Dancing the Maypole (42 page)

Isabel glanced
up at Peter’s face; he was still glaring after his brother through
the open door. “That was embarrassing.” He gave no sign of hearing
her. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered, “Pierre!” He turned to
face her, his angry black eyes suddenly vulnerable. “He doesn’t
know you.”

“Non? I’m a
b-boring square curtain-walled c-castle built of stone blocks. The
d-drawbridge of thick solid oak has been left raised so long the
chain has almost rusted into place. Lowering my defences was so
painful I gave up. I think I’m protecting my family, but really I’m
just an ancient garden folly.” The words were despondent. The black
eyes were waiting to be told she’d decided to continue her search
for a husband.

“You can’t have
been abandoned long…” She pursed her lips as she studied his face.
“I don’t see any moss in your nose.” Peter’s grateful boyish smile
made her want to swirl in circles.

“I feel I’ve
been waiting a thousand years for my d-d-dream inhabitant.”

“This dream
inhabitant sounds ancient,” said Isabel. “What if I came driving up
with a cartload of manuscripts, ink and silly gewgaws?”

“I’d b-break
the chain to lower my d-drawbridge…so you could enter.”

Isabel
unconsciously inhaled her smelling salts. She was driving a large
hay wagon full of her belongings up to a moated castle with a
raised drawbridge. A loud, metallic groan was followed by the
energetic clanging of metal on metal. After another loud groan, the
drawbridge fell at her feet covering her in a cloud of dandelion
seeds. “That sounds rather painful my Lord.”

“Not as painful
as watching you drive on to find a smaller, more sensible
home.”

He looked
sincere. Isabel’s hand shook as she pressed her vinaigrette to her
nose. “Does your castle wall have a walkway around the top like
Framlingham? I always enjoy the view from a castle wall. It makes
me feel as big as the sky.”

“I’m afraid the
castle has suffered from neglect. You may find it rather…”

“Daunting?”
interrupted Isabel.

“No,
d-d-draughty.” He leaned down as if to kiss her and whispered, “The
interior dwelling is barely habitable. Why would you want to live
in a ruin?”

“Because,” She
whispered back, “It’s a handsome romantic ruin that smells of
happiness.”

His eyes warmed
with a smile as he studied her face. “Castles awaiting the imminent
arrival of their dream inhabitant always smell of happiness. You
don’t think it too…big?”

“Je pense c’est
parfait.” The big man’s adoring smile contorted with agony.
Following Peter’s glare downward, Isabel started on seeing her
father. “Mon Père? Did you just step on Lord Adderbury’s foot?”

Her father
ignored the question, “We visitons the house of giants. Your Aunt
Gwen, she will throw for you the ball.”

Isabel’s
suddenly felt as if she’d swallowed a large bowl of pebbles.
“When?”

“Demain en
quinze.”

“What?” shouted
Isabel. “Two weeks tomorrow?” The burning of her smelling salts
brought Isabel back to reality where she’d never dream of killing
her parents. “Papa, that’s very kind of Aunt Gwen, but I’m afraid
I’ve already made plans…”

“The maid, she
packs the clothes. You will viens avec moi immédiatement.” Her
father’s commanding tone left no room for discussion.

“Now? Why do I
have to come now if the stupid ball isn’t for two weeks?”

“Loin des yeux,
près du coeur.”

Isabel choked
back a scream, “Lord Adderbury won’t fall in love with me because
I’m miles away, on the other side of Bristol.”

“I know the
men,” said Monsieur. “They need the distance.” He tapped his
forehead with a regal finger. “It clears the mind. This big idiot
thinks he feels the lust, but when you are hours from the eyes he
will feel the ache in the chest. He will know he has for you the
love romantique.”

“I can’t leave
tonight Papa. We’re in the middle of an important
conversation.”

Monsieur raised
a single eyebrow. “Le répare of un chateau? Important? Bof!”

Isabel filled
her lungs and shouted back, “C’est important à moi!”

Her father
pursed his lips in displeasure conjuring up endless unpleasant
consequences. “Then, Adderbury will write the lettre. Aller! Change
pour the voyage.” Monsieur jabbed Peter in the stomach with a
finger. “When you visite, you will bring for ma petite fille un
bouquet de fleurs, les bonbons et un poème d’amour. You will dance
avec ma petite fille at the ball. You will feel for her the love
romantique…or my cows will have indigestion from eating bad grass.
Comprends?”

