Page 12 of Lady Controversial
And not wanting him to go.
Dear lord, what was wrong with her? She, the most decisive of people, no longer knew her own mind. She blamed the earl rather than the blow to her head for her temporary loss of wits. She would be herself again the moment he left and she was no longer subjected to that deep, penetrating gaze of his that made her feel as if she was something out of the ordinary. She knew that the opposite was the case; particularly at that precise moment when she must look as though she had been dragged through a hedge backwards.
Papa had spoken with regret and genuine confusion about the difference between her appearance and Jane’s. The younger daughter was his unquestionable favourite, and he had put lofty ideas about her future into her head that Isolda had been left to temper. Papa clearly found a great deal about Isolda to lament, choosing to ignore the fact that Jane favoured their mother while Isolda more closely resembled Papa, and appearing to hold her responsible for her physical shortcomings.
And when Papa failed to remind her, Jane could always be depended upon to fill the void.
‘Thank you, Mrs Compton.’ The earl shot Isolda a devilish smile. ‘That would be delightful.’
And so saying, he pulled up a chair across from Isolda and made himself at home.
Ellery watched the scene before him and sensed the bond of affection that existed between this highly unusual young lady and the cook who appeared to have appointed herself as her surrogate mother. He was aware that Miss Crawley had registered his shock at the state of the property. The place was half-derelict and even the enticing smells emanating from the range couldn’t entirely eradicate the stench of mould and rotting thatch. He was admittedly accustomed to luxury, but failed to see how anyone, especially two such well-bred young ladies, could possibly survive in such squalid conditions.
Or why they should have to if the younger Miss Crawley had an aunt well enough situated to sponsor the girl’s coming-out. It was an enigma that intrigued Ellery and one that he fully intended to get to the bottom of.
Mrs Compton set tea before him, along with a plate of biscuits fresh from the range. Ellery took no persuading to taste one, then another. He flashed his most engaging smile at the cook and declared them to be delicious.
‘Well then,’ Mrs Compton said, beaming at the compliment. ‘If there’s nothing further you’ll be needing, I’ll leave you to your business.’
Ellery was surprised. He had assumed that the older lady would stick to Miss Crawley to protect her reputation. Instead, she left the room with a speed that defied her bulk. Miss Crawley looked a little alarmed to find herself alone with Ellery and couldn’t meet his gaze. Sensing that being lost for words was a novelty for her, Ellery also realised that challenging her would be the best way to eradicate her embarrassment.
‘Frightened of me?’ he asked in a deliberately provocative tone.
‘Good heavens, no.’ But her words lacked conviction and she still couldn’t meet his gaze. ‘I am more frightened by runaway horses, rats and some of the larger spiders that live in the thatch, but there is nothing you can do to scare me.’
Ellery wanted to give her an argument on that score, since any number of pleasurable and highly inappropriate possibilities chose a most inconvenient time to flood his mind. If he gave voice to them then she really would have reason to be afraid of him, to say nothing of being quite justifiably offended. She was a lady of quality, Ellery reminded himself. It showed in a dozen little ways. In her mannerisms, her refined accent and the way in which she conducted herself. It would be a mistake on his part to judge her by her current circumstances, he knew. The nature of his thoughts caught up with him and he felt embarrassed to concede that he was being to some extent judgemental, no matter her heritage.
Ellery rubbed his chin, thinking this was a situation that none of his training as a gentleman had prepared him for. That training made no allowance for being alone with an unmarried lady of quality, instead offering helpful advice on avoiding such situations like the plague.
‘Why were you intending to call?’ she asked, clearly gathering her wits and finally looking directly at him from across the expanse of scarred and scrubbed pine that separated them.
A subject that hadn’t seemed especially important now seemed vital, although not for reasons Ellery could possibly have anticipated when he’d got out of bed that morning. This most unusual young woman’s circumstances were unorthodox, to say the least, and for reasons he had yet to comprehend he felt responsible for her welfare. There was something not quite right about her situation that had nothing to do with her poverty.
Or there again, perhaps everything to do with it.
His mother would have apoplexy if she realised that a viscount’s daughters were living in such straitened circumstances. Her concern would not be for their sake but for the reputation of the aristocracyper se. She would consider that they were letting the side down and blame them for doing so despite the fact that it was not their fault and that they were victims. She would have refused to call upon them or indeed to acknowledge them in any way.
‘Are you by any chance acquainted with Lord Brooke?’ he asked, trying to sound casual as he voiced a concern that had been growing exponentially and subconsciously since he had first met Miss Crawley.
Before she could respond, the door opened and a vision with a cloud of blonde hair floating around her shoulders, wearing a thin robe and heavy scowl, glided into the room. ‘Isolda, why on earth…eek!’
The sister, since presumably this was she, noticed Ellery and shrieked, pulling her robe tightly across her breasts. Ellery stood politely and waited for Miss Crawley to make the introduction.
‘My lord, may I present my sister, Miss Jane Crawley. Jane, this is Lord Finchdean.’
Jane gathered herself sufficiently to dip a brief curtsey whilst shooting a disbelieving look at her sister.
‘A pleasure,’ Ellery said shortly.
Jane’s mouth fell open but no sound emerged. The scowl was replaced with a demure smile and a bewildered expression.
‘Go and get dressed, Jane,’ Miss Crawley said. ‘I am sure Lord Finchdean will excuse you.’
‘Of course,’ Ellery said, looking at Miss Crawley rather than her vision of a sister.
The sister in question appeared set to argue the point but thankfully grasped the fact that she could not entertain an earl, or anyone at all for that matter, while wearing her night attire.
‘Have the goodness to excuse me, sir,’ she said, lingering for a protracted moment before finally turning towards the door, then pausing again to glance back at Miss Crawley over her shoulder with a raised-eyebrow look.
