Page 25 of Love’s Refrain at Roslyn Court (Noble Hearts #2)

Twenty-Five

ISAAC

H e was supposed to be the guest of honour at this party, but Isaac did not care.

How could he pay attention to the tables of food and goblets of wine when he needed to find Sophia? How could he smile and make pleasant, meaningless conversation with elegantly garbed gentlemen and pearl-encrusted ladies when his future was at stake?

The leading figures of local society were there; knights and baronets, gentlemen and esteemed wealthy families of the merchant class, all thronged to Roslyn Court to fill the grand rooms with their sparkling presence.

No ball at Almack’s was so fine, and the food at Roslyn Court was certainly finer.

But Isaac did not care.

He had to find Sophia!

At once, his mission was interrupted by Lady Poole, who somehow found him before he had gone three steps from the library. Did that woman have spies all over the house? Isaac glanced at a footman in an alcove. Yes, it seemed she must.

“Major, where have you been?” She grabbed his arm, dragging him bodily behind her. “You must meet Admiral Dobson. You would not wish to disappoint an admiral, would you?”

“Please, I must go…”

But she would have none of it, and pulled him through the house. To resist now would be to lay hands on a lady, and that he could not make himself do.

No sooner had he dispensed with the minimal necessary civilities here, than Lady Poole found another acquaintance, and then another, and then another still.

Each time, he tried to leave, and each time she forced his hand.

His mind screamed to wish them all to the dickens, but he could not—for Sophia’s sake, if nothing else—be rude.

If she refused him, she would have to live with her aunt, and Lady Poole, it seemed, could make Sophia’s existence here a misery.

He tried to shake the proper hands and bow to the perfect degree, tried to say flattering things to over-dressed woman and charm their underdressed daughters, but his mind was awhirl, scouring the edges of the room, glancing out into the gardens, desperate for a glimpse of Sophia.

Of her, or of Bladestock, he saw nothing.

What had transpired? Had they even met, or had Bladestock merely wished to get some air? Were they indeed engaged, and even now ensconced in some shadowy corner with their arms wrapped around each other?

“Excuse me,” he mumbled to an elderly gentleman in a frock coat from the last century, and tried to take his leave.

But Lady Poole was at his side, affixed as if with a leash, and at every attempt to excuse himself from the room, she put a gloved hand on his and told him he absolutely had to meet somebody new.

Here was Lady Farnworth, with blue feathers somehow attached to her turban, bobbing up and down above her every time she moved her head; there was Mr Cuddington, or Lord Beswick, or Mrs de Vere, all of whom had to be greeted and feted, and escape was impossible.

And through every bow and forced smile, all he could think of was how he could possibly leave this place, where he should seek Sophia.

All thoughts of stowing his trunks on the cart were forgotten. Until he found her and pleaded his case, he knew he could not leave.

Where was she? When could he escape this madhouse and search for her?

At long last, when the sun was just a faint dark pink glow at the horizon, somebody called for music. The band had been playing for much of the evening, of course, and they were very good, as even his untrained ear could hear, but now there was to be dancing.

This, too, had been anticipated, and in a moment, an army of servants had cleared the centre of the room, which now could be seen to boast a beautifully chalked floor.

In that eddy of commotion, when everyone was swirling about and the whole space was in that moment of flux, Isaac finally took his chance. The second Lady Poole’s presence was needed elsewhere, he raced towards the door, and then—hopefully unobserved—fled down the hall.

Where would Sophia be? What could have happened to her?

He first checked the music room, in the hopes that she would have taken refuge in the one place where she was the undisputed master, and then her office, should she wish for silence.

Both were empty.

Could she have gone up to her bedroom? He could hardly seek her there himself, but none of the servants had seen her pass by towards the stairs, and the young maid he sent to tap at her door returned with the news that nobody had answered.

He returned to her small office. It was, if nothing else, a quiet place where he could think.

The draperies had not been drawn, and through the window, the same one through which he had stared from the gardens often enough, he saw people strolling along the delicately illuminated paths around the fountains.

