Page 27 of Lady Controversial
Isolda’s ruminations constantly returned to Lord Finchdean, whose company she had found both stimulating and challenging; a little too much so, which concerned her. Isolda did not have a romantic disposition and could not allow herself to be side-tracked by the animal attraction that had drawn her to the earl. Be that as it may, her heart still lifted a little as she recalled the probing nature of the gaze that frequently dwelt upon her features; of the manner in which he appeared to find her society engaging and saw no reason to criticise her individuality. It was almost as though he found her interesting—desirable even—which was ridiculous. She had looked a sight and had spoken her mind far too openly. No gentleman admired a female who expressed herself with so much conviction.
Not that it really mattered, she decided with a sigh. The chances of seeing him again were slim, and perhaps that would be for the best. It would be impossible to yearn for something she had never had, or desired, before. Although she was his equal in terms of status, that was as far as their parallel universes were ever likely to interact. She could not afford to take her rightful place within society’s ranks, nor did she have any desire to. He, on the other hand, would be obliged to select a wife from the cluster of suitable females clambering to engage his attention before he grew much older.
As the dawn rose, she was no closer to deciding how to outwit Lord Brooke, partly because her thoughts kept returning to Lord Finchdean and she found it impossible to apply her mind to the irritation that was Lord Brooke. She felt annoyed with herself for being so…well, predictable. She felt sure that every female under the age of fifty who was admitted to Lord Finchdean’s compelling presence would find him hard to dismiss from her thoughts, but she had more common sense.
Didn’t she?
‘Not me,’ she muttered as she shivered through her ablutions and hurriedly dressed in her warmest clothing. ‘I shall think of him no more.’
Unrested, stiff and totally unprepared for what she must do later that evening, Isolda left Jane sleeping soundly and made her way into the mercifully warm kitchen, where Mrs Compton was already hard at work stirring a pot of porridge. Isolda greeted the older lady, her mind still full of her evening’s engagement. If she failed to deliver she knew very well that there was every possibility that Lord Brooke would get his wish and Rose Cottage would be his by the end of the week.
‘Never!’ she said.
‘Never what, love?’ Mrs Compton turned from the range, spoon in hand, with an expression of polite enquiry. ‘You look done in,’ she added, not waiting for a response. ‘I hope you don’t intend to keep your engagement tonight. You’re in no fit state.’
Mrs Compton was the only person who knew how Isolda made the money to retain their independence. She did not approve, but she understood the need.
‘I have no choice in the matter, Mrs C. You know that.’
‘Don’t mean I have to like it, though,’ the older lady replied, tutting as she returned her attention to the porridge. ‘Now sit yourself down and let’s get some food inside you. You’ll feel better after that.’
Isolda walked up behind Mrs Compton and gave her an impulsive hug. ‘Things will work out,’ she said, wondering whom she was attempting to convince.
Chapter Nine
Ellery rose with the dawn and applied himself to the myriad tasks that awaited his attention. Always so many of them, and they could not be deferred indefinitely. He and Lawson worked steadily through the morning, and by the time they came to the end of a near bottomless pile of requests for favours and patronage, Ellery’s muscles were cramped. He craved fresh air and exercise, and stood up with that purpose in mind.
‘I shall ride the lower acres and check on the new fencing,’ he said, stretching his arms above his head and listening to his spine crackle in protest.
Lawson nodded. ‘Don’t forget that Hewitt is due to call later this afternoon.’
Ellery scowled. He disliked the fussy clergyman who made a point of kowtowing to his mother, shamelessly currying favour by exploiting her desire to be flattered and deferred to. ‘I shall endeavour to be back. If I’m not, you will have to listen to whatever it is that’s got him worked up on this occasion.’ Ellery let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘For a man of God, he is the most intolerant creature it has ever been my misfortune to encounter.’
‘Do as I say, not as I do,’ Lawson grinned. ‘Isn’t that ever the way with men of the cloth?’
Ellery grunted. ‘He will most likely come cap in hand in expectation of another donation for his church roof fund, even though to the best of my knowledge there is nothing wrong with it. I ought to know. I’ve spent enough dreary hours of a Sunday staring up at it during his interminable sermons. Anyway, don’t make any promises on my behalf. It’s a rich enough parish. He ought to be able to manage the diocese without constantly seeking contributions from my coffers.’
Lawson chuckled. ‘Leave him to me.’
‘I fully intend to.’
Ellery strode outside, taking a circuitous route to avoid his mother’s sitting room and the inquisition he would doubtless be obliged to endure if she caught him outside the sanctity of his library. He heard voices coming from within it that didn’t belong to any member of his family and increased his pace, keen not to be detained and obliged to make polite conversation with his mother’s visitors.
He breathed in the crisp, clean air as he made his way to the stables, where he was informed by his head groom that Miss Crawley’s gig had been repaired.
‘That was quick. Is it serviceable?’
‘It’s old, me lord, but it will do well enough for local journeys.’
‘Very well.’ Ellery now had an excuse to visit the young woman who had engaged his full attention the previous day, thoughts of whom had seldom been far from the forefront of his mind ever since. ‘Have a suitable nag harnessed to the contraption and we will return it to its owner.’
If Roberts seemed surprised that Ellery intended to accompany the groom when he took the conveyance back he gave no sign, and instead issued orders for an old cob to be put in harness. Legacy had been saddled and was prancing at the end of his lead rope, anxious to stretch his legs and in no mood to be delayed by plodding cobs.
‘Patience, old chap.’ Ellery slapped the horse’s neck, keeping well clear of his snapping teeth. ‘I want to see her every bit as much as you do.’
Ellery cantered on ahead of the gig, giving Legacy his head when they reached a clearing and spurring him into a flat-out gallop. The horse settled once he’d blown off steam and was content for Ellery to walk him in circles, giving the gig time to catch up with them.
Before it did so, a sound coming from a clearing close to Miss Crawley’s cottage reached his ears. Shouting, as though someone was in pain. He felt some anxiety when he recognised the voice as belonging to Miss Crawley herself. Ellery dismounted, tied Legacy to a convenient branch and crept up, expecting to find her being attacked and hoping to take her attacker by surprise, convinced that Brooke would prove to be the guilty party.
