After a few long moments, Rock turned to Nick, who was still staring after her. “We are not waiting until tomorrow, are we? ”
Nick shook his head. “No.”
“She is hiding something.”
Nick gave a single curt nod. “And not very well.” He watched her, noting the slight limp in her gait as she rushed across the street and into a nearby building.
“It has been years since I’ve seen that.”
Nick did not shift his attention from Isabel. “Seen what? ”
“The face of the bulan.”
Several long moments passed before Nick turned to Rock.
“A hundred pounds says we’ve found her.”
Rock shook his head. “I’m not taking that bet.”
Four
* * *
Several hours later, Nick and Rock stood in the wide circular drive of Townsend Park. The country seat of the Earl of Reddich was a large and stately home, three stories high, with tall, arching windows and a façade that spoke of the earldom’s rather more impressive past than its current situation indicated.
There was a quiet stillness to the house that Nick found intriguing—it was either the product of a sleepy country house that rarely saw visitors, or something not at all sleepy and infinitely more interesting. If the mistress of Townsend Park was any indication, Nick’s wager was on the latter option. If his suspicions were correct, he was about to find both the women for whom he was looking.
That is, assuming that he was ever allowed inside the house.
He and Rock had been standing at the foot of the steps leading up to the manor, reins in hand, waiting for a groomsman or a footman to acknowledge their arrival for several minutes.
At this point, neither seemed very likely.
“You realize that we look like fools.” Rock said dryly, leading his horse to the edge of the drive, where he could lean against the side of the wide stone steps to the door of the house. The black seemed to sense his master’s disapproval, pawing at the ground once with an impatient snort.
“We cannot look like fools if we do not have an audience to label us as such. She did not want us here today. She likely doesn’t have servants posted.”
Rock leveled Nick with a frank look. “I see that your insistence upon saving women who are capable of taking care of themselves remains fully intact.”
Nick ignored the words, tossing his reins to the Turk and starting up the stairs, two steps at a time.
Rock followed his movements, curiosity getting the better of him. “What do you mean to do?”
Nick turned from his position in front of the wide oak door with a wry smile. “Why, I mean to do what any good gentleman would do in this situation. I mean to knock.”
Rock crossed his arms over his chest. “This should be entertaining, if nothing else.”
Nick raised the large metal doorknocker and let it fall with an ominous clang, trying to recall the last time he had used a doorknocker.
Before he could entertain the question, however, the door opened. For a very brief moment Nick thought it had done so on its own, until he looked down into a pair of familiar brown eyes, set in the face of a young boy. A young boy with a face covered in what looked suspiciously like strawberry jam.
Nick was not entirely certain how to proceed under such circumstances, but, before he could say anything at all, the child took matters into his own hands.
The door slammed shut as quickly as it had opened.
“THERE’S A MAN AT THE DOOR!”
The screech was loud enough to carry clearly through the thick oak, and Nick, surprised, turned to look back at Rock to confirm that it had all taken place as he thought.
His friend was quaking with deep, rumbling laughter.
“I see you are going to be a great help.”
With a final chuckle, Rock raised one hand in solidarity. “I assure you, once you have breached the castle defenses, I shall throw my full support behind you.”
Nick turned back to the door and, after a long moment of consideration, pressed his ear to the oak, as though he might be able to hear what was going on behind it. Rock let out a bark of laughter at the action, and Nick waved him silent, almost positive that he could hear frenzied whispers coming from inside the house.
Stepping back, he reached once more for the knocker, but was interrupted before he could use it. “Milord?”
He turned to find a tall, lanky boy in wool breeches, white shirtsleeves, and a dirty green waistcoat turning the corner from the side of the house. The boy wore a cap low on his brow, and Nick had a brief moment of questioning why the servant had not removed the hat before he realized that nothing about this estate seemed to operate normally.
“We are here at the invitation of Lady Isabel.”
The boy had reached the foot of the steps, and he paused. “Weren’t you supposed to come tomorrow?”
Ignoring the insolent behavior—when had he ever been questioned by a servant?—Nick replied, “We are here now.”
“You won’t find her inside.”
“Is she not at home?”
The boy leaned back on his heels, considering his words. “She is at home … but not inside.”
Nick began to feel his temper fray. “Boy, I am not interested in playing games. Is your lady in? Or not?”
The servant smiled then, a wide grin that seemed entirely unservantlike. “She is not in. She is out. On top of, more like.” The boy pointed up. “She is on the roof.”
“She is on the roof.” Surely Nick had misunderstood.
“Just so,” the groom said. “Shall I call her?”
The question was so bizarre that it took Nick several seconds to process its meaning.
Not so Rock. Unable to contain his own wide smile, the Turk said, “Yes, please. We should very much like you to call her.”
The boy stepped back to the opposite edge of the drive, cupped his hands around his mouth, and called, “Lady Isabel! You have visitors!”
Nick stepped back from the house himself then, Rock at his side, horses in tow. He stared upward, uncertain of what might come next, unwilling to accept the possibility that the lady he had met earlier in the day would have any reason to be on the roof of her ancestral home, three stories above the ground.
