Page 13 of Love’s Refrain at Roslyn Court (Noble Hearts #2)

Thirteen

ISAAC

I t was with little enthusiasm and less anticipation of a pleasurable day that Isaac prepared to join Sophia and her cousins at Clarehurst.

Oh, he had enjoyed his conversation with Mr Ashburton the other evening, and was rather looking forward to the planned excursion to Dunning Castle, for it promised to be a fine day, but now, in addition to his usual nightmares, every time he closed his eyes, Isaac saw Sophia and Mr Bladestock, cosied up together at the pianoforte, grinning at each other as the applause sounded, united in their love of music.

It was alarming how much that image hurt.

Not for the first time, he chided himself.

He could never marry. He knew this, and he knew the reasons why.

Yes, he would take his uncle’s estate and title when the time came, and do his very best for it, but then he must search for another heir, some other distant cousin, to continue the line.

No man with his infirmities of mind could be expected to take a wife.

No woman should be expected to live with him.

Then why did the thought of Sophia smiling at Mr Bladestock cause his fists to tighten into cannonballs and his heart to hurt? It was not sensible.

Mr Ashburton was waiting outside his house when their carriage arrived. He welcomed them to his home with a look of genuine delight, and ushered them all inside, where his wife was entertaining those who had already arrived.

Emily Wright was standing at the window with Mr Ashburton’s sister Margaret, both looking fetching in the morning sunlight.

Miss Margaret Ashburton was an attractive woman, slim like her brother, with honey-hued hair and intelligent eyes, and Isaac thought he might attempt some conversation with her to divert his thoughts from Sophia and John Bladestock.

Jeremy Southam was also present, and that man now hurried up to the newcomers to offer his greetings.

“Miss Bradley… Miss Diane, Major,” he greeted them, before his eyes found Louisa and lingered there. “Louisa.”

Ah, the volumes that one word spoke. There was no discernible change in his voice or his manners, but the young man’s eyes shouted to the world that he cared for this young woman, and her answering adoring gaze declared that his affections were fully returned.

The vise about his heart tightened.

This was what he could never have, no matter how much he wished it. Not for him was this secret glance, this shared affection. Isaac turned away so as not to look at Sophia, lest someone read a novel in his own sad gaze.

No, she was not for him. Nobody was. He grunted a greeting and stalked off to where Ashburton was waiting to present him to the three men he had not yet met.

These were the other guests at Clarehurst. James Ashburton was about twenty, of average height and athletic, and fair where his brother was dark, but equally effusive in his manners.

He was between terms at Oxford, and preferred this lovely house and its attractions to his parents’ town house in London.

Frank Emerson and Peter Nightingale were closer to Ashburton’s own age, old friends from school, both equally pleased to spend the early months of the summer with a friend in this lovely part of England rather than sitting about their fathers’ houses and talking about crops and irrigation.

There would be plenty of time for that later, so they joked.

Isaac forced a smile. He did not know what it was like to be idle. He supposed he would learn soon enough.

And there, striding through the door, came his unwitting nemesis, John Bladestock.

The same sun that illuminated Miss Wright and Miss Ashburton gilded the newcomer’s hair until it glowed golden.

His figure was vigorous and his carriage confident.

No wonder Sophia was drawn to him. Isaac could not imagine many women would not be so.

It was going to be a miserable day.

The excursion ended up being more interesting than Isaac had expected.

The castle, though little more than some crumbling walls, was nonetheless beautifully situated near the top of the hill, there to command the surrounding areas.

Two towers and the gatehouse remained partly standing, as did a series of walls that marked off the rooms from some large internal building, possibly the great hall or kitchens, and the party broke into smaller groups to wander through the remains of the structure or to attempt to scale some of the remaining curtain walls.

Isaac found himself up on one of the wall-walks with Jeremy Southam and Mr Nightingale, both of whom possessed a surprising knowledge of such ancient structures. Of the ladies, Diane had begged to join them, but both Louisa and Sophia had refused permission in the most vehement of terms.

“This castle dates to the early fourteenth century,” Jeremy informed his fellow wall-walkers. “It was occupied until the Civil Wars, but do you see that hole in the far tower? It was a royalist stronghold during those troubled times, and it was all but destroyed by order of Parliament.”

