With an angelic smile, she stepped back, obviously well pleased with the results. It was ghastly—and it suited the hall very well, indeed.
"Thank you for being so patient, my lord. My young cousin is leaving to school today and I wanted to give him an appropriate send off." Rushing to Julian's side, she took his hand, glancing about warily. "Come, we must make our escape."
He was willing, but it was not to be. At the sound of a porcine snort, they both jumped and looked up. Hildegard came barreling down the winding stair, sniffling tragically into a heavily decorated handkerchief.
"Oh, Lord Blackworth! How divine of you to come see Sheldon off. I shall call Spears to take your hat." Giving a mighty sniff, she turned back up the stairs and bawled, "
Spears
!"
The butler appeared at the landing, towing a boy of about twelve years by one pudgy arm. The pair descended behind Hildegard.
"This is my son, Sheldon, Lord Blackworth. Sheldon, bow to his lordship!"
The scowling lad rolled his eyes and, giving a jerk, released his arm from Spears's grip. He bowed infinitesimally. Hildegard brought her hand up to the back of his head in what was, no doubt, meant to be a mild tap. It sent Sheldon to his knees. The boy righted himself and gave a grudging bow.
He looked like something left in a cave too long— pasty and pimply, with orangey-red hair and eyelashes. His piggy little eyes looked permanently reddened. All of which might have been forgiven, or at least overlooked, in a more congenial creature. But even had he been a handsome lad, his hostile little personality would have shone through.
Julian was heartily glad Sheldon would not be about in the near future. The little imbecile no doubt pulled the wings off flies for entertainment.
Suddenly, the boy's pale eyes widened in horror. When he realized the lad was staring past him at the flower arrangement, Julian glanced at Izzy. Sending him a bright look, she chirped, "They are for you, Sheldon. Just a little good-bye gift."
Opening his mouth to protest, Sheldon was seized by the most horrendous fit of sneezing Julian had ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The little monster looked like a puppet bouncing at the end of his strings. Pursing his lips, Julian stole a peek at Izzy. The blissful look of joy on her face nearly undid him.
Hildegard hurriedly ushered Spears and Sheldon out to the waiting carriage. Once the woman was through the door, Julian turned to Izzy. She was draped over a large fig-leafed Apollo, giggling helplessly.
Taking her arm, he urged her into the same parlor he had seen before. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned against it. At the sight of Izzy howling on the couch, he laughed.
"Oh, that little rat! The look on his face!" Izzy gulped air. "Oh, it was priceless. Oh, dear. Of course, I shall pay for that one. But it was worth it." Grinning broadly, she wiped streaming eyes.
"How will you pay for it?" He smiled, thinking perhaps another bit of Izzyness was about to come his way. She had a way of making him look forward to every next moment in her company.
He was taken aback when her smile disappeared. She stood, shaking out her skirts. "Why, not at all." She gave him a fixed, polite smile. "Nothing to worry about."
Frowning, he doubted very much if that were so. If things were as he was beginning to suspect in this house, Izzy might indeed have something to worry about. Hildegard Marchwell seemed a proper harridan. A low flare of anger began deep in his gut.
He hesitated, puzzled by his own wrath. Well, why not be protective of her? Losing her friendship, his one hold on her cooperation, would risk the last possibility of fulfilling his father's demands. The thought occurred to him that resisting his father might be the one way to scrounge his own self-respect from the wreckage that subservience had made of his pride.
Cynically, he dismissed it. If he wanted to inherit, he had to be the man his father wanted him to be. And that man had only one use for Izzy Temple. Marriage. Pushing away from the door, Julian walked to stand over her.
"Izzy, I will tease it out of you; you know that. So just tell me."
"Do sit, my lord. Please. It quite dizzies one to look all the way up there."
He remained standing. "Izzy," he warned.
"Oh, very well." She sighed. "Whenever I find something humorous about the cousins, I invariably have my workload increased or my activities restricted. All very subtle, all very proper." She sighed again. "I only hope they do not keep me from the garden right now. There is so much still to do."
Julian was confused. Work? Whatever did she mean?