“Papa, you
can’t shoot Pierre because he won’t pretend to love me.”

“Prétend? Non!
He will confess for you the love romantique sincère, or he will
feed my grass. Vite! Ta Mère, she does not have the dreams agréable
if she does not sleep in my arms. Viens avec moi.“

Isabel put her
hands on her hips, “Non! I have thirty-six years. I’m not a child
to be ordered into a carriage.”

Muttering under
his breath, Monsieur pulled a travelling pistol out of his coat
pocket and disengaged the safety mechanism before pointing it at
Peter’s foot. “You want the lover who can carry you on his
shoulder, non? I want to aller au France, but I visite the house of
giants. The house that makes me feel absurde. Do you think your
petite Papa désires to eat at the table that comes to his chest? Je
souffre this for you. Do you apprécies mon sacrifice? Non!”

Isabel clenched
her teeth, “I didn’t ask you to suffer Aunt Gwen’s giant
table.”

“Ingrat! I
souffre to aide you find d’amour.”

“I don’t need
your help. I can find love on my own!”

“Bah!
Adderbury, you have cinq minutes to demonstrate that you will
resent the absence of ma petite fille. You will then aid her into
the carriage, or I will put un hole in your big foot.” Monsieur de
Bourbon reluctantly shoved his pistol back in his pocket. Ignoring
Isabel’s glare he marched from the room, slamming the door behind
him.

Clenching her
fists, Isabel gargled on her fury as she restrained the impulse to
pick up the first thing to hand and throw it at the door. “As if I
was thirteen…I’ll have to go or he’ll shoot you…”

Masculine hands
took hold of her face, black eyes demanding her full attention.
“Have your maid leave some clothes at a nearby inn. We’ll pretend
were going for a drive, and then fly to London and marry by special
license.”

“You don’t
understand Pierre. If we elope, Aunt Gwen will be mortally
offended. She’ll look down at Mamma and proclaim in her most
vicious tone that if Mamma had married a tall Englishman her
children would have developed into civil adults. Mamma will cry on
Papa’s head then Papa will hunt us down and shoot you because he
can’t shoot Aunt Gwen.”

“Comment
Diable! Curse all helpful…”

Isabel’s eyes
lit up with hope. “But, we could buy a common license in Bristol
and secretly marry in Bath at my parish church. I’ll tell Mamma
you’re taking me for a picnic at some distant beauty spot. They’ll
never know the difference.” Standing on her toes she leaned against
him. “We could spend every night in the maze under the stars…” The
warmth of his hands on her face made her tip back her head in hope
of a kiss.

“If your father
finds us rolling in the g-grass, I’ll d-die under the stars.”

“Papa retires
early when he visits Aunt Gwen. The morning after the ball we’ll
announce we’re married. Papa will kiss you and drag Mamma off to
his carriage. He’ll be on the road to France while we’ll
be…wherever we want to be. C’est parfait!”

“We’d need two
witnesses,” mumbled Peter.

Her hero didn’t
appear keen on the plan. “If the Vicar doesn’t have two servants,
he’ll know two old men who’ll do anything for a few shillings.
No-one will know. C’est parfait.”

“I’m not g-good
at playing charades.”

“We wouldn’t be
playing charades. All you have to do is marry me and pretend you
haven’t.”

“Exactement!”
Peter’s handsome lips contorted with emotion transforming him into
a Frenchman. “I c-can’t be your husband and pretend not to b-be
your husband.”

Isabel took
hold of his coat and leaned against him, “It’ll be romantic…”

Peter groaned
as if she’d proposed storming a French prison. “It’ll be d-deadly.
I won’t be able to sleep. I’d be tooling unfamiliar roads in the
dark. I’d end up with a b-broken neck. You’ll be my widow before
people know you’re my wife!”

Sliding her
hands under his coat, she wrapped her arms around his waist.
Standing on her toes she whispered against his lips, “Why won’t you
be able to sleep Pierre?” She laughed as he answered with a hungry
kiss that magically turned the pebbles weighing down her stomach
into butterflies. She was faintly aware of his hands leaving her
face to count her ribs and explore her spine. Enveloped in the
scent of happiness she was far away in a romantic scene where the
handsome Pierre had just pulled her from pounding surf.

