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Chapter Twenty-One
Staring out of the carriage’s window as it travelled from Westminster through the streets of London, Isaac sighed. He had been back on the road to London for almost three days in a row, and most of the days had been spent in the Westminsteroffices.
The Lords in London were pressing him to not only keep the taxes but to raise them and he was standing firm in not doing either. But the Lords were bound into persuading him into bending to their will—but it was futile.
From the second day going back and forth, days that he had seen little of Louisa, and with the long days with the unrelenting Lords, Isaac had been forced to make a hard decision.One that would take him away from Louisa a lot more.
Instead of going all the way back to his home on the third day, Isaac had paid for a suitein the Mivats Hotel on Brook Street. The hotelonly opened last year,was reported to be one of the most modern, fashionable hotels ever created.
Stepping into the him as he stepped through the grand doorway into the lobby, Isaac realized that it was true. Every stretch of marble, glistening metal, and glimmering mirror, screamingwealth, opulence, and prosperity. With one sweeping glance, Isaac deemed it fitting.
“Is it to your liking, Your Grace?” the concierge asked nervously.
Isaac caught his reflection in the gilded mirror that hung above a polished bureau and refrained from looking away from the dark circles under his eyes. “Yes, it is acceptable.”
“Wonderful, Your Grace,” the attendee said. “On your table are the menu options for this evening. If anything is not to your liking, we will provide another optionfor you.”
Instead of dismissing him, Isaac went to the table and plucked up the menu card. After a quick glance, he ordered the roasted pheasant stuffed with chestnuts, braised potatoes, and asparagus à l’amande.
“With your best wine,” Isaac added while turning to the room. “And send up bathwater immediately.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The concierge bowed and left.
With him gone, Isaac examined the room. A merry fire crackled in a wide marble grate as a golden Ormolu clock ticked on the mantel above it.
The bedchamberlooked comfortable with an enormous bed placedin the heart of the room,and the furnishings around it were of the highest quality wood. A set of open doors led to one of the modern bathrooms and a set ofsoft towels were on the shelves there.
Back in the front room, he tugged his jacket off and laid it over the back of a chair. It was nearly six in the evening and he was needed back at the capital by eight the next day. He would rather cut all this bureaucratic bumbledom and go back to his home and his delayed conversation with Louisa.
The attendants came with his water and he took a bath before attending to the warm meal that was sent up after. Clad in his dressing-robe, he ate supper then retired to the chair near the flickering fire with a glass of wine in hand.
He wanted to imagine how Louisa would look when he told her that he loved her, andthat he wanted to marry her. But he remembered the first time he had hinted about it and she had run off, terrified. He needed her to trust him, more that she already did to rest assured that he would protect her from everything.
London was going to be scandalized—no doubt about it. He had never heardof maidbecoming a Duchess, but Isaac was not bothered by the scandal it would bring. They were not the ones who had gone through the pain he had, nor had they felt the happiness he did when Louisa had started to show him that he did not have to live in misery.
But—how to get her to trust him with something of such magnitude?The question carried with him until he retired to bed. Perhaps the answer would come after he rested.
***
Why Lord Barbridge had chosen a room in Almack’s as a casual meeting siteto try and persuade Isaac to join the other lords in the tax scheme, Isaac would never know. If he had not bowed in hard austere halls of the Westminster chamber, why wasa lounge with leather covered armchairs and scotch and wine flowing in abundancegoing to be any different?
Now that the Lord had left in a huff of annoyance at Isaac’s continued resistance, Isaac took advantage of the Barbrigde’s generosity and finished his glass of wine while readingthat day’s edition of the London Gazette. He left the room at Almack’s just as a nearby poetry recital in a neighboring room had ended and patrons, mostly women, begancomingout of the room.
He had gotten to the lobby and taken a seat to wait for his carriagewhen his eye landed on Helena, and he stifled a groan. Was fate so cruel to himthat it kept throwing her into his way?She looked lovely in a demure yellow gown and a bandeau around her flaxen hair, and he made the mistake of meeting her gaze.
The newspaper, that he had carried with him proved to be no deterrent to her as she made her way over. What was Helena doing? After the catastrophe of the ball a few days ago, why was she doing this?
“Good afternoon, Isaac,” she said. “I don’t believe I saw you in the poetry room.”
“I was not inside, Miss Follet,” Isaac said while turning a page. It was highly disrespectful, but he needed to giveher a hint—interactions between them could not go on. Already they were starting to draw attention and he was not sure what ridiculousconclusionsthose who spotted them would draw. “I was in a meeting with a colleague of mine.”
“I see,” she said. “Was it Lord Ashford? I’ve come to know that he has a special power to pry you out of your home into social settings.”
“Lord Ashford pesters me into frivolous things like balls and soirees, not legislative ones like the one I had just come from,” Isaac gently corrected her.
“Nevertheless, it is good to see you back out and about,” Helena said as she stood. “Have a good evening, Isaac.”
Whilepassing, she rested a hand on his shoulder. The brief touch made his body lock up as if he had been suddenly encased with ice. His knuckles were white and bloodless,and his fingers nearly ripped the paper withhis rigid grip.