"What work do you do that is increased?"
She looked away. He growled.
She huffed. "Really, Julian, you are such a bully. I just meant that my duties will be overloaded or some such thing. Hildegard will decide all the linens need a vinegar rinse, or that the upstairs drapes must all be taken down and brushed." She shrugged. "See, it truly is nothing."
"And you do these chores? Is that not the housekeeper's territory?"
She studied her slippers.
"Izzy, where is the housekeeper?"
She raised her hand and waved it in mock greeting. Suddenly, he had an awful suspicion. Surely the Marchwells were not so base?
"How many servants does this house employ?"
Before she opened her mouth, he saw she was about to skirt the issue once again. Until she saw his face.
"Four," she said promptly. "Spears, Cook, Betty—who is Hildegard's maid—and the scullery."
He was shocked. Four? In a house this size? There was enough work here for twice that many.
"You forgot the governess, and the stablekeep, and the gardener," he said.
"Oh, we do not keep horses," Izzy explained. "Hildegard claims they're too wasteful. And I have been relieved of my tutoring duties now that Sheldon has gone." She smiled
beatifically. "How lovely that sounds. Sheldon has gone."
"So you act as governess, and gardener, as well, then, don't you?"
She said nothing. He sat close to her. "Izzy, let me see your hands."
She pulled them into her lap. Then, seeing his implacable look, she sighed gustily and stuck them out before her. Taking them in his, he examined them.
Julian kept his face impassive with difficulty. Her hands were tiny and delicate. They also bore the marks of years of hard labor. Her palms were callused, but worse, much worse, were the many scars crisscrossing her hands, front and back. From the tiny nicks scattered over her fingers to the long gash across the base of one thumb, the evidence spoke more eloquently of her life than hours of complaint would have. He pushed up her sleeves, noting how thin and strong her arms were. One area of her wrist looked as if it had been burned or scalded. The scar was years old.
"Cook, as well?" He indicated the burn scar.
"Only briefly."
Izzy slowly pulled her hands free. Her eyes were wide, her expression solemn.
"I had learned my lesson by then." She grinned crookedly. "After two weeks of raw beef, scorched pudding, and sauces you could stand a fork in, the Marchwells hired a real cook."
He had to chuckle at that. "Now, I would have thought you were as capable in the kitchen as you are everywhere else."
"May I confide in you, my lord?" She leaned toward him as if to impart some weighty confidence—looked to her left, then right—then whispered gleefully, "I am a smashing cook!"
Julian's laughter echoed through the house.
Hildegard glared at the parlor door from where she lingered in the entrance hall. His lordship was laughing again. She sneered contemptuously. Really, Izzy's humor was too common.
Izzy
. She had no doubt that his lordship would never have offered for the common little baggage if she hadn't conked him on the head and screamed so all would find him there.
What Hildegard did not admit, except to herself, was that the real source of her rage was that she had not thought of it first. There had been any number of rich young lordlings at that house party. Millie could have landed herself a real catch. Now the opportunity was lost. Two such incidents in one family would put paid to the Marchwell name.
Well, she huffed to herself as she shifted her weight, at least Izzy was marrying wealth and prestige. When she had thought the girl had disgraced them, Hildegard had been in a near murderous rage. She had always disliked her cousin Maria's brat.
Tiny, delicate Maria with the beautiful hair and the handsome knight just panting to marry her. Perfect Maria who'd had more beaux than could be counted, who'd not had to have her parents buy her an indebted idiot for a husband.
Thank heavens Sheldon was gone. She ought to have considered that when one married an idiot, one would likely produce more idiots. It had become obvious to her that if the family were to get anywhere in society, it would not be through their son. At this point, she would have to focus all her energies on Millie's marriage.
Unfortunately, Millie was showing signs of rebellion. Hildegard never should have let Izzy influence the little twit for so long while she herself had pampered Sheldon. Hildegard should have sent the boy to school years ago, but she had convinced herself that Izzy's personal—and free—tutoring was for the best. Still, they had saved all that tuition.
And now Izzy would not be asking for her inheritance, either.
