Page 13 of The Baron’s Halo

“Can you imagine my shock—well, yes, I suppose you can, dearest—when I entered the room to find Ambrose, alive and well after we’d thought he’d drowned so many years ago.” Mama’s eyes were bright with tears. “I still cannot take it in, my dear.” She led him to the largest of the parlor’s chairs and urged him to sit, then lowered herself onto the sofa, as though her legs might give out too. “But Ambrose, please tell us how you come to be here.”

Her stepfather cut his eyes at Mama, then nodded. “It is quite a tale, my dear.”

Drawing a deep breath to steady herself, Isabelle eased her legs over the side of the chaise until she was sitting more or less on her own. Cooper’s hand still rested on her shoulder, a blessing of strength.

Stretching out his long legs, Ambrose settled back in the chair. His gaze flicked from her mother to her, making certain their attention was completely focused on him, then began. “In May of 1857, I put out to sea from Kingston on my return trip to London with a cargo of molasses for Samuels & Sons. The journey was quite uneventful until the Cordelia ran into a storm off the coast of the Canary Islands.”

This information had come to Isabelle and her mother late in June, once the Cordelia had been overdue for weeks.

“She foundered on a rocky shoal, broke apart, then went down in minutes. I stayed aboard as long as I could, but in the end was thrown into the water and had to watch the ghastly scene as I clung to a cask of the molasses that had broken out of the hold. Perhaps half the crew survived the wreck, but we floated apart in the next few days. Eventually, I fetched up on one of the smaller islands to the west of the Canaries. I’m not sure it even has a name. I washed up on shore barely alive after days at sea without food or water, simply glad to be alive.”

Isabelle sighed. He might so easily have not survived. Such a wicked thought, but not an ounce of remorse did she have for thinking it.

“The island was uninhabited, but lush with vegetation. I managed to survive on fish and crab and molasses, plus some other small game I caught for what turned out to be almost three years.” Ambrose sighed and patted her mother’s hand. “I began to believe I’d be marooned on that God-forsaken rock forever, until about three months ago, a French ship, the Saint Michel, also wrecked on my island.” Ambrose chuckled. “You can imagine how amazed they were to find me there.”

“They must have been shocked, my dear.” Mama rushed to agree with him. She must remember how he liked to see her be attentive to his tales.

“Fortunately, their ship’s damage could be repaired. I offered my assistance in exchange for transportation back to France. They put me off in Marseille and after a month or so, I managed to secure passage on an English frigate, the Apollonia. She put in last week at Dover.” He smiled and spread his hands wide. “So here I am.”

“Why didn’t you write to us from Marseille, Ambrose?” Mama’s voice pretended to scold him, but in a teasing way she used to use that didn’t make him angry. “I would have wanted to know you were alive and on your way back to us.”

Isabelle’s stepfather sighed. “I would have done that, Miranda, but I had lost faith. I was afraid that you had remarried, my love.” He peered at her, searching her eyes for some hidden truth about her faithfulness to him. “I wanted to come to London, get word of you, see for myself that you had not come to care for another.” Ambrose stroked her mother’s cheek and Isabelle closed her eyes against the image. “I wanted to see how it was with you and Isabelle before I made myself known to you.”

“What if Mama had remarried, Ambrose?” Isabelle forced herself to look at him. “What would you have done then?”

“I’m not quite sure, my dear.” His gaze bore into her. “Thankfully, that trial has been spared us.”

Isabelle stared down at her hands lying rigid in her lap. The moment she’d begun to hope for happiness once more, that hope had been dashed as surely as her stepfather’s ship had been in the dreadful waves of the Atlantic.

“Isabelle.”

Willing herself not to flinch, she raised her gaze to him.

“You have become a most beautiful woman while I was away.” He took in her form from bottom to top, his gaze coming to rest just below her face. “I am very sorry to have missed those years when you blossomed into a young lady. I couldn’t be more proud of you if you were my own daughter.”

But she wasn’t, thank God for his tender mercies. She ought to say something in return. It would be unnatural not to, but for the life of her, she couldn’t summon a single word. Let them think her still stunned by his appearance. That wasn’t far from the truth anyway.

“You’re dressed for a ball this evening, your mother said. I am certain you are a most popular partner with all the gentlemen.” Ambrose stared straight into her face, making her shiver.

“She is the particular favorite of Lord MacKay, Ambrose. A more charming gentleman does not exist, saving yourself, my dear.” Mama’s smile couldn’t get any wider unless her mouth split. “I fear he will be terribly disappointed not to be able to partner dear Isabelle this evening. However, he will understand completely once he’s told of the miracle that prevented our attendance at the ball tonight.”

“No!” Isabelle bounded to her feet. “I refuse to disappoint Lord MacKay this evening, Mama. I think it most imprudent.”

“But my dear.” Mama’s face looked suddenly frightened. “We cannot go out. Ambrose will be too tired to accompany us and we cannot leave him alone when he’s just come back to us. It is the only proper thing to do. Lord MacKay—”

“Lord MacKay is on the verge of a declaration for my hand in marriage, Ambrose.” Isabelle shot a defiant look at him, the first time tonight she’d been able to look him in the face willingly. “I want to do nothing that would deter him from asking me to marry him.” A moment of inspiration hit. “Why don’t you and Mama remain here and celebrate your return. Meanwhile, I will attend the ball with Cooper as my chaperone.” That was scarcely ever done, but this was a desperate situation. She must see Sandy—Lord MacKay, that was—without fail this evening.

“But Isabelle, that simply isn’t done.” Her mother’s face bore the sternest lines Isabelle had ever seen. “You will stay with us and welcome your father home.”

On the tip of her tongue to shout “He’s not my father!,” Isabelle was saved from exacerbating the conflict by Ambrose’s firm voice.

“Miranda, we should not interfere with Isabelle’s plans for the evening, especially if she’s on the brink of receiving a proposal.” His eyes drifted from her mother’s face to hers, a thoughtful light in them. “I, for one, would like to meet this gentleman who aspires to my daughter’s hand.” His eyes narrowed and Isabelle braced herself. “I think we should all go to the ball. Then Isabelle can save a dance for me as well.”

Chapter Six

When Isabelle, her mother, and Ambrose entered Mrs. Hatch’s townhouse, Isabelle wasn’t at all prepared for the onslaught of people eager to speak to and congratulate her stepfather on his miraculous return. En masse, the ton descended upon them the moment they walked through the door. Mrs. Hatch looked flabbergasted, as though she’d been given an unexpected and exclusive gift. Of course, the papers would be full of the news tomorrow morning, so in essence, she’d stolen a march on every other hostess, all of whom would want Captain Grey at their entertainments throughout the rest of the Little Season.

The inundation actually saved Isabelle. Her mother and Ambrose were so busy greeting all their admirers, Isabelle was able to slip away from them undetected. She drifted over to an open space beside the orchestra, took a moment to breathe, then scanned the ballroom, searching not for Sandy, but for her bosom friend, Grace Horton. After a moment, she spied Grace, standing just outside the spreading circle of people surrounding Isabelle’s mother. She hurried toward her friend, placing a hand on her arm. “Grace.”