Far above, a head poked over the edge of the house.
It seemed Lady Isabel was, indeed, on the roof.
Dear God. The woman had a death wish.
The head disappeared for a moment, and Nick wondered if perhaps he was hallucinating. When it reappeared, he found himself disappointed that the whole afternoon was not a figment of his imagination.
“You were not supposed to arrive until tomorrow.” The words carried down to him. “I am not receiving.”
Rock gave a little bark of laughter and offered, “It appears we have found a woman who does not consider you so irresistible.”
Nick cast a sidelong glance in the direction of his friend. “You are not helping.” Turning resolutely away from Rock, he called up, “It seems a good thing I came today, Lady Isabel. It appears you may need saving again.”
The smile she offered was angelic—and entirely false. “I have survived twenty-four years without a keeper, my lord. I need not acquire one today.”
He had an intense desire to fetch the infuriating woman down and show her precisely how dire her need for a keeper was. The thought had barely formed in his mind before it was chased away by a vision of the soft, beautiful woman in his arms that afternoon—entirely at his mercy. For a fleeting moment, he allowed the fantasy to run its natural course; she was lush and naked at his whim.
He pushed the image away. There was nothing about this woman that was at his whim.
“Considering you were nearly run down this morning and you are dangerously close to toppling off your roof now, forgive me if I do not share your certainty.”
“I was nowhere near the edge before you arrived, Lord Nicholas. Should I fall, it will be entirely on your
head.” She cocked her head thoughtfully. “Perhaps quite literally.”
She disappeared again, and the groom actually snickered. Nick gave him a look of lordly disdain, which in no way served to intimidate the insolent pup.
Rock laughed again, tossing the reins of both horses to the boy. “You might as well take them. I think we might be here for a while.”
The servant did not move, too fascinated by the unfolding scene to leave.
Nick turned a scowl on his friend. “The woman would try the patience of a saint. Do you think that she has forgotten that it was she who invited me to the damned house? ”
She peeked her head over the edge of the house once more. “You would do well to remember that sound carries up, my lord. Language, please.”
“My apologies.” He offered an exaggerated bow. “I am not used to conversing with ladies on roofs. The rules of etiquette for the situation have escaped me.”
She narrowed her gaze on him. “Even from three stories up, I can tell that you are being facetious.”
He ignored that. “Perhaps you would like to tell us why you are on your roof? ”
“I am learning,” she said, as though it were a perfectly normal response.
“Learning to nearly kill yourself again?”
“How many times am I going to have to tell you that I did not nearly kill myself!”
“I stand corrected. Again. What are you learning?”
“The fundamentals of roof repair. Fascinating, really.” She smiled again; this time, she meant it.
He sucked in a breath. Would he ever grow used to her smiles?
Roof repair?
“I beg your pardon, did you say you are repairing the roof?”
“Well, it certainly will not repair itself, my lord.”
Lovely or not, she was mad. It was the only answer.
He looked to Rock, who was smiling like a buffoon. “She has a point, Nick.”
And her madness was clearly infectious.
“Lady Isabel, I must insist that you come down.” She watched him for a long moment, as though assessing the likelihood of his leaving the estate if she remained roofbound. “I should very like to see your marbles, and will be happy to value them. I should think you would find my offer generous enough to accept? ”
She looked to Rock, then to the stable boy, before heaving an impressive sigh. “Very well. I shall come down.”
Nick could not help the wave of triumph that coursed through him at the words. He had restored normalcy to this tiny corner of Britain.
At least for as long as it would take her to concoct her next mad scheme.
“Lara!”
Isabel tumbled through the tiny attic window that led to the top of the Park, her breeches covered in dirt acquired during her foray into roof repair. Tossing the book she had been using aside, she blew an errant lock of hair back from her face and headed for the narrow stairs leading from the top of the house into the servants’ quarters. Jane, who had been on the roof with her, followed closely behind.
“Jane, you must—”
“All will be ready by the time you are,” interrupted the butler, as they hurried down the long, dark passageway leading to the house’s central staircase and the family wing.
Isabel nodded as Jane peeled away, heading for the stairs, not pausing as Lara topped them, out of breath from the speed of her climb. Throwing open her bedchamber door, Isabel rushed in to retrieve a fresh dress from her wardrobe. She spoke from half inside the furniture, assuming that Lara had followed her.
“I told the infuriating man not to come until tomorrow!”
“It appears he did not listen.”
“No! He did not! Did you see him out there? Affronted! As though I should have been doing nothing but shoving a needle through an embroidery hoop and waiting for him to arrive!”
Isabel held up a yellow day dress that she had always felt rather flattered her figure.
Not that she was interested in Lord Nicholas seeing her in a flattering frock.
Not at all.
“I did not see him,” Lara said, adding, “You’re in mourning, Isabel.”