Hildegard smiled, her irritation turning to satisfaction. No, everything worked out in the end—when one was clever enough to see to one's own advantage.
Eric Calwell, Viscount Stretton, stuck his head around the door. "Up yet, Eppie?"
Not looking up from his paper, Lord Blackworth corrected him. "Julian."
Eric came all the way into the breakfast room and flopped into the chair opposite his friend. "Julian who?"
"Julian, me. My fiancée"—Blackworth put down his news sheet to enjoy the moment—"has decided that Eppingham and Eppie will not do. Henceforth, I am to be known as Julian."
"Fiancée." Eric sank back in his chair. "You did it, then? You proposed to the mouse?"
Julian shrugged. "She's no beauty, I know, but she's not a mouse. When I first called on her, we talked for hours. The second time, she made me laugh." He grinned in recollection.
"Well, that's all very well if all you want to do in the bedroom is laugh. But how in hell are you going to get an heir on her?"
Blackworth raised an indolent brow. "I shall manage, I suppose. She's not ugly. Just plain."
Eric looked doubtful. "So you say. What about Suzette? Giving her the old here's-a-diamond-necklace-see-you-about?"
"I don't see why. Izzy will probably go live at the estate. Lots of gardening to do there." Grinning to himself, Julian polished off his eggs. "Why are you about so early?"
"Going to Tattersall's, old man. Want to go along? I'm looking for a bay to match the carriage horses. Got one down with an infected hoof."
Surveying the remains of his breakfast and thinking of infected hooves, Julian decided he was finished. He threw the napkin down with a flourish and grinned at his friend.
"Let us be off, then. I'm always looking for new blood for my string."
They were having a fine time at the Tattersall auction, enjoying the sights and smells and environs of horse trading, as all horsemen do. The air was thick with equine complaints and the rattle of the auctioneer's gavel. Eric quickly found a replacement for his carriage team, and they were eyeing the saddle mounts when Julian spotted a delicate silver-gray mare.
She was small, but perfectly proportioned, with large intelligent eyes, and lively paces. He bought her on the spot, flagrantly outmatching the other bidders.
Eric was aghast. "Why did you do that? She cannot even carry you. She's a lady's horse."
Julian looked back at him, disconcerted. Then studying the pretty mare again, he smiled. "I'll make it back at the tables tonight, you know I shall. Besides, she reminds me of Izzy."
Julian rolled the die between his fingers and casually threw it down. He tossed back the last of his brandy as a roar of approval greeted his cast.
The pile of money grew larger and the pretty half-dressed lady of the
demi-monde
squirmed herself more firmly into his lap. As the die landed perfectly in his favor yet again, Julian hid a yawn and wondered what Izzy was doing tonight.
He placed one hand on his companion's shapely derriere and gave it a pat. "Off you go, pet."
At her painted pout, he chuckled and used the side of his hand to cut a portion of his take. Pushing it to one side, he bowed to her. "For your trouble, love. You brought me luck."
Her moue of disappointment was replaced by a rather more sincere smile of avarice, and the pile of coins and notes disappeared with her.
Julian strolled and stretched, the noise of the gaming hall beginning to abrade. The casements lining one wall stood open in a useless attempt to combat the swirling smoke and heat from the bodies packed into the cramped room.
He strode to one, neglecting the winnings piled on the table. As he stood by the window, lighting a cigar, he thought about the mare again.
Why had he done it? The horse was of no earthly use to him. Only a woman could ride her. He smiled without realizing, as he pictured Izzy on the mare. He didn't even know if she could ride. Well enough, he would teach her, he thought, tossing the cigar out of the open window.
As he allowed himself to be pulled back into the frenetic pace of the evening, Julian decided to take the horse out to the Marchwells' on the morrow. Izzy ought to be quite surprised by the gift. Perhaps they might even have time for a riding lesson.
To Julian's disappointment, Izzy was already outside when he and his stablehand, Timothy, delivered his gift. She stood from her labors over the rose bed in the lawn and smiled as he came up the drive. He stopped before her.
"Good morning—"
With a distracted wave to him and an absent pat on the nose for his mount, Izzy passed him right by.