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“I said, ‘Maybe Father Christmas will bring you a new papa.’” She cast her gaze heavenward. “Never have I regretted my words more.” Her hands went out to either side. “He took my haphazard suggestion as a solemn oath. He’s been hoping every day this Christmas thattodaywould be the day Father Christmas would arrive with a new man for us.” She shook her head, running a hand over the short locks that continued to fall forward.
“That’s a charming tale,” Isaac said, “but it still doesn’t explain why you became Mr. Allen.” And, though the desire to hold her, to mend the hurt between them, was swelling into a pulsing ocean inside him, there was still a knot in the pit of his stomach. It was small, but it refused to be moved all the same.
It said this might be yet another manipulation on her part.
It said he couldn’t trust her. Not deep down, where it mattered.
“No,” she said, her voice softer. “I suppose it doesn’t.” Her head dropped, her gaze on either her own boots or the floor beneath them. She was quiet for some time. “You knew my father.”
“Only what he wished to show me.” Wasn’t that what Lady Nightingale had done as well? Only shown him what she wished him to see?
“You knew what he was capable of.”
Yes,afterthe damage had been done. But he held his tongue at that.
“My father only ever wanted two things in life—wealth and position. The moment I was old enough to be married off, he attached me to the richest man he knew. One with a title who would elevate my father by association. It was my duty as a daughter to provide our family with just such an advantageous connection. My late husband was not cruel, exactly. But neither was he affectionate.” Her brow creased and she finally met his eyes once more. “Let us just say, I did not cry at either of their passings.”
What idiots those men had been, to overlook the vibrant, engaging woman Lady Nightingale was.
“This past year has been the best of my life. I am an independent woman, a peer in my own right. I have a darling son, a comfortable home. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Joseph, over and over again, that we are quite fine without a man of the house. But he wouldn’t stop insisting.” He could hear the exhaustion in her voice. “So, I resolved I would start looking for another husband, but I wasn’t willing to go back to the way my life had been. I didn’t want to be swept behind a man who only wished for my money or title. I didn’t want to—Icouldn’t—return to a life where the gentleman who is supposed to see to my welfare puts on a grand face among society while acting far different behind closed doors.”
The pieces were starting to come together in his mind. Mr. Grant had treated him very much the same as what she was describing. He had been all kind and cordial, at first; when among others, he had been honorable and respectable.
“The gentlemen I’ve known,” Lady Nightingale pressed, “were never their complete selves among society. How could I ever trust a man before seeing his true nature?”
“So you dressed in such a way that you could see who they were.”
She nodded. “I had to. Inevermeant to hurt anyone. I never would have spread what I’ve learned in confidence or used it to spoil another’s good name. It was only ever a method to guarantee my own safety and the safety of my son. I’m a rich widow; no gentleman was ever going to be honest in his character toward me.”
Isaac supposed it made sense. This was for her safety. For her son, too. He couldn’t deny her the need to watch over Joseph or herself. The knot in his stomach shifted for the first time since he’d washed the white paint off her face and seen those freckles. He rather preferred her with freckles than without. He also had to admire that she’d go to such lengths for her son. He’d always known she was a brilliant woman; now he also knew she was brave and clever.
“Can you forgive me?” she whispered.
The words weighed on him. He let them hang for a minute, waiting to see how his heart would respond.
It finally did. “Yes.”
The tension eased from her face. “Thank you.” She moved toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I have many things to see to today, starting with a message for Lord Oakley.”
Isaac placed an arm over the door, barring her exit. “I just renounced life as a fortune hunter; I cannot allow you to pick up where I left off.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I’m not pursuing him any more than you are Miss Dowding. I only wish to tell him I am leaving Carlaby and to thank him for his hospitality while I was here.”
Wait...that was it? She was leaving? For good?
Isaac reached for her, taking her elbow in hand. She stood so close, and yet he was acutely aware that she was nowhere close enough for his taste. “Please wait, M—” His voice stopped suddenly. “Lud, I can’t call you Mr. Allen anymore, but when you’re dressed like this,” he eyed her up and down, “I can’t call you Lady Nightingale.”
“Alice,” she said, looking up at him with a soft smile. “Just call me Alice.”
The name suited her, a bit sweet, a bit spice. “Alice, why in heaven’s name are you even considering leaving Carlaby?”
“I’m not considering it, Lord Brooks—”
“Isaac, please.”
She paused, her mouth open, her eyes searching his.
At length, she continued. “I’m not considering it, Isaac, I have made up my mind. Staying would prove uncomfortable for many, I’m afraid, myself included.”