“A great pity for the area,” Nightingale commented.

“But a boon for the rest of us, who now can explore it at will,” returned Jeremy.

Looking down to the ground, Isaac could see a group of ladies picking their way through some of the roofless rooms. All wore deep bonnets, the better to protect their delicate complexions, but he could still identify Sophia with no difficulty.

There was something in her proud carriage, in the manner of her walking, that allowed her to be nobody else.

“Who is with her?” he asked his companions.

“I see Louisa,” Jeremy said, “and that, in the russet with the large ribbon, is Miss Margaret Ashburton. And that must be her brother with them… no, no, is it Bladestock? It’s dashed hard to tell from this great height, and with all of them in such wide-brimmed hats.

Blast. Isaac bit back some of the more colourful exclamations he had heard whilst in Portugal.

Bladestock with Sophia… He could just imagine the man, charming and handsome, with his golden halo of hair and sapphire eyes, talking to the ladies of minuets and concertos, canvassing their thoughts on the best music for dancing and offering to teach each of them how to do the latest dances from the Continent. All the things he could not do…

He choked back another curse.

“No, I believe you are mistaken,” Nightingale said after a moment.

“Is that not Bladestock there, by Mrs Ashburton? I know that is she, because she is sitting at the picnic blanket. Then who is that… Oh, it must be young James. He is fair as well, and of a size with Bladestock. Ha! I think I can jump over this hole in the walk. Do I dare? are to put a penny on it?”

Despite this respite, everywhere Isaac looked, he saw Sophia with Bladestock. Sophia laughing at his jokes, walking with him, gazing at him. And later, she would spend the rest of the day in the music room with him. Isaac was beginning to wish he had never come to Roslyn Court at all.

“You are in some danger from her, are you not? Or have you already fallen?” Jeremy Southam walked up from behind the low wall where Isaac was now sitting, watching the others as they traced their way through the castle ruins.

Isaac had thought himself to be alone, to sulk without interruption, but it appeared he was mistaken.

The patch of shade he had chosen was, obviously, not sufficiently dark to hide his low spirits.

He let out a sigh, not bothering to turn around.

“I know those looks, my friend,” Jeremy continued. “But why so glum? Has she rejected you?”

Jeremy Southam was a decent sort, and Isaac had no wish to be rude, and so he answered with as much civility as he could manage.

“She has not rejected me because I know better than to put myself forward. Look at her, so capable and wise, so full of passion and meaning. She is the perfect combination of sense and sensibility, but she can never be for me.”

Jeremy stared at him, a frown visible beneath the wide brim of his straw hat.

“What makes you say that? I have only seen her pleased to be in your company.”

“It is… No, never mind. But look at her with Bladestock there. They speak the same languages. He knows about music, he plays. I... I love it, but was never afforded the opportunity to learn and cannot speak with her about it, unless I wish to sound like a child. He can. Look at them. They seem to rub along so well. He can be the husband to her that I never can be.”

To this, Jeremy laughed.

Isaac let out a snort. “You find this amusing?”

“No, not at all. But you have leapt from a first meeting, a casual acquaintance, to marriage in a heartbeat. They have only recently been introduced. You cannot give up all hope because of one shared interest.”

The man had a point.

“Think of me, rather,” Jeremy continued.

“I dare say Sophia has told you of my… admiration for Louisa. Her family will never permit it, but I have loved her since I was a child. She is only nineteen; she will not be of age for another two years, and I live in dread of her mother marrying her off to another man before then. Somebody with the right family, with a pedigree…”

“Somebody like me,” Isaac replied, the words bitter in his mouth. “A future viscount, whether I want the title or not. That is its own burden.”

His companion stared straight ahead, but his jaw, Isaac could see, was tight.

“Yes,” Jeremy said after a long pause. “Somebody like you.”

Isaac let out a puff of air. “Despite all Lady Poole’s efforts, Louisa will be safe from me. I have no intention ever to marry.”

“Even if that means seeing the one you love marry somebody else?”

He squeezed his eyes tight.

“That I cannot bear to think about.”