Page 28 of Love’s Refrain at Roslyn Court (Noble Hearts #2)

O ne year later

ISAAC

Mr Isaac Hollimore sat back in the comfortable armchair in his music room and gazed adoringly at his wife, who even now serenaded him at the pianoforte.

He had discarded the title of Major along with the uniform, and he would take the new title of Lord soon enough—although he wished his uncle a long and vigorous life still.

He was in no hurry to take up his inheritance.

But for now, he was perfectly content to be a mere Mister.

Content. That was the word that filled his heart these days. He was content.

How different this year of civilian life had been from his previous military existence. It was not only the physical comforts of a comfortable house, although he could hardly complain about his lot.

His cousin Edwin, sadly, had proved the doctors correct and had succumbed to his illness before the summer was out, making Isaac heir presumptive to the current Viscount Brackendale.

Isaac and Sophia had intended to remain in their small house in London for the nonce, not wishing to intrude upon Isaac’s uncle’s grief, but the older man had sent for them and insisted on setting them up in the house that Edwin was to have, had he been of a stronger constitution.

“I shall be comforted by having my family close,” Uncle James had written, “and I beg to be known to your wife. If your words are true that her musical gifts soothe the troubled soul, perhaps she will be so kind as to grace me with her talents. I shall have a new pianoforte installed in the house, for her pleasure.”

With so generous and heartfelt a plea, the Hollimores could not refuse, and removed to the property at once.

The house was nothing like the small cottage that Isaac had envisioned, a cosy structure at the edge of the park, or a crumbling Tudor pile.

Instead, Uncle James had bought a property just outside the closest village, a smart lodge that would do any gentleman proud, and a mere three miles from Brackendale House.

Now Isaac could live in comfortable independence, separate from his uncle’s household, but still be close enough to attend his relation as often as needed, the better to learn what he must for when—hopefully many years hence—he would become the next lord.

It was an arrangement that suited everybody well.

But these physical comforts aside, what Isaac cherished most were the comforts of the soul.

He was not free of the black cloud that dogged him, and he suspected he never would be. Nor was his sleep uninterrupted by those same terrible dreams. But they came far less frequently now, and when he did wake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and screaming, Sophia was there.

Her cool hands soothed him, her soft voice lulled him back to himself, and her gentle embraces often turned into something more, which brought pleasure to both.

What a treasure he had found, and what a fool he had been to nearly let her go.

The brush of the door being opened intruded into Isaac’s reflections, but not unpleasantly so, for it heralded the entry of his friend.

This was another benefit of his new life: new friends.

Oh, he would never forget his army mates, and had extended an invitation to each of his brothers-in-arms whenever they were in the neighbourhood, but new friendships were a welcome gift as well. He pushed himself to his feet and turned to his guest with a smile and outstretched hand.

“John! Good morning. How was your ride?”

Sophia stopped playing and greeted him likewise.

“It is a fine morning,” John Bladestock replied. “You were most kind to invite me to stay for a time. This is beautiful country, and I shall never tire of exploring its lanes and trails.”

Despite being a rival of sorts for Sophia’s hand, Bladestock had been the first person to offer his best wishes after Isaac and Sophia’s marriage, which had occurred the very morning after she was sent from Roslyn Court.

Isaac smiled at the memory, he and Sophia standing up next to Louisa and Jeremy in the small village church.

Lady Poole had refused to see Louisa again until she was respectably wed, which suited her daughter well, and it seemed pointless to waste a good wedding day.

The cousins were thrilled to share their celebration with each other.

Now Bladestock was here at Isaac’s invitation, to remain for as long as he needed accommodations. He had brought his violoncello, which delighted Sophia, and the promise of excellent music had made the family welcome guests in many fine homes in the vicinity.

“I had meant to tell you, John,” Sophia spoke from her seat at the keyboard, “we are expecting company. I had meant to say so at breakfast, but you were out of the house so early on your rambles. Lord Brackendale’s daughter?—”

“My cousin, Cecily, that is,” Isaac interrupted.

“—will be joining us for the morning. She is just now out of mourning for her brother and wished a gentle step back into society. She really loved him and was quite heartbroken at his loss.”

“My sympathies to the lady,” Bladestock returned. “I shall be on my best behaviour.”

“You always are. You are a true gentleman in the real sense of the word.”

Bladestock bowed, but his grin was intimate.

Had Isaac not known that the affection between his friend and his wife was purely one of friendship and that she had, indeed, rejected his suit only hours before accepting his own, he would have been jealous.

But Bladestock knew no deceit. Isaac now knew that on that fateful night a year ago, Bladestock had decided, even before offering for Sophia, not to proceed with Lady Poole’s scheme to compromise the young lady.

Instead, he had taken Sophia’s refusal with good grace and had merely gone home.

This was one reason Isaac was so pleased to consider Bladestock a friend.

He also understood fully how Ashburton accepted the man’s friendship with his own wife so easily.

They were friends and fellow musicians, but as with Sophia, nothing more.

John Bladestock was that rare creature: a truly good man.

“You will love Miss Cecily Hollimore,” Sophia was saying. “She is no musician, but draws remarkably well.”

“And Cecy is not coming alone,” Isaac now added. “She is bringing an acquaintance, a dear friend of hers from school. Her father made a great fortune in India and?—”

The sound of feet in the hall stopped his words, and Mrs Gingell, his housekeeper, appeared at the door.

“The ladies have arrived, Sir, Madam.”

“Very good. Show them in here, and please see to tea.”

The housekeeper disappeared, to be replaced at the doorway by a young lady in lavender. It seemed that Cousin Cecy was not quite ready to throw off all mourning. Isaac, already standing, rushed forward to pull her into an embrace, before standing back to let Sophia greet her.

Then Cecily’s friend entered the room, and Isaac’s grin expanded past what he believed possible.

The dark-haired young lady had taken only a single step into the room when she stopped as if struck. Her eyes had lit upon John Bladestock, standing there in a shaft of sunlight and glowing like a god, and were riveted to him.

For his part, Bladestock was gaping at Miss Eleanor Leamon as if visited by a vision from the heavens.

Sophia’s eyes caught his. She noticed it too.

It seemed that Mr Bladestock’s future might be rather bright, after all.

THE END