AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Isaac took his aunt’s hand and wrapped it around his arm. “For love.”
His aunt let out a small laugh, pulled him closer to her, and kissed him on the cheek. “I knew you would see reason.”
Isaac hugged her closer to him. Shehadinfluenced him quite a bit this Christmas. He’d only come here because her home was so near the Turner’s. If only he’d known then how dear to him she’d become. He felt a bit of guilt well up in him at the thought of all the years he’d never come to visit. Well, that would change now. They were family, and he was determined she would not be lonely again.
“I think you’re loony,” Robins said.
Aunt Margarette sat up straight, lifted her hand, and brought her reticule down atop Robins’s knee. It hit hard enough to leave asmackringing through the carriage.
“It’s Christmas, and I’ll not have you—or anyone—ruining this moment for me.”
Robins’s eyes were wide as he rubbed at his knee.
Isaac muffled his laugh; apparently his aunt wasn’t so weak and feeble as she sometimes let on. Either that, or she had a far stronger devotion to the concept of love than even he’d realized.
Either way, Robins kept quiet the rest of the carriage ride, then bolted out into the night the minute they arrived.
The house had been fully decorated for the occasion. Boughs of holly and evergreen were strewn about every wall, doorway, and banister. The smell of pine reminded him painfully of the night he’d first laid eyes on Lady Nightingale. Of the way she danced. Of the way her eyes had sparked with joy and intelligence.
He’d always looked at those eyes and known there was more happening inside her mind than she was telling. Had he not warned Robins away from the beginning? Would that he had heeded his own advice.
Then, as though materializing out of thin air, Lady Nightingale moved up beside him. Parsons had mentioned the Turners would be inviting her. Isaac had almost opened his mouth and told all her secrets to his friend then and there. But not a single word ever made it out of his mouth. In the end, he truly couldn’t humiliate Lady Nightingale, no matter what she’d done.
“Good evening, Lord Brooks,” she said, as politely as ever. Not at all as though he knew exactly what she’d been doing these past many weeks. She must have been wearing white paint once more, for not a single freckle showed across her nose or cheeks. Wait, no, there was a single one, poking out just beneath her ear—and Isaac knew a sudden and intense desire to reach out and touch the spot, trail his thumb across her jaw line, pull her in closer...
He mentally shook himself even while inclining his head slightly. “Lady Nightingale.” Could she not have had the decency to stay home tonight, no matter that she’d been invited? Could she not have at least had the decency to dress in something a bit more drab? Her plum ball gown coupled with her hair so delicately arranged atop her head was far too alluring for his sense of equilibrium to stand. And how did she get her hair to look like that? Mr. Allen’s hair was a bit long for a truly masculine cut, but it certainly wasn’t in long tresses.
“Aunt Margarette,” Lady Nightingale said, turning to his aunt who was still hanging heavily on his arm. “I am pleased to see you as well.”
Isaac blinked a few times and forced his eyes away from her completely. He didn’t know how she’d pulled off having long hair some times and short hair other times, but neither did he care.
“A fine night for an engagement party, is it not?” his aunt replied.
“Very fine, indeed,” Lady Nightingale said, her gaze immediately returning to him. Though he didn’t look at her directly, he could see out of the corner of his eye that she was looking at him quite hopefully. Or, perhaps more accurately, he couldfeelher looking at him.
“Isaac,” Aunt Margarette said, tugging on his arm, “would you help me over to a seat just there? Then you and this beautiful lady can have a proper talk. I don’t feel up to standing much longer just now.”
Blast, he was ignoring his aunt’s needs. He simply had to find a way to stop being so affected by Lady Nightingale. Isaac quickly agreed and walked his aunt over to a chair. She sat down slowly, each bend appearing painful. Isaac had never felt more anxious to leave a place than he was ready to leave Carlaby now. And yet, watching his aunt lower herself stiffly into the seat, he still hesitated. He couldn’t stay, and yet he couldn’t leave either.
Perhaps he could convince her to leave Carlaby with him? Though where they’d go, he wasn’t sure.
Comfortably seated, Aunt Margarette patted his hand. “Now, you return to Lady Nightingale’s side and have a lovely little chat with her. Or better yet, ask her to dance the next set with you.”
Isaac lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like Lady Nightingale.”
She huffed. “I never said such a thing.”
No, she hadn’t, not directly. But Aunt Margarette had been no supporter of Lady Nightingale when he’d first come to Carlaby. Why the dear old woman had changed her tune was a conundrum—one he had no desire to sort out.
Still, he took the few steps back toward Lady Nightingale. To leave her standing there would be a slight, and though he didn’t care for her company, he didn’t wish to humiliate her or show himself to be anything less than a proper gentleman.
Before she could say anything, Isaac spoke. “It has been very nice seeing you again tonight. But if you will excuse me, I have something I wish to say to Parsons.” With a proper farewell, he could at least leave her and trust no gossip would continue to tie their names together.
Isaac turned to leave, but Lady Nightingale stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Please,” she said softly. “Can’t you at least allow me to explain?”
That was the last thing Isaac wanted to hear. Her “explanation” would no doubt be filled with heart-tugging half-truths, the kind that made a man willing to believe.
“No.” Isaac finally found his voice. “I think not.” If spending time with her was akin to holding a snake in his arms, listening to her tale would be like allowing the snake to bite. It was welcoming poison into his ears, and it would no doubt find its way directly into his heart.
“You must know it was never my intention for anyone to get hurt,” she explained, regardless of his words.
“Was it not?” he shot back. “Tell me then, what were your intentions? To pull the wool over my eyes just as your father did?” Now that he’d began to speak, the words rushed from him, unwilling to stop or even hesitate. “Well, congratulations; someday when you leave this earth and join your father, you may report back to him that you bamboozled me every bit as effectively as he did.”
She stared up at him in silence. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think she appeared to be close to tears.
Isaac gave her a stiff bow, then spun on his heel and marched away. He had a good friend who was celebrating tonight, and Isaac wasn’t about to allow Lady Nightingale to ruin things for him—or anyone else. If she cried, it was purely because of her own wickedness. He wouldn’t give her another thought. She deserved no backward glance, no reassurance.
And yet, if that were true, why the blazes did he feel so guilty?
