Page 19 of Love’s Refrain at Roslyn Court (Noble Hearts #2)

Nineteen

ISAAC

H e was there again. For the third day in a row, Bladestock was there with Sophia, locked away in that cramped prison she called an office.

Isaac could not blame the lady; she was quite the prisoner, forced into labour and desperate for whatever help she could find. But he could blame her aunt.

That woman was a menace. Isaac could see how Lady Poole worked to keep Sophia busy far beyond what was really required for this ridiculous soirée she was planning.

For every task Sophia completed, her aunt discovered two more that needed doing at once, and she even contrived to keep Sophia out of the dining room at mealtimes.

It was a clear and malicious attempt to remove Sophia from his company, and damn that woman, it was working. He had not had a chance to say as much as good morning to Sophia in days.

Oh, he had tried. He had wandered by her office door to try to entice her to the breakfast room one morning, only to be caught by his hostess.

“Major,” she had cooed, eyes hard as pebbles, “I have just now seen my niece settled with a tray. She is quite well satisfied, I assure you. But you must come with me; my husband wishes for your thoughts on the latest news from abroad.”

And when he had attempted, later, to ask her if she wished for a short stroll in the gardens, the footman in the hall stepped forward to announce that Miss Bradley had requested not to be disturbed.

It seemed the entire household was set in their goal not to allow him a moment with Sophia, and even when, a few days later, he took to skulking in the hallways in hopes of catching her eye, some servant always appeared with a request or command for one of them that prevented anything more than a half a word of greeting or an interrupted smile.

If that were not bad enough, Lady Poole had brought in Bladestock, thrusting that man into Sophia’s path, with obvious intent. And that too, Isaac hated to admit, seemed to be working.

When, after walking into town with Louisa, or taking her for a ride in the phaeton, or accompanying her on visits, he walked through the gardens, all too often he saw them—Sophia and Bladestock—in her office, bending over the same table, looking over the same lists, conversing, laughing, even, and all too close to one another.

Now, along with the fire and bloodshed in his nightmares, he also dreamt of Sophia and Bladestock, arm-in-arm, or cheek-to-cheek, him standing behind her with his arms about her waist, her leaning against his chest. This was worse still a nightmare than those dreadful dreams of the inferno of battle.

Stop it!

He had no right at all to feel this way.

This stab of jealousy was completely unwarranted, for he knew he could never marry her…

Although, heaven help him, he wanted to.

This weakness of resolve was becoming more pronounced the longer he spent near her, even when separated by her dreadful aunt.

More and more, he felt that she was the one person he wanted in his life, and that he would strive like never before to make her happy, if only he could manage to become the man she deserved.

But—he reminded himself for what felt like the thousandth time, no matter that it was a truth harder and harder to bear—he could not force any woman to live with him as he was. He had to become inured to the truth that she would, eventually, marry somebody else. Like Bladestock.

The notion twisted in him like a poisoned dagger.

Isaac tore his gaze from the window. He could not watch them any longer. Nor could he abide another meal with the family at the moment.

Sir Neville was a good sort despite his distracted air and obsession with the horses, and if the invitation was to dine with the baronet alone, Isaac would be more than pleased to agree.

But to be in company with Lady Poole, whose machinations were set to ruin the happiness of so many people, was insupportable right now.

Even Louisa, whom he liked a great deal and who was, in some ways, his ally in this strange battle, he could not wish to see, for Lady Poole would be attempting with every breath to push them together. His stomach churned.

He had to move.

It was approaching dinner time, but he could not stay here.

This garden, this house, were becoming a sort of torture to him, and the need to escape—for now, at least—was urgent.

He found Mrs Oswald in the house, asked her to please inform the family that he would dine in his room this evening, and set off at a brisk pace towards the village, and wherever his feet led him beyond.

He had walked for about an hour, through the village, down one of the lanes towards the Wrights’ house, across the stream, and back long a muddy track to the village again, when he heard his name. Looking up, he saw Jeremy Southam waving at him from the doorway to one of the shops.

Southam was a decent fellow, and a short conversation would help to delay his return to Roslyn Court. Isaac waved back and walked over to greet the young man.

“What brings you here? I saw you out with Louisa earlier in the phaeton. I had thought you to be at the house all evening.”

Isaac tried, and failed, to stifle a groan. “I could not stand it there a moment longer. It is suffocating. No matter what we say or do, Lady Poole spends all her efforts pushing Louisa and me together. It has become all she does.”

“Am I to be worried?” Jeremy’s tone was joking, but his eyes were serious.

“Not at all, my friend. I have no designs on Louisa, lovely as she is, and she has no romantic interest in me. We agree to her mother’s plans solely to escape the house.

Tomorrow, being Wednesday, I shall invite her for a walk, and our path will bring us to the schoolhouse, where you may meet with her as you are accustomed to do.

If I cannot anticipate my own happiness, I can help forward that of others. ”

“You are so set on this path, then?” Jeremy frowned. “Come with me. I have some documents my father wishes me to deliver to one of his clients, and then I shall drive you home on the cart, if you wish.”

This seemed an excellent plan, and it was done.

“I heard something the other day,” Jeremy said once they had set out towards the farm where the man in question lived.

The sun was still well above the horizon, despite the advanced hour, and the fields glowed in the late afternoon light.

Isaac let his eyes wander, taking in the beauty of the countryside, hardly letting Jeremy’s words take root in his mind.

But there was something in the other man’s tone that caught his attention.

“What is it?” Isaac’s jaw tightened.

“Lady Poole came to speak with my father about a legal matter.” He guided the horse around a curve in the road before speaking on.

“I was not supposed to be present, but I had come back to the rooms to get something I had forgotten. I heard them speaking behind the door; they did not know I was there.”

He paused again, and Isaac found his teeth were clenching.

“Yes… go on.”

“It seems that Lady Poole wished to learn what must be done to settle a dowry on Sophia. Until now, Sophia has had nothing, for there was not a penny left after her father… After her father’s debts were paid.

She has always thought to become a companion or perhaps a secretary to a family who would engage a woman for such a position. But now…”

His shoulders shifted towards his ears for a moment before he turned his attention to the next turn they must take towards their destination.

Whatever could this be about? Why settle a dowry on her now?

Isaac could think of no answer that was pleasing.

Their present direction of travel had them directly facing the sun, and Isaac had tightened his eyes against the glare.

But the red he was seeing owed as much to his growing anger as to the bright glow through his closed lids.

Eventually, he ground out the words he needed. “Whom, exactly, does Lady Poole have in mind for her niece?”

He did not need Jeremy to confirm the name he already knew.

“John Bladestock.”

The name still hit like a lead ball in his stomach.

Then a memory gnawed at him.

“I thought… I thought Sir Neville had intended to settle something on his niece, but Lady Poole stood in his way. Has Sophia misunderstood matters? You must know her situation far better than I do.”

Jeremy grunted into the bright sunlight.

“There is our destination.” He pointed to a pretty farmhouse just past a field flush with fresh growing crops. “Greystones Farm. A prosperous place. Fred Tompkins wants to lease more land. I have some papers here for him to look at. As for Sophia, yes, for all I know, you are correct.”

“Then why…?”

“Why would Lady Poole change her mind so suddenly?”

“And why does she come to speak with my father, and not Sir Neville?”

Isaac turned to look at Jeremy, whose answering regard was not happy.

“I suspect the lady has something untoward in mind. And I suspect Sophia will be the victim, rather than the beneficiary.”

And Isaac’s world went black.