Burning
sunlight cast jagged purple shadows over hot white sand as it
filtered through palm trees bowing to the sea. They were
shipwrecked on an otherwise uninhabited island. Isabel could taste
Pierre’s relief that they’d both survived and knew by the sound of
his heart, beating out of time with the waves, that he’d soon be
peeling off her wet dress and… The soft clunk of the door handle
being turned wrenched her out of the kiss. Pierre blinked in
confusion as she silently nodded at the door and stepped back. She
was hiding behind her vinaigrette as Cosmo stepped into the
room.

The young man
glared at his father, “Did you save me any cake?”

Several long
seconds of silence suggested her hero was still trying to catch his
breath. He coughed, “There may be some in the kitchen.” Her lover’s
tone suggested eating cake in the kitchen was comparable to being
sent to the devil.

She stared up
at the frightening face. Was she making the right choice? Would
marriage to her dream Pierre turn out to be a nightmare? Previous
attempts to act out her imagined stories had ended in tears. Isabel
would never forget the agony of standing in front of her father’s
desk to confess that before his prize flock of sheep had leapt off
the hillside into the river and disappeared downstream she’d been
enacting her story about a brave shepherdess single-handedly saving
the flock from a pack of wolves with her umbrella. The sheep were
supposed to leap with joy as she led them home, not litter her
cousin’s riverbank with rotting mutton. Sometimes reality refused
to live up to one’s imagination. Her thoughts refocused on the
handsome man glaring at his son. An unhappy ending was of course
possible, but the memory of Pierre’s kiss made her want to leap
back into his arms. Falling into a fast moving river had to be
better than dying in a convent wondering what would have happened
had she jumped.

“There won’t be
any cake in the kitchen.” Cosmo’s tone made it clear he blamed his
father. “The servants will have eaten it.”

“Whose fault is
that? You were the one who said you d-didn’t want any cake.
Mademoiselle and I are having a p-private conversation. Leave
us!”

The young man
crossed his arms in defiance. “Mademoiselle appears distraught. I
don’t think you should be left alone. There’s no telling what you
might do.”

Pierre’s eyes
were two burning coals, “Mademoiselle is p-perfectly safe.”

“And if she
faints?” asked Cosmo. “What then?”

Isabel’s face
burned in horror at the insinuation her hero would ravage her while
she lay insensible on the floor.

Pierre’s face
was as pale as freshly prepared parchment. “You q-q-question my
honour?”

“No,” said
Cosmo, “I question your sanity. You’re the one who bought out the
sweet shop, wheeled the contents up to passing strangers and
encouraged them to rot their teeth.”

“I had my
reasons.”

“Shock me!”
sneered Cosmo. “You invested money in a local dentist…?”

Isabel’s heart
dropped like a lead plumb bob into her stomach as her father
appeared in the doorway eyeing her lover with contempt. “Your cinq
minutes are at the end. Viens!”

“We haven’t
finished…” Isabel’s protest was waved aside.

“If Monseigneur
has not learned to observe time…il est un idiot. Viens!”

“Two more
minutes…please?” Her father’s face softened as if he might assent,
but then changed his mind.

“Non! I do not
wish to meet the bandits and expire in the arms of ma femme.
Adderbury will aid you into the carriage immédiatement. Vite!”
Isabel clenched her fists and repressed another scream as her
father imperiously beckoned her to follow.

“Mademoiselle?”
Cosmo’s eyes were wide with dismay. “You’re not leaving?”

She blinked
away tears and forced a smile. “My aunt is throwing me a ball.
She’s…”

“Isabel
Désirée!”

Seeing her
father put his hand in his pocket, and take hold of his travelling
pistol, she glanced up at the unhappy man at her side. If she
didn’t obey, Pierre would be shot in the foot. His children would
learn the truth, and there would be little hope of a romantic
honeymoon before the following spring, assuming her hero didn’t
bleed to death. “Je viens!” Her father appeared disappointed as he
turned to lead the way.

After assisting
her into the carriage, Pierre stared through the window past her
father’s scowling profile. Isabel held his gaze as her tears
watered her smelling salts. Her hero was visibly upset. “You
c-can’t travel at this hour Monsieur! You’re putting your
ddaughter’s life in d-d-danger. C’est dangereux! Stay the night
and use my bed.”

The thought of
her father crawling into a bed already occupied by John Smirke, his
wife and a screaming caused Isabel to choke back a laugh. Her
amusement faded as her father turned to stare at her with his
dangerous expression. “You find Adderbury’s bed…amusant?”