsense they’d created together, Isabelle’s tension relaxed. Lord, it was good to laugh again. To share such silliness. She’d been so sad and bitter for so long. Lord MacKay seemed to be able, as no one else had, to bring her out of herself. To make her forget…at least for a little while. Quite like an angel looking out for her, one might say.

“Well, if we cannot play cards,” he punctuated that statement by shutting the card box, “and you are all out of wool to gather at the moment,” his smile threatened to turn into laughter, “how can we best pass the time until you are whisked away to another table, Miss Devereaux?”

“The only thing two people who have nothing else to occupy themselves with usually do, my lord.” To her surprise she blushed in a scandalously flirtatious manner.

He stared into her eyes and leaned toward her. “And what is that, Miss Devereaux?”

Swaying even closer to him she said, “Go to get refreshments, of course, my lord.”

Lord MacKay stared deeply into her eyes for one moment more, then sat back, a rueful pucker to his lips. “I suppose woolgathering is thirsty work at that, Miss Devereaux.”

Isabelle burst out laughing, great whoops that shook her to the bone. When finally she had quieted, she looked up at Lord MacKay who had risen and stood looking down at her, a suddenly tender look on his face as he offered his arm. “Will you please allow me to escort you to the refreshment room, Miss Devereaux.”

Sober now, Isabelle nodded and eagerly slid her arm through his. He was warm and strong and comforting. He made her suddenly hope…for things she’d given up on long ago. Gazing up into his handsome, rugged face, Isabelle couldn’t help but believe that this man was different from the others. That with him, some things might be possible.

Was she ready to take the next steps in her life? Ready to enjoy happiness for the first time in years? To accept that she deserved happiness in her life? Perhaps with Lord MacKay. Smiling into his face, she answered with joy in her voice. “Yes, my lord. I would like that very much.” With a newfound boldness, she grinned. “You must keep your eye on me throughout the festivities to ensure I gather no more wool here at Lady Bascomb’s.”

“That I can promise to do, Miss Devereaux.” His warm tone set her on fire anew, assuring that she would keep an eye on him all evening as well.

Chapter Five

September 22

“Shall I fix your hair in a new style this evening, miss?” Isabelle’s lady’s maid held the heated curling tongs in one expert hand, a slip of brown paper in the other.

“Yes, I think that would be lovely, thank you, Cooper.” Isabelle turned her head from side to side, her fiery opal earrings bouncing and swaying with each movement. “I do want Lord MacKay to see me in a fresh look this evening.” She’d become rather well versed in how to get and keep a gentleman’s attention fixed upon her in the past fortnight. Well, she’d managed to keep Lord MacKay’s attention on her, at least. That was all that really counted.

Over the past two weeks of parties and social entertainments, Isabelle had met with his lordship almost every night. They’d also driven out in his carriage most afternoons and he’d dined with her and Mama several times as well. All that time spent together had gone far toward persuading Isabelle that, should the gentleman actually make an offer for her hand, her answer would be a resounding yes. It was a far cry from their first meeting not quite a month ago, back when Isabelle couldn’t wait to get away from him. Times had changed and so had she.

Now her feelings had altered so drastically, Isabelle couldn’t fathom a day when she didn’t meet Sandy. Of course, they hadn’t exchanged first names yet. Isabelle had wanted to, had already begun to think of him by the informal name his friends and family used. But she hadn’t quite gotten up the courage to ask him to call her Isabelle, although she was certain he’d be happy to do so. Perhaps tonight, she would move their friendship into a more intimate level by offering him her first name.

The thought of her name spoken in his deep, mellow voice—she could almost hear it, as though he had whispered it in her ear—made her twitch, impatient.

“Watch miss!” Cooper put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “You don’t want me to be burning the hair off your head, do you?”

Isabelle froze. “Goodness, no. Thank you, Cooper. I will remain still as a stone.” Her gaze tracked the tongs as Cooper expertly unwound them, leaving a long sausage curl dangling over her shoulder.

“That’s better. You couldn’t leave the house for a month with a whole clump of hair missing. I’ve heard of it happening.” Cooper put hairpins in her mouth and began to coil the rest of Isabelle’s hair into a chignon at the nape of her neck. “If the tongs are too hot, or a lady moves too suddenly, there could be a handful of hair burned off, and nothing to be done about it.” Cooper took up the tongs again, once more heated sufficiently, then proceeded to roll the last of the hair on the other side of Isabelle’s head. It had taken a long time for Isabelle to become used to the sizzle in her ear and the smell of burning hair in her nose.

“It’s good to see you come out of yourself when Lord MacKay’s around, miss. I’d say his attentions have been beneficial.”

“I think so too, Cooper.” Isabelle’s gaze fell on her deep pink evening gown, with its lower cut bodice and puffy sleeves that showed off all her neck and shoulders. Festooned with delicate white lace on the edges and silk flowers of pink and blue at her waist, the gown boasted several layers of fabric, giving the ensemble a sophisticated air. This particular gown had been bespoken two weeks before, just after the card party at Lady Bascomb’s. Subsequent to that evening of revelations, she had persuaded her mother she needed several new gowns if she was to hold Lord MacKay’s interest. Mama had been only too happy to oblige her, and the result was this pink confection, the first to arrive from the seamstress, and just in time for tonight’s ball.

She’d already promised Sandy three dances, the most she dared without censure from the ton. If they became formally betrothed, then she could dance every single dance with him—and would do so most willingly. Until then, she had to act with more decorum. She hoped with all her heart that the first dance would be a waltz. Whenever Sandy held her tightly, as in that intimate dance, Isabelle could scarcely keep herself from swooning. Oh, yes, her vinaigrette. She slipped the little vial into her reticule. Best be safe rather than sorry. She returned to her fanciful daydream about Sandy.

This time she imagined him holding her tightly, like in the waltz, but not in a waltz. In an embrace that ended, in her most secret imaginings, with him kissing her long and thoroughly. She shivered just thinking of it. All the conflicted feelings she’d felt for him melted away, became muted somehow, overcome by Sandy’s good nature and kind attentions toward her. He was so agreeable, in fact, she’d come to think of him as her guardian angel, complete with halo. She trusted him as she trusted no other man on earth. It was quite a freeing feeling after years of suspicion and despair.

“There you go, miss. Take a look.”

Isabelle gazed into the mirror on her toilette table and gasped. The new coiffure made her look much older, more mature and sophisticated, with an air of confidence she had hoped to exude for Sandy’s benefit. Lord MacKay. She mustn’t slip up and call him Sandy yet. “It’s perfect, Cooper. Thank you.”

“You’ve been more of a challenge recently, miss. And I must tell you, I’ve enjoyed it. I like to see you turned out well. You’re a credit to your mother and your family.” Cooper beamed at her as though she also took pride in Isabelle.

“You have plenty to be proud of yourself, Cooper. No one else would have badgered me so diligently to look my best when I didn’t wish to go out in Society in the first place. What is it, Lucy?” The downstairs maid had knocked hurriedly, then opened the door before Isabelle could bid her do so.

“Oh, Miss Devereaux. You must come downstairs quickly.” The girl’s cheeks were pink with excitement. “You can’t ever imagine what’s happened, or who’s downstairs with your mother!”

Isabelle put a hand up to her hair. Actually, she could imagine who was down there. Lord MacKay must have come to escort them to the ball as a surprise. “Tell Mama I’ll be down directly, Lucy.”