Page 24 of Lady Controversial
‘Finchdean?’ Brooke, on the point of collecting his hat, glanced at Jane and looked discomposed. ‘You have made the earl’s acquaintance?’
‘We have.’ It was Jane who answered. ‘He sat where you are now just a few hours ago. I was never more ashamed of our surroundings.’
‘How did you meet?’
Isolda bridled at his proprietary tone. ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said archly.
‘Excuse me, Miss Crawley. It is none of my affair, I’ll grant you, but I was an intimate friend of your father’s, have known you both for years and make no apology for taking an interest in your wellbeing.’
‘You imagine a gentleman of Lord Finchdean’s stature has ungentlemanly intentions?’ Isolda asked with an innocent lift of one brow.
Brooke frowned. ‘Men of Finchdean’s stature can do as they please, especially if they come across vulnerable young ladies living in unsuitable accommodation.’
‘He did not give the impression of being ungentlemanly,’ Jane said. She clearly took Lord Brooke’s words at face value and bit her lower lip in uncertainty. Isolda wanted to tell her that they were only acquainted with one unscrupulous individual and he was at that very moment making himself at home in their kitchen.
‘That, if you will excuse me for saying so, is because you are unaccustomed to mixing with men of his type,’ Brooke said condescendingly.
‘And yet Papa was a viscount and we were acquainted with a large number of his peers,’ Isolda pointed out sweetly. ‘We survived the experience unscathed.’
‘Because your father was still alive to protect you. I cannot seem to make you understand just how vulnerable you both are now.’
‘You see!’ Jane again bounced on her seat. ‘Isolda, we really must consider Lord Brooke’s kind offer. After all…’
Isolda silenced whatever Jane had been about to go on to say with a look and her words trailed off. Jane focused her gaze on her fingers and muttered something unintelligible. Isolda wanted to point out that if she behaved like a spoiled brat in front of Lord Brooke, her intention of snaring him as a husband would meet with abject failure. No matter what ulterior motives that gentleman had, taking on a wife with a propensity to sulk if she did not get her own way was not something he would be likely to do, no matter how attractive the potential wife in question, or how pressing his need to ally himself with her family.
‘If you are ready to leave, I will walk you to your horse, sir.’
Isolda’s tone left no room for argument. Brooke took prolonged leave of Jane, kissing her hand and holding it for far longer than the proprieties dictated, promising her that they would meet again very soon. Jane’s face turned pink with pleasure and she did indeed look angelic.
‘I know what you are about to say,’ Lord Brooke said as they stepped outside into the twilight and a biting wind. Isolda shivered and pulled her shawl more closely about her shoulders. ‘I should not have repeated my offer in front of your sister.’
‘No, you should not have. We had an agreement, or so I thought. Anyway, you know my view on the subject and I shall not change my mind.’
‘I believe I abided by our agreement. The cottage you talked of residing in sounded as though it would suit you well. If I had known what state it was in…’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘I make no apology for wanting to keep you safe and comfortable, and did not for a moment imagine that you would raise objections. Winter is coming and that place is not fit for habitation.’
‘Quite apart from anything else, I fail to understand why you are so concerned about our welfare,’ Isolda said, although she had a fairly good idea, thanks to Lord Finchdean’s revelations. ‘Now Jane will hound me night and day, which was perhaps your intention.’
‘You wound me, Isolda.’
‘Miss Crawley,’ she snapped in response. ‘I think it better to observe the formalities, given the circumstances.’
Lord Brooke halted and looked at her for a prolonged moment. ‘There is something about you,’ he said. ‘Something that transcends the appearances people put so much stock in.’
Isolda allowed herself a bitter little laugh. ‘A backhanded compliment if ever I received one.’
‘Consider the cottage, that’s all I ask of you,’ he said, reclaiming his horse and swinging into the saddle. ‘I will sell this place for you and place the funds at your disposal, which will offer you a degree of independence.’
‘Thank you, Lord Brooke, but I am not interested in selling.’
‘But…’
She held up a hand. ‘Not at any price. Good evening to you.’
Chapter Eight
Marcus Brooke rode away from Rose Cottage—an inaptly named hovel if ever he had encountered one—in a foul frame of mind. It would take an age for the smell of mouldy decay to leave his nostrils, to say nothing of his clothing. He had supposed that a few weeks of living under such impoverished conditions would have brought the high-and-mighty Isolda Crawley to her senses. She was, after all, accustomed to the best of everything. But the infuriating female seemed as intransigent as ever. Her sister had even spoken of improvements that she had planned for the dwelling. Where the devil was she finding the blunt? She had little of her own and Marcus knew that her aunt would not oblige her. There would be hell to pay if she dared to!
Isolda was a challenging, disrespectful minx who interested him far more than her admittedly beautiful but facile sister. Marcus knew that any advances on his part would meet with a not especially polite rebuff, probably because he had made his initial preference for Jane apparent and Isolda wanted the best possible match for the beauty of the family. Marcus preened, well aware that he met the necessary criteria in that regard and that Jane would not have refused him. He chose to ignore the niggling suggestion playing in the back of his mind that Isolda might have done so even if she did not have Jane’s best interests at heart.
