“Like what?” Ian said, frowning as he looked for the insult.
“Beguiling. And seemingly innocent but all the time playing a man as if he were a fish on a line. Which we all were, I suppose. You, me, Davenport and Marsden. I made a pony out of you, anyway. I always thought you would win.”
“Did you? I was never so confident. The only thing I had in my favour was the title.”
“But I had nothing at all,” Kiltarlity said. “No title and no prospect of it, or so it seemed then, no money and no style. I was always the hopeless case at the back of the field.”
“But you had so much charm,” Ian said. “And she was in love with you, which must have made her very torn. But in the end she wanted the title more than love.”
“Was she?” he said in a small voice. “In love with me?”
“Oh, yes. Head over heels.”
“Surely she never told you so.”
Ian hesitated, but Kiltarlity was an old friend, and somehow he no longer cared what anyone thought. His long chase after Izzy had scoured him free of any lingering pretence. “She did. Whenever we quarrelled, she threw it in my face that she had always loved you and not me. And that Marsden was far richer than I was, and Davenport had the soul of a poet. Whereas I was born to be a grocer, she assured me, with my attention to the accounts.”
“God, Monty! How awful! Tell me at least you called her a few choice names in return. No, of course you did not. You are far too gentle a soul to do such a thing. I should have given her an earful, I can tell you. Why on earth do you want her back?”
Ian laughed. “Because she is the most wonderful and amazing creature in the world, and she ismy wife.The woman I love with every fibre of my being. Five years we have been married, and it is not enough, not nearly enough. I want to spend my whole life with her and the life beyond, too. Icannotgive her up, but I need to stop her flitting about the country and face up to what has happened. I have a plan but… Kiltarlity, will you help me?”
“Like a shot. Just tell me what you want me to do, my friend.”
***
The note was delivered by the youngest Lochmaben footman, who could not have been much above fourteen, but well grown and very dignified. He chose a moment when callers werejust leaving, so there was a general mêlée around the door and no one paying much attention to him.
“For you, my lady,” he murmured, and pushed a paper, folded up small, into Izzy’s hand, before moving swiftly away.
The folded edges were sharp, but she curled her fist around the little ball of paper, hiding it behind her back. As soon as opportunity offered, she made an excuse and left the room, racing up the stairs to her chamber, half thrilled at the subterfuge, but also half terrified. It must be from Robert, and if he should want her again… would she go with him? Would shemarryhim, despite the scandal that would undoubtedly explode around them? Could she simply walk away from Ian, Helena and Aurelia — leave them behind as if they never existed?
Reaching her room, she slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against it as she pulled out the paper and hastily unfolded it.
‘We must talk urgently. Meet me on the holly walk at two. R.O.’
Robert Osborn. It was him, then, and not using his title, but then he disliked his inheritance. He was unhappy with his present life, just as she was. There was nothing specific in the note of what he proposed but surely it must mean that he wanted her… what else could it be?
She had half an hour before the appointed time. Half an hour in which to decide what she wanted to do with her life. She had reached the end of her quest, a quest she had not realised she had embarked upon until she reached Scotland. She had thought she was running away, but it seemed that she was running towards something all the time. Not Godfrey Marsden, for she saw him now for the clutch-fisted man he was. She would have been desperately unhappy with so mean a man. And not Sydney Davenport, who had seemed so romantic and poetic a man, yetnow he was happy to sink into dreary domesticity with whatever wife would bring him a field or two.
But Robert Osborn… surely that was where her future lay? Was it not opportune, that her marriage was shown to be a sham while he was as yet unwed, and now an earl? Wealth and charm and a title… everything she had ever wanted. And she loved him, did she not? She had loved him since she had first met him at that silly woman’s rout — she could not recall her name. Benson or Belford or some such thing. She had thought it exciting then, newly arrived in town as she was, and especially so when the first person she saw was Robert. For weeks she had dreamt of him, quite sure that when he offered, she would accept him.
Yet by the time he spoke, she had three other offers dangling, all of them more eligible, and she knew beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt that she would not marry purely for love. Wealth and charm and a title… Ian had two of the three, and that was enough for her to decide her future.
But that was then, and now everything was different. She was not married to Ian, and Robert had wealthandcharmanda title… so that settled it. Surely that settled it? Except that the charm seemed to have evaporated. This fidgety, indecisive man, so overwhelmed by his new responsibilities, was not the man she fell in love with. He was not appealing at all.
Whereas Ian… she could not reflect on Ian with anything less than deep gratitude. Such a lovely husband, the kindest, gentlest, most noble of men. He had not changed, as Godfrey, Sydney and Robert had changed, their youthful promise dwindling away to ordinariness. Ian had only improved over the years. He was not ordinary at all.
Crossing quickly to the chest of drawers, she rummaged amongst her stockings until she found what she was looking for — the framed miniature of Ian. She gazed at it now, wondering, as she had so often over the last five years, where he was andwhether he was thinking of her, too. Was he still in pursuit of her, or had he gone home at last? Had he finally given up? Had she driven him away forever?
To her surprise, she found her eyes filling with tears — she who never cried! Her throat was unaccountably tight as she thought on this husband of hers… no, not her husband, she reminded herself fiercely. Not her husband… she was not Lady Farramont anymore. She was not even Lady Isabel Atherton. She wasnobody…
And then she wept in good earnest, although for what she could not have said.
It was no use. How could she walk away from everything she had for an uncertain future? Not only her husband, but her children, her home… everything she now was. She was not a green girl any longer, dazzled by her first success in society. She was a married woman and a mother… she could not abandon her two sweet girls. She could not abandon Ian.
Her husband.
She no longer wanted to meet Robert. Perhaps she should ignore the note? But having effectively thrown herself at his head, she could hardly ignore his overtures now. Besides, he only said he wanted to talk urgently. That did not sound particularly lover-like. It may be that he had heard some news from home… Ian! Or the children! And it was almost two already!