How much had Lady Poole spent on this soiree, that she had arranged for these scores of oil lamps to be brought in and arranged so?

No wonder Sophia had not had a moment to herself since this whole event was conceived.

Isaac walked to the window to gaze out at the sight.

It really was most picturesque, magical, almost, this tracery of glowing bulbs in the dark garden, lighting silvery tracks along which beautifully dressed people wandered like actors on a stage.

The sun was now fully set, and the full moon picked out individual trunks in that curtain of trees…

The cottage! Of course. He could barely see it now, just beyond that wooded fringe, a dark shape in the darkness. How had he not considered that before? For all that his search had taken no more than five minutes, he now berated himself for time lost.

It must be the cottage. That was where Lady Poole was going to arrange for this foolish attempt at a compromise. The woman had been at his side all evening thus far, and had not spoken to Sophia, could not have sent her there during the festivities, but…

Had she sent her there earlier, while the men were still in the dining room?

Had Sophia been there all this time, waiting, or perhaps sleeping?

As he stared, he thought he noticed a flicker of light in the dark woods near where the cottage was.

Yes! It was the quiet glow of a small lamp. Somebody was there.

He had to find her now!

Thankfully he knew this house well, and he flew out the side door, far from where the gathered guests were revelling and dancing, all most certainly having forgotten about him entirely.

He needed to get to the cottage to warn Sophia, and there was no time to waste in social pleasantries or explanations.

Running from the little-used door near the kitchens, he skirted the pleasure gardens that Lady Poole had created and dove into the dark woods that surrounded them. The cottage was close, just there, through those trees.

What a clever place for Lady Poole’s plans.

The cottage was far enough from the festivities, deep enough in the woods, that the light was not readily apparent to a casual observer, especially not while the sky was still light.

It could easily be thought a shimmer of light through the canopy of leaves, or a reflected moonbeam from the lake just beyond.

But once you saw it, it was no difficult thing to wish to investigate, and any couple ensconced within those old walls would be discovered at once.

Cruel, cruel woman!

He was there, at last. Moving as silently as he could in his haste, he tapped once at the door, and then pushed it open.

“Isaac!” Sophia’s voice rang through the dim air. Even with the flickering oil lamp that stood on the tiny table by the wall, there were more shadows than light.

Isaac turned towards the source of the sound and found Sophia wrapped in that old blanket on the chair where he had slept not so long before. Her eyes, from what he could see of them, were bleary and she looked like he had awakened her.

“My aunt sent me here…” she began. “I was so tired.”

“We have to talk!” Isaac blurted out. “Please… but not here.”

Sophia rubbed her eyes. “Whyever not?”

Standing in the doorway, as he was, Isaac saw from the corner of his eye a gathering of pale figures. It was the group of ladies, all in their fashionable light-coloured gowns, congregating in the gardens. Was he too late?

“Your aunt,” he began, “is trying to ruin you. Bladestock was supposed to come here, to be discovered with you. To be forced to marry you. I see them now, her army of women, waiting to attack.”

He knew he was incoherent. He just had to get her away from the cottage.

“Mr Bladestock is no threat. But… If we are discovered here together, you will be put under a great deal of pressure to marry me. I will have no choice. Is that so bad?”

What was she saying? That she wished to be found thus, half-asleep, with him standing over her? His mind reeled.

“No!” Common sense edged through, but not quite enough of it, because he then heard himself exclaim, “If you’re going to marry me, it will be because you want to and not because you have to.”

His eyes went wide. He had not meant to declare himself thus, but Sophia did not seem horrified. Instead, she smiled and threw off that old blanket, then got to her feet.

“Very well. We do, indeed, need to talk. I have something rather particular I need to say to you, but not here.” Was she smiling? It sounded that way.

Almost dizzy with wonder, Isaac let her take his hand and lead him out of the cottage, then further down into the woods towards the lake.

A glance back showed the dim flicker of light from that lamp, still burning on the tiny table. Lady Poole’s platoon of matrons would find nothing but an empty cottage for their efforts.

He grinned and turned his attention back to the lovely young woman pulling him after her.