Isabel grumbled and turned back to the wardrobe, her voice rising. “I’ve half a mind to go down there dressed as I am! It would serve him—and his gentlemanly sensibilities—right!” She gave a vicious yank on a gray walking dress and turned back to Lara. “Of course, that would not do at all, as I am in mourning. As you insist upon reminding me.”
The corner of Lara’s mouth twitched. “You are, of course, right. If you were to go downstairs in trousers, it would be your breach of mourning etiquette that would undoubtedly cause Lord Nicholas alarm.”
Isabel raised one dirty finger at her cousin. “You are not amusing.”
“I am more amusing than you are clean.” She stood and moved to pour some water into a washbasin. “I think you should send him away. We’ll find another way to make money.”
“No. You were the one who started this sign business. The man is about the boldest sign I’ve ever had. I’m selling the marbles. He’s the answer.”
Isabel tossed the dress onto the bed and moved to wash.
Lord Nicholas St. John was their only hope, and she had been on the roof when he arrived, for heaven’s sake. Ladies did not go traipsing about on rooftops.
And certainly gentlemen did not frequent the homes of those ladies who did traipse about on rooftops.
It did not matter if the rooftop in question was in dire need of repair.
Or that the lady in question had no choice.
“It shall be a miracle if he has not discovered all of our secrets by now. Kate was out there, rubbing elbows with the man. I’m sure that he and his giant have already discovered that she is …” She trailed off, waving one hand in the air before splashing water on her face.
“Nonsense. If you have taught me one thing in my years here, it is that people see what they wish to see.” Lara watched as Isabel scrubbed at the dirt from her face. “What is important is that Lord Nicholas see a lady in you—which could be difficult at this point.”
Isabel paused in her ablutions. “How am I to convince him that he should stay?”
“Well, it is entirely possible that he found you fascinating.”
Isabel looked up at her cousin, water running down her face in rivulets. “No, it is entirely possible that he found me addlepated.”
“That is also a likely possibility, yes.”
“Lara! You are supposed to make me feel better about the situation.” Isabel reached for a long piece of linen and dried her face; mid-wipe, she lifted her head and turned horrified eyes on her cousin. “The girls. Their livery.”
“Jane is arranging everything.” Lara lifted the gray dress from the bed, tossing it over Isabel’s head. “You haven’t time for stays.”
Turning her back to allow her cousin to secure the fastenings of the dress, Isabel reached under her skirts to untie her breeches and slip them off. Throwing the wad of brown wool aside, she moved across the room to her dressing table, dragging Lara along with her.
Once there, Isabel unraveled her long hair, brushing at it violently, attempting to tame the curls that had escaped during her time outside.
When Lara finished with the dress, she took the brush from Isabel’s hand and began to restore her hair to its normal state. “You need a lady’s maid.”
“I do not. I could have dressed perfectly well without you. Just not as quickly.”
“Precisely why you need a lady’s maid,” Lara said. “You’ve a houseful of girls at your disposal, Isabel, why not select one to be your girl?”
Isabel shook her head as she watched Lara work in the mirror, “Nothing fancy—we haven’t the time.” After a short pause, she answered the question. “I cannot do it. As it is, they share in the running of the house. They cook, they clean, they help with James. They feel a part of something larger—a community—one most of them have never had before Minerva House. If one were to be my
personal servant … that … well, it would not feel right.”
“That is utterly ridiculous. You’re daughter to an earl. No one would begrudge you a servant or two, Isabel.”
“I have servants. I simply don’t have a lady’s maid. And I do not need one. When was the last time I was rushing to meet a dashing gentleman?”
“Dashing, is he?”
Yes. Very.
“No. Not at all. He is a man who appears to have little understanding of both dates and invitations. He was not supposed to be here until tomorrow!” Isabel watched as her cousin shoved a pin into the tight mass of hair at the back of her head. “That’s fine. I cannot linger any more.” She stood, turning to her cousin and smoothing her skirts. “How do I look?”
“Quite staid. Not at all like a lady who was recently repairing the roof.”
Isabel took a deep breath. “Excellent.”
“You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“Whatever do you mean? ”
Lara gave a little sigh. “You don’t have to sell the marbles. We can find another way.”
Isabel looked away for a moment as she took a deep breath. “We have no need for them. They serve no purpose here.”
“They serve no purpose anywhere. But they’re yours, Isabel.”
As though she needed reminding.
Isabel forced a smile, refusing to allow herself to think too carefully on her decision. “They are our last hope. They are the last hope of Minerva House. I am selling them.”
She squared her shoulders, and she was off, across the room and into the hallway, where James, Jane, and Gwen were waiting for her.
“Isabel!” James crowed, rushing toward her, “There was a man at the door!”
Isabel could not help the smile that tugged at one corner of her mouth at the surprise on the boy’s face. “Yes, I saw that.”
“He is very tall.” The observation tugged at Isabel’s heart. Of course James would have noted such a thing—men were a strange and uncommon occurrence at Minerva House. Of course the ten-year-old would have collected as much information about male visitors as quickly and voraciously as he could.
James needs a man.