“Then the situation isn’t very complicated at all, my love,” her father said.
“Of course it is,” she said, more confused than ever by his change of stance. “I am forced to marry a man I don’t particularly like because Icannotmarry the man I do like. How can you say that’s not a muddle of the worst possible kind?”
Her father nodded. “You’re right. Your mother and I have made your life quite difficult. It wasn’t our intention—I hope you know that.”
“I do,” she said, wishing he’d go away and leave her in peace. She had little desire to talk about Anthony or Mr. Roberts right now. If only she could forget them both.
“If it’s any consolation, I believe the duke cares very deeply for you.”
“How can you possibly think that might console me?” she asked, gaping at him as if he’d been half mad. “Do you think it will make it easier when I marry Mr. Roberts, knowing that the man I care for holds as much affection for me as I do for him, but that Society, my ridiculous sense of honor and my own parents are what kept us from each other?” Her voice had risen to a shrill pitch, but she didn’t care. She was so angry with everyone, including herself, that she found it impossible to contain it a second longer. “A duke wishes to marry me, Papa, but your ridiculous promise to Mr. Roberts and Mama’s asinine dislike of the upper—”
“Careful, Isabella,” her father warned. “I won’t have you insulting your mother when you know nothing of what she’s been through. You have no idea what she’s had to suffer.”
He rose and walked toward her, looking angrier than she’d ever seen him before. It was so unlike him, and she instinctively shrank back against her pillow. “Forgive me, Papa, I didn’t mean—”
“You may think your mother harsh and demanding, but she loves you more deeply than you can possibly imagine. She would lay down her life for you in a heartbeat, Isabella. Whatever you may think, she would never try to stand between you and your happiness.”
“Then why won’t she let the duke court me? I know it’s not you preventing him from doing so.”
“Because she’s afraid you’ll get hurt!”
Isabella stared back at her father as if he’d been a complete stranger. He looked so impassioned as he stood there towering over her, defending her mother as if his life depended on it, and it dawned on her then, in the dim light that her bedroom had to offer, that she might not know her parents as well as she thought. “Why would she be afraid of that?” she asked in a low whisper.
Her father straightened himself and stepped back. “That is not for me to say.”
“But I—”
“I will talk to her, Isabella.”
“But that won’t stop Mr. Roberts from turning against us. He’ll never forgive any of us if I deny him now. You could lose your job.”
“Let’s deal with your mother first and with Mr. Roberts later,” her father said as he reached for the doorknob. He paused and added, “Perhaps you’re right—perhaps it would be best if you remained up here for the remainder of the evening. I’ll ask Marjorie to fix a plate for you. Tomorrow, though, you’re leaving the house—you need some fresh air, Isabella, and more importantly, you need to face your problems head-on.”
“I love you, Papa,” she whispered as the door closed behind him. She’d always wondered at her mother’s relentless criticism of the aristocracy, for it had always been clear that it had nothing to do with envy. Considering what her father had said, as well as everything he’d left unsaid, she couldn’t help but wonder if it might have something to do with the gown Isabella had worn to the ball.
Her mother had said that she’d bought it from a peddler, but what if that wasn’t true? The more Isabella contemplated it, the more unlikely she found it. A thought struck her. Oh God! What if her mother had once been somebody’s mistress? What if some earl or marquess had bought it for her—a favor in return for ... Isabella swallowed hard, not daring herself to think such reprehensible things about her own mother. No, there had to be some other explanation that Isabella wasn’t seeing. She could only hope that her father would somehow be able to convince her mother that it wasn’t reason enough to prevent her daughter’s happiness.
Determined to do as her father had asked, Isabella left her house the following morning and headed toward Main Street. Clouds had begun gathering in the sky, but Isabella felt confident that if it rained, it wouldn’t be until much later in the day. Having spent a great deal of the previous evening thinking about what her life with Mr. Roberts would be like in comparison with what Anthony promised her, she’d decided to venture over to Browning & Co, the local bookshop. If Mr. Roberts meant to put a ban on reading, then she in turn had every intention of enjoying something by the scandalous Mary Wollstonecraft before saying her nuptials.
Stepping inside to the sound of a tinkling bell, she quickly surveyed the space, noting the elegant signs that marked the various categories along the bookshelves. Four large bookcases stood back to back in the center of the room, and Isabella was just about to advance on one of them when a short, gray-haired man stepped in front of her and said, “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I ... er ... that is ...” The man raised an eyebrow in anticipation of her response.Drat. She didn’t wish to tell him what she was looking for, since he’d probably disapprove. Taking courage in the face of his assessing stare, she squared her shoulders and said, “No, thank you—I merely wish to browse.”
He didn’t budge. “I am sure you would, miss.” He gave her a patronizing smile that she didn’t care for in the least. “However, I do have a rather great appreciation for order, and since this is your first visit to my shop, I fear I cannot allow you to roam around unchaperoned.”
Isabella gaped at him. “You think I will make a mess of your cataloging?”
His smile broadened. “Precisely.”
“Why, that’s preposterous!”
“Nonetheless,” the man continued. He gave her a pointed look. “If you would please tell me what you’re looking for, I shall be more than happy to find it for you.”
Isabella clamped her mouth shut in annoyance. It seemed that wherever she turned, a man would be there instructing her on what to do. It was maddening. Well, she wasn’t about to tell this little gnat that she desired to buy a book—any book—by that Wollstonecraft woman, so she shook her head instead and said, “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. In fact, I—”
“You really ought to stop scaring off your customers like that, Mr. Browning. It’s terribly bad for business.”
Isabella’s heart leapt into her throat and she cringed.Kingsborough. Turning her head, she saw him stepping out from behind one of the large bookcases, looking as handsome as ever in a dark brown suede jacket, beige breeches and shiny black Hessians. His eyes met hers, and he smiled a cheeky smile that immediately had her reaching out to a nearby table on which to steady herself, except her hand missed its mark and she dropped to the floor instead.Blast his dashing good looks. He would have no choice but to think her a complete nitwit